“The only people who knew my sexuality in this school were you and her.”

“You … told her?” Priti is looking down at the ground with wide eyes. Like she can’t quite believe her ears.

“No, but she knew. And she … she did this.” I gulp down the lump making its way up my throat once more. “She must have told … someone. Chyna … or … I don’t know.” It was clicking into place now. It had to have been Chyna. And Flávia had done nothing to stop her. Nothing to warn me when she found out.

“Yes.” Priti is nodding her head frantically. “That makes sense. It must have been her. We should go to the principal. Tell her everything. I’ll show her the text and they’ll be suspended, probably. I mean, this is a hate crime!”

“No. That’s not going to make anything better.” The thought of telling someone about this feels almost as bad as the fact that it happened.

“Whoever did this deserves to be punished, Apujan,” Priti says in a grave voice.

I shake my head. It’s not that I don’t agree with her, but these kinds of things are rarely punished. It’s not as if the horrendous things said about me and Priti over the years were ever met with any consequences. The teachers couldn’t have failed to hear the whispers in the hallways, like horrid secrets the girls carried with them, spilling them with glee into each other’s ears. But nobody ever bothered to put a stop to it.

Telling the principal would just make everything worse. What if Ammu and Abbu got dragged into it? Would they even stick up for me? Or would they agree with whatever the text said? Would they be ashamed that so many people know now?

I can imagine their faces, red and blotchy from anger and tears—with the shame that has been brought onto our family. Shame that I have, ultimately, made the wrong choice.

I stand.

“You should go back to class,” I say.

“What are you going to do?” Priti stands up too.

“I’m going to go back in there and show them that I don’t care. That … I’m stronger than them.” I’m still blinking back tears. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep them at bay. But I want to stand there and look Flávia in the eye. I want to hold her accountable for everything. And I won’t give any of them the satisfaction of me going home. Of appearing weak.

“Are you sure?” Priti asks in a whisper, like speaking too loudly will break me. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I shake my head. “I’ve got this.”

“I love you, Apujan,” she whispers. “And I’m so damn proud of you. I hope you know that.”

19