Page 12 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Really? He was all smiles this afternoon over lunch at Tara’s.”

“Oh, then maybe he only smiles around people he likes, like Tara and Sameer…and you, apparently,” she said with nonchalance, but my heart gushed with pride.

“What about Juhi? What do you think of her?” I realized I was being nosy, but I wanted the inside scoop on the woman who had the potential to make my best friend’s life miserable.

“She doesn’t talk to me much. I don’t think she likes me.”

“Why would you think that?” I twisted a section of her hair and secured it in place with another hairpin.

“Maybe because I’m not family,” she said with downcast eyes.

“Are you kidding? Of course you’re family!” I squeezed her arms. “Why else would anyone put up with your shenanigans the way we do, especially Sameer?”

“Yes, he’s great. And I love Tara. She’s kind and smart. Tara’s like my sister, not Juhi…” she said softly. “Is that mean?”

“No,” I said with conviction. “The heart knows who it wants to love. You’ll always feel drawn to people who love you. Don’t bother with those who won’t.”

“You’re wise,” she said.

If only she knew about my terrible track record of trusting the wrong people.

“What do you think?” I asked when I had finished doing her hair.

“I like it. Sameer thinks I’m too young to use makeup. Am I?”

“Well, that’s between you and him, but a little lip gloss and eyeliner never hurt anyone,” I said, looking at the small makeup collection in her dresser drawer.

“I don’t know how to use any of it right,” she said.

I swiped a thin line over her delicate lids before lining her lips and filling them with a light coat of a nude pink gloss. “There. What do you think?”

She beamed. “I love it.”

“Okay, show me what you’re wearing on your feet.”

She pulled out a pair of pink floral flats that complimented her pastel gown.

“Fantastic.” I held two thumbs up. “Ready to go downstairs and wow everyone?”

“I’m not wowing anyone,” she muttered as she put on her footwear. “Beside you and Tara, I look like a troll.”

“Hey,” I said, holding her arms. “Never think of yourself like that. You have to be proud of your body. Be comfortable in it, no matter who or what you are. This is where it can all go wrong, love. Do you understand?”

Riya nodded tentatively.

I continued, “You know how many disparaging comments I have gotten? When people look at me, they see a dark, fat body.”

“You’re not fat. That’s rude,” Riya offered sheepishly.

“Well, I am fat, but it’s not a bad word for me. It’s a descriptor, a part of my identity.”

When she tilted her head, I explained, “Describing a body as fat is not the problem. The problem starts when we say a fat body is somehow less desirable, less worthy. It’s not the plain meaning we assign to a word—it’s the value we attach to it that makes it good or bad. So dark and light, fat and thin, old and young by themselves are mere words, but they aren’t, are they?”

She shook her head. “Because we’ve assigned values that make them more or less worthy.”

“Exactly! People will still find ways to discredit you and find faults with you, no matter what you do or say. You can’t let these things bother you. Be confident in yourself. Be proud.”

She leaped at me and hugged me tight. “Okay.” She squared her shoulders. “I am ready to wow everyone.”

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