Page 11 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

She pulls away from Liam. “Great. I’m just going to gocelebratehow much hotter I am than my cousin.”

Liam sighs. “TJ, that’s not what I meant—”

TJ ignores him and walks away. She’s too mad. At Liam, or Rajan, or whoever submitted the Insta post, or everyone laughing at it, or herself? It’s atake your picksituation.

She fumes all the way to the parking lot, where Piper is waiting. The two of them carpool a lot since they live only a few blocks from each other.

Piper unlocks her car, eyeing TJ. “You looked really ticked off.”

“Liam said I was the hottest girl in school!” TJ shouts.

“Umm...”

Okay, maybe not her most eloquent explanation. TJ rakes her hands through her carefully curled hair. “Never mind. Hey, can you drop me off somewhere?”

There’s no way Simran can evade her at her own house.

THREE

***

TJ’s masi is the one who answers the door, all smiles and friendliness. TJ forces a smile back.

It’s not that she doesn’t like her. Her aunt’s actually quite nice—but very traditional. So TJ instinctively keeps up a facade around her to avoid disapproval. The facade of a nice, respectable girl who doesn’t party and definitely does not have a boyfriend. Luckily, she doesn’t have to pretend often. Their families don’t get together very much.

TJ clasps her hands together in greeting. “Sat Sri Akaal, Masi ji.”

“Sat Sri Akaal, putt!” She pulls TJ into a saffron-infused embrace. Her turban is white today, and she’s dressed casually in a sweater and joggers. “How are you, how’s school? Come in.”

TJ follows her aunt into the small but cozy living room, giving generic answers to her equally generic questions. They pass the khanda mounted on the wall, and the childhood photos of toddler Simran with her then-teenage sister Kiran, performing at the gurdwara. As always, a wave of—something—goes through TJ. Her own parents are culturally Sikh but not religious, so coming here feels like a surreal peek into the alternate life she might have led, if her and Simran’s places had been switched.

“How’s Kiran?” she asks her masi, running her hand along the photo frame of Simran and her sister. “I heard she moved to Ontario.”

“Yes, that was a while back. She’s fine. Will you have chah?” Her masi’s voice is falsely bright. Clearly that’s a sensitive topic.

“Uh, no thanks.” Hastily, she moves on. Another photo on the wall catches her eye—herself and Simran. It takes her a moment to place it. Kelowna’s Vaisakhi parade. They couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. TJ’s and Simran’s faces are peeking over the edge of one of the floats, both giggling. TJ can’t remember why. She can’t fathom giggling with Simran over anything.

“You haven’t come by in a long time,” her masi says, a questioning note to her voice. TJ blinks back to reality. Right. She’s on a mission.

She turns to the narrow staircase. “I’m just here to see Simran. Uh, about debate.” A flimsy excuse, seeing as debate’s over until the new year, but her aunt’s confused expression clears.

“Well, let me get you something to eat—”

TJ’s already taking the stairs, two at a time. “That’s okay!”

She doesn’t wait for a response. Once she’s upstairs, she swings around the bannister and turns left into the hallway lined with doors. Here, the white walls are bare, the beige carpet paled with age and flattened beneath her toes. Nothing’s changed from when they were little. She still remembers exactly where to go.

Simran’s door, at the end of the hall, is closed. TJ knocks tentatively.

“Come in,” Simran says from inside, voice quiet. TJ’s imagination runs wild. Is she crying in there? Tissues strewn all over the bed? Having some sort of crisis of faith?

She bursts into Simran’s room only to stub her toe immediatelyon the harmonium lurking behind the door. “Shit!” She hops on one foot, clutching the other.

“Watch it!” Simran says sternly, without looking up from whatever she’s doing at her desk. TJ barely rights herself before she can fall face-first into a tabla lying on its side. Finally, she straightens and takes it all in.

Simran’s musical instruments are only a few of the hazards that lie in her path. There are textbooks, pieces of loose-leaf, envelopes, pens and pencils, a tea-stained mug, hair bands, crumpled-up tissues, wrinkled clothes...

“Your room is a pigsty,” TJ informs her cousin.