Page 104 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

And Rajan, for perhaps the first time in his life, has nothing to say to that.

∗

The three of them end up finding a grassy hill away from the bench for the photo, because Yara insists the lighting there is better. But she fiddles with the phone settings for several minutes after they sit down, and TJ starts to wonder if maybe there’s other reasons she’s delaying.

“Yara,” she says finally, “just take the photo already. I don’t care how bad you think it is.”

Yara lowers the phone. Then: “I’m really sorry about the meme.”

TJ blinks. It’s Simran who responds first. “Don’t apologize.”

Anyone else, and TJ would question whether it was genuine, but it’s Simran, and her voice is catching.

“It exposed something we all had to see, I think. And figure out.” She and TJ share a smile. “I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Yara nods slowly, then lifts the phone again. They scoot closer to each other.

“Someone’s going to make fun of this,” Simran murmurs to TJ as Yara adjusts the angle. TJ shrugs.

“What’s the worst they could say?”

“That we’re Bigfoot’s long-lost cousins?”

They all laugh. Yara snaps the photo at that moment, lowers the phone, and grins. “I think this is the one.”

They all crowd around it to look at the screen. In the photo, TJ’s hair is floating in her face from the breeze, Simran’s squinting from the sun, and Yara’s shirt is slipping over her shoulder. Their faces are turned towards each other, laughing. It’s not a particularly flattering laugh they have; their noses are scrunched up, teeth bared. But it’s clear that in that moment, they were too busy being happy to care what they looked like.

TJ uploads it to her Instagram and types a caption before hitting post:That feeling when you realize there are worse things to be than ugly.

TWENTY-NINE

***

Much to TJ’s surprise, the photo becomes her most liked post within twenty-four hours. By far. Tons of people she doesn’t even know leave encouragement. There are almost no trolls in the comment section, which is probably unprecedented in the history of the internet.

Charlie is one of many who like the post. Seconds after she gets that in her notifications, her phone buzzes with a new text. From Charlie himself.

Just to be clear, that was me. I changed my Instagram password.

She’s alone at the time, so thankfully no one sees her grinning.

Nate likes it, too, then DMs her to say he’s coming to a table tennis tournament at Northridge next week, and she should “watch her back,” which she takes as an invitation to come see him. The day of the tournament, she drops in to the gym at lunchtime, hoping he’ll be playing.

As luck would have it, as she walks in, Nate’s engaged in a fierce match with a Northridge competitor. They’re lightning fast. TJ wonders how they even keep track of the ball.

Although it’s close, Nate wins the set and jogs off for a break. He tosses water back and then makes eye contact with TJ, who’s found her way to the front of the stands set up for viewing. He does a double take. TJ waves.

When he comes over, she says, “Ping-pong, huh?”

He settles his arms on the railing between them. “Just say it. I’m an Asian cliché.”

TJ smirks. “Did Charlie get your club that new equipment he was bribing you with?”

Nate blinks in a way that plainly says this is not common knowledge. “I’ve been asking for it for a year, so he damn well did. Still made me fill out an application, though. Asshole.”

TJ laughs, ignoring the ache in her chest. “Yeah.”

Nate takes another swig from his water bottle. In the lapse in conversation, TJ looks around the gym. There aren’t many spectators—most people don’t spend lunches during summer inside—but she spots Liam walking into the gym with Alexa Fisher snuggled to his hip. They’re a pretty couple. But, she finds, it doesn’t hurt to watch anymore.