Page 102 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

Maybe she could learn a thing or two from it.

“You don’t have to go,” TJ says softly.

“I know.” Her mother pats her arm and smiles—a real one, this time. “I’ll see you later.”

And she leaves, closing the door gently behind her. TJ shakes her head and ascends the stairs.

In her room, she drapes her chunni over her desk chair and sits down with the weight of all these new revelations. It makes so much sense now. Even though TJ never mentioned what she was enduring to her parents, her motherknew. Because she endured the exact same thing. Except she dealt with it way longer, and got judged by everyone, including her own family. Her sister.

Clearly the divide between her mom and masi runs deep. That won’t change overnight, but who knows? Maybe one day it can.

As TJ leans back in the chair, something catches her eye. An old cue card, wedged between the desk and wall. She fishes it out, already knowing what she’s going to find written on it.ThisHouse Believes That TJ Powar can exist as a hairy girl and still be worthy of respect, beautiful or not.

She runs her fingers over the indents where her pen dug in. How furious, how devastated she had been while writing this. How desperately she wanted to be accepted.

With a flourish, TJ tosses it in the trash.

∗

Two weeks later, TJ opens Instagram to find that Charlie’s posted a story on his acceptance to Queen’s University. She’s not stalking him this time—they finally officially followed each other after Nationals. Ignoring the voice in her head pointing out that Queen’s is only a few hours away from Western, she stops in the middle of the hallway to text him congratulations. It feels okay to text occasionally. Just like how she texts anyone else. Except with him, she has to ration herself so it doesn’t seem weird.

She sighs and puts her phone away, only to find herself staring at Amy’s face on one of the school TV screens. It’s a photo of her receiving a certificate from the principal—OUTSTANDING CONTRIBUTION AWARD, the title of the slide reads, given for the beauty campaign. Simran is noticeably absent.

Then the slide changes to the next—an announcement of the charity soccer game in June—and TJ hears a voice behind her.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Yara walks up to TJ’s side.

“What’s awful?” TJ asks, although she knows.

“How she’s getting the recognition for a project we all worked on.”

“I don’t evenwantrecognition for it. Thanks to Amy, itended up being a complete waste of time.” TJ’s eyes fall to the receptacle under the TV, the one that usually holds the school paper. Extra copies of the special edition have been placed in. Amy’s really milking this thing.

Just as she’s staring at the receptacle, a long arm reaches in and grabs a handful. “Dude, this is heavy cardstock.” Rajan waves it in Simran’s face, who’s beside him. “The good shit.”

“Rajan,” Simran says in a resigned voice, “I thought we were looking for a place to work on your math homework.”

“I can do math right here! Look. Multiply résumé-building volunteerism”—he pulls out another flyer—“by unlimited access to a colour printer”—he folds the flyers neatly—“all in brackets to the power of a gigantic ego, and you get”—he slam-dunks them into the garbage bin—“Amy West.”

“And where in this equation are you solving for x?” Simran asks dryly.

“X is the unknown.” He tosses a few more flyers into the garbage. “The unknown of whether I’ll get a smack on the wrist or a detention for this. We haven’t solved that one yet.”

Rajan’s voice carries, and people start to stare. It’s only a matter of time before a teacher comes out to investigate. Oh, what the hell. TJ joins him, grabbing a wad of flyers. She takes a vicious pleasure in watching all those perfect, filtered, fake photos fall in the garbage. “You’re not so bad after all, Rajan.”

He looks at her with exaggerated shock. “Dude. Are you feeling okay? You should probably go talk to the school nurse, I think you’re delirious or something—”

TJ rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Whatever grudgeshe had against him is over. He was right, anyway. Shedoeshave a very Indian nose. It’s her father’s nose, and her grandmother’s for whom she was named, and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Too bad Amy had softened it in her pictures.

She crumples another pamphlet into a ball and boots it into the bin. It’s deeply satisfying. Now she understands what Charlie must have felt when he blocked its distribution at Whitewater.

Yara coughs. “Um, incoming.”

TJ follows her gaze. Amy is marching down the hall towards them, practically frothing at the mouth in rage. News spreads fast.

Her voice is like a whip. “What are you doing?”

Rajan fashions a paper airplane out of a flyer. “Doing a public service. There’s just a lot of trash around here.”