Page 46 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove
“There is no perfect world,” TJ cuts her off, angry. “There’s just the real, crappy world, where people laugh at jokes about my cousin’s hair, and the guys I hook up with get turned off by mine.”
Simran’s quiet. “So what now?”
TJ shrugs. “Just gonna make an appointment with the salon. I’m three months overdue.” She may as well, since she has nothing to prove anymore except what a loser she is.
Simran nods slowly. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, well, that’s life, I guess.” TJ frowns. “When you and Charlie meet up to practice for Nationals, you better pretend you don’t know what happened.”
A pause. “Of course.”
“When are you two meeting, anyway?” When Simran shrugs noncommittally, TJ gawks. “How do you not know? You have to figure out your arguments! Hasn’t the resolution already been announced?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay to take a break.”
Debate club pretty much wraps after Provincials, since it’s the last big tournament that lots of people go to. Plus, other clubs and sports become active in the spring. Only those going to Nationals keep at it. TJ had seen Simran and Charlie talking before they got on the bus and had assumed they were making times to meet. But apparently not. “Seriously?”
Simran’s lips twitch. “Wejustgot back from Provincials. Why are you getting so worked up?”
“I’m not,” TJ retorts. “I’m just saying, if Charlie’s being lazy—”
“It was my idea.” Simran puffs more air into her harmonium, and then presses her fingers into a minor chord. “Okay? It’s not Charlie’s fault.”
TJ wishes it was. She wishes it wasallhis fault. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel like such a tool.
∗
When TJ arrives home, she’s greeted with the sound of laughter in the parlour. A quick peek confirms several aunties are over, including Rupi auntie, aka Mrs. Banger. Yikes. Employing ninja-like stealth, she manages to get up the stairs without being spotted.
Her room’s nearly as messy as Simran’s today—she’d torn it apart packing frantically for Provincials. Her soccer jersey isstill draped over her chair from her last game. She tosses it in the hamper and checks the to-do list on her vanity. It’s full of graduation stuff she’s been procrastinating on. No thanks. She picks up the lifestyle magazine she bought at the hotel for the ride home. Aimlessly, she sits and flips it open.
She lands on a huge, two-page spread of a woman’s face. The woman’s a pilot, and there’s a whole article about her that TJ already read, but right now all she can do is stare at the close-up picture and wonder if the woman’s face is naturally that hairless, or if she’s been plucked and waxed, or if it’s been airbrushed out.
She throws the magazine on her bed. What’s wrong with her, looking at an article about a woman’s career and instead searching for visible body hair in the photo?
This isn’t even the first time. For the past months, it’s been the first thing she focuses on when she looks at women. Any time she sees arm hair or cheek fuzz sparkling in the sunlight, she feels victorious, like she found Waldo in the big confusing picture. It’s something she used to do when she was younger. It used to help, knowing she wasn’t the only one.
Yet, there’s not a lot of girls walking around with the amount of hairshehas. She lifts her shirt and looks down at her wiry happy trail. Isn’t that just wrong? She’s never exactly seen a woman at the beach sporting that.
TJ’s hit with the urge to get rid of it. Immediately. She heads to the washroom and digs around in the cabinet under the sink. After her initial purge, she’d realized she’d forgotten to throw out a few items hiding in the cleaning supplies bucket. Therewas an unopened razor lurking here, but she can’t find it now.
Whatever. She picks up her phone and unblocks Lulu in her contacts. Her thumb hovers over the dial button. But just then, there’s a knock on the door.
“TJ.” Her mother jiggles the doorknob. “Come downstairs and say hello to our guests.” Her voice is fake-friendly with an undertone ofThis isn’t optional.
TJ mouths several F-bombs at the mirror before replying. “Coming!”
“Now.”Footsteps fade away. TJ takes her time putting away the stuff she’d haphazardly pulled from the cabinet in her search. When she has no other excuse to delay, she descends the stairs.
The tinkly laughter in the parlour stops abruptly upon her entrance. Four aunties all look at her in unison. They’re dressed up in pretty salwar kameezes. TJ wishes she’d thought to change out of her ratty, off-the-shoulder sweater and capri leggings.
They all stand as TJ approaches them with her fake smile. “Sat Sri Akaal, Auntie. Sat Sri Akaal.” She goes around the table greeting them.
Rupi auntie grabs her shoulders and kisses her on the cheek, smiling warmly. When she lets go, she says, “I was just telling your mom how I was teaching your class a few months back. It feels like it’s been so long.”
There’s a bit of sunlight filtering through the window on Rupi auntie’s face. No hair catches in the light. None at all.
Someone coughs, and TJ realizes she hasn’t responded. She shrugs a practiced sheepish shrug.