Page 12 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

Simran swivels around in her office chair. “That’s what you say every time.”

“Because it’s true. I don’t understand you.” TJ picks her way through the mess. The room is small enough that it’s only a few paces to the unmade bed. She pushes a hanger off and perches on the edge. “Aren’t smart people supposed to be organized?”

“I guess I’m not as smart as you think.”

TJ scoffs. “Yeah, right. You’re going to do a full sweep on academic awards night and we all know it.” TJ watches her cousin sway slightly from side to side in her chair, her face completely devoid of emotion. “So, um, how are you feeling?”

“About what?”

TJ leans back onto her hands. “Come on. You must’ve heard about that meme.”

Simran’s expression doesn’t change. “Yes. Someone showed it to me.”

It’s hard to get a read on her tone. “And? It’s horrible. Whoeverwrote it”—TJ’s anger rears its head again, and her voice rises—“they’re an asshole. And everyone who liked it, too. Seriously, who gave them the right—”

“TJ,” Simran interrupts. “It’s all right.”

TJ blinks.

“I’mokay,” Simran adds, looking her directly in the eye. “I’m not like you—I’m used to it.”

TJ frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. You’re—you.” She gestures to TJ, then lets her hand fall into her lap. “And then there’s me.”

TJ gawks at her for a moment, but even she can’t deny the point Simran’s trying to make.

They’re polar opposites. There’s TJ, sitting there in her designer jeans, lipstick, and layered dark hair with ombre highlights. Then there’s Simran in her ill-fitting T-shirt, wire-frame glasses, and hair perpetually tied back in a braid so long she can sit on it.

There’s TJ, a soccer player in the in-crowd, and there’s Simran, who eats lunch in the French teacher’s classroom when she doesn’t have a committee meeting. There’s Simran, who spends her Sundays in the gurdwara, while the thing TJ is most religious about is getting her upper lip threaded weekly. The only thing they have in common is debating.

Simran goes on. “People make jokes. You kind of stop caring after a while.”

“Wait, what? People make fun of you?” Simran gives her a look like she should know this already. “So... the meme doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Why should it?” Simran shrugs. “It says more about the people who made it than me. Such as that they are”—she starts counting on her fingers—“racist, misogynistic... not to mentiontransmisogynistic.”

There Simran goes with her infuriatingly logical arguments again. But—TJ studies her cousin closely—there’s no sign of hidden weakness. Simran’s completely relaxed in her chair. She’s just... totally fine with being the school laughingstock. This isn’t right.

“Was there anything else?” Simran says lightly. “Because I have this music camp application to fill out—”

“If it bothers you,” TJ bursts out, “I could help you, you know.”

Simran’s brow furrows. TJ struggles with the right way to word this.

“I could,” she ventures, “teach you how to shave. Or I can take you to the salon. I know someone who’s really good with threading for first-timers—”

Simran flinches slightly. “TJ. You know I won’t do that.”

The way she says it, you’d think TJ had suggested they drown some kittens together. For Simran, it’s probably on the same level of offense; she doesn’t remove hair or cut it. Never has. It’s why her braid is long enough to brush the backs of her knees. She was in the local paper once for it when they were younger.

Too bad hair isn’t so charming when it grows in other places. “Doesn’t it bother you?” TJ asks. “All those people making fun of you for the hair—wouldn’t it make life easier?”

“Maybe for people looking at me.” Simran absentmindedlystrokes her glossy braid. “But letting other people dictate whether I cut my hair isn’t a very Sikh thing to do. Besides, doesn’t it hurt when they rip your hair out of your skin? Doesn’t it take a lot of time to keep up?”

“Well,yeah,” TJ says. “It also hurts when I pull a splinter. It takes forever to floss my teeth. I still gotta do it.”

Simran’s solemn expression breaks momentarily to let out an amused huff. “But you don’t reallyhaveto get rid of it. You know that, right?”