Through gritted teeth she says, “Take the picture now before my smile muscles collapse.”
“That’s absolutely not a thing.” I roll my eyes, but lean closer. So close that I can smell the scent of her perfume—the earthy smell of jasmine mixed with the sweet scent of vanilla. I breathe it in for only a minute before clicking three consecutive pictures and pulling away. Putting as much distance between the two of us as I can.
Ishu smells as sweet as honey, and I have to remind myself that she’s anything but.
She gives me a questioning look, the hint of that smile still on her lips.
“What?” I ask.
“Can I look at the pictures or are they for your eyes only?”
“You can—”
Before I can show them to her, the waitress comes in, balancing three plates precariously in her hands. As she sets them down, Ishu goes back to her side of the table. After taking a few more pictures—of the food, the booth, Ishu looking like she wants to be anywhere but here—we both dig in.
chapter twelve
ishu
I CAN’T HELP BUT STARE AT HANI ALL THROUGH DINNER. At first, it’s because I’m afraid she’s going to hate all the food we’ve ordered. She might be Muslim, but Bengali people are not the most open to other cuisines. And Middle Eastern food is really different from Bengali food. But after I’ve decided that Hani is in love with the food, I mostly watch her because she’s the most expressive eater I’ve ever met. She makes a new facial expression after every bite, like each one is a new sensation.
“Have you never tasted food before?” I ask her as she’s midway through her meal, still savoring each bite like it might be her last. She puts her fork down and looks at me with something like a pout. But a self-conscious one.
“I just like to appreciate my meals,” she says. “I’ve never had Middle Eastern food before.”
“Seriously?” My voice goes a little high-pitched even though I don’t intend it to. “I mean … seriously?”
She sighs. “My parents aren’t really into eating out. They like ordering in pizza and fried chicken once in a blue moon. They don’t really have a wide palate or anything. And … Dee and Aisling don’t really like …”—she pauses, looking down at her plate like she’s considering her next words—”… ethnic food.”
I think about that for a moment, chewing a bite of my kabseh slowly. “Is ‘ethnic’ the word your friends use?”
Hani shoots me a glare. “Does it matter?”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand why you’re friends with Aisling and Deirdre.”
“They’re good people.” Hani’s voice is already defensive. “They’re my friends.”
“Friends who made fun of you because you’re bisexual?”
“They didn’t make fun of me.” There’s a slight whine to her voice. “It’s … complicated. But now, everything will be okay. They just needed … time. And perspective.”
“Okay.” I nod my head, mostly because I can tell Hani and I are about to veer off into another one of our arguments and I definitely don’t want to make a scene here. “Are you … going to apply to be prefect?” I try instead.
“Oh, um. I don’t think so,” Hani says, taking another bite of her kofta. “I don’t think it’s really for me.”
“You should apply,” I tell her.
She glances up to meet my gaze with her lips in a thin line. “Yeah?”
“Yeah … I mean, it’ll look weird if you don’t.”
She blinks slowly. “How will it look weird?”
“Like we’re setting this up, you know. It’ll look better if you want to be prefect and I want to be Head Girl. Like we’re … supporting each other. Plus, everyone loves you and if you apply to be prefect they’ll want to support you and by extension you can also ask them to support me.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “I guess you’re right. I hadn’t really thought of it like that. Aisling and Dee suggested that I apply to be the international prefect.”
“Yeah?” I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. Of course Aisling and Dee would think a person of color is only capable of being prefect for other people of color … nothing else. They probably don’t even care that Hani was born here and probably doesn’t know a lot about the things that immigrant kids might have questions about. “I think you could be prefect of anything you want to be.” I slip out the prefect application I picked up from the office earlier and slide it across the table toward her. “I got one for you, and a Head Girl application for myself.”