Continue this story Anya and Himari

Anya James had always been an outsider. Growing up in a small midwestern town as an Indian-American girl in the early 2000s wasn’t easy. She always felt like an alien, standing out with her dark hair, thick eyebrows, and bindi her mom insisted she wear to cultural events. But Anya’s quiet demeanor wasn’t what people noticed most—it was her knack for stumbling into awkward moments. She’d trip over her words, spill lunch trays, or accidentally raise her hand at the wrong time in class, drawing snickers from her peers.

Himari Matsubara was no better at blending in. Her family had moved from California just a year ago, and she stuck out like a sore thumb with her thrifted plaid skirts, oversized band tees, and combat boots. Himari wasn’t shy, but her bluntness often rubbed people the wrong way. It didn’t help that her Japanese-American heritage made her a target for snide remarks from kids who thought her love for manga and Sailor Moon was just “weird.”

The two found each other during seventh grade, sitting next to each other at the back of the library during lunch. Both had taken refuge there to avoid the lunchroom’s cacophony of laughter and whispered insults. Himari had her headphones on, blasting Hole’s Live Through This. Anya, clutching a book she wasn’t actually reading, noticed the familiar album art peeking out of Himari’s backpack.

“Is that…Hole?” Anya asked nervously.

Himari looked up, surprised. Most kids didn’t even know who Courtney Love was. “Yeah. You listen to them?”

Anya nodded. “I like Nirvana, too. My cousin got me into them.”

That was all it took. They were inseparable from that day on, sharing mix CDs with jagged Sharpie tracklists and flipping through thrift-store racks together after school. Both of them discovered a love for alternative music and a gritty style that made them feel like they belonged, even if the rest of the school didn’t see it that way.

In the library, with the warm, welcoming smell of apple cinnamon always made the two friends refreshed. The young librarian, Ms. Anderson, with her eclectic, vintage style, always made them feel safe while they were eating lunch, and even gifted them biographies of Kurt Cobain. 

Anya ate spiced rice with chunks of beef out of a thermos jar, with juicy grapes, while Himari, with her bento box, ate onigiri, cooked vegetables, fried meat, and a handful of KitKats from Japan with unique flavors - mocha, strawberry, and raspberry. Himari shared them with no hesitation. 

“Y'know, religion fascinates me.” Himari blurted out, fishing out salmon from her bento box with chopsticks.

“I know! People make religion fear mongering too. Like, you'll tell me I'll go to hell and burn cause I don't abide by specific rules? Ironic,” Anya laughed. “Maybe I'll rock out with the demons there.”

Himari choked on her food, trying to stifle a laugh.

***

Their new look—torn fishnets, combat boots, and eyeliner smudged like they were trying too hard not to care—didn’t go unnoticed. The mean girls in their grade were ruthless. “Nice Halloween costume,” one would sneer. Boys would laugh at them, calling Anya a “tan poser” and mocking Himari’s accent when she stumbled over an English idiom. They both developed the habit of holding their tears until they made it to the bathroom stalls, sitting in silence as the walls vibrated with muffled gossip.

Every time Himari looked in the mirror each night, clad in just a bra and panties, she sighed at her reflection. She wasn't the beauty standard for a Japanese girl, knowing the mean people at her school would treat her way differently if she was pretty. It wasn't fair. She stretched her monolids, like the kids would do to her to mock her out of spite, mistaking her for being Chinese and even putting on a stereotypical accent.

She pulled her cheeks, like she expected the skin to just… come off. She was trapped in her form. She hesitantly ran her hands over her exposed stomach and legs, taking in her curves and the gentle, flat swell of her breasts. She shakily exhaled again before holding up her middle fingers to herself, muttering ‘fuck you’ under her breath.

One particularly bad day, after PE class, their final period, where they’d both been picked last for teams, they felt like they weren't fit for anything. They couldn't throw a football correctly, missed the hoop every time a game of basketball happened, and always decided to sit on the bleachers. 

One Friday night, Anya broke down in Himari’s bedroom. The posters of Babes In Toyland and Radiohead on the walls seemed to watch them as Anya choked out, “Why do we even try? It’s like we’re walking targets.”

Himari handed her a tissue and sighed, her voice trembling. “I don’t know.”

Himari crawled on the bed beside Anya, wrapping her arms around Anya’s waist in a spooning position, laying a gentle kiss on her temple before nuzzling into her neck before sobbing, her throat being constricted with what felt like barbed wire with every choke and cry. They cried themselves to sleep that day.

Their mothers were their saving grace. Anya’s mom, Priya James, despite her constant lectures about focusing on school, would sit beside her at night, combing her hair and humming soft Hindi lullabies while her child went through a pack of Oreos. She’d remind her, “You’re more than what those kids see, beta.”

Himari’s mom, Akumi Matsubara, while quieter, was equally supportive. She didn’t fully understand her daughter’s obsession with grunge, but she’d learned to sew patches onto Himari’s thrifted jackets and sometimes even picked out band tees for her at yard sales. Her and Himari even had steaming milk baths together, with citrus fruits floating around in the warm liquid. “Just be yourself,” she’d tell Himari in Japanese. “The right people will see you someday.”

In the end, surviving middle school wasn’t easy for Anya and Himari. They still cried in bathroom stalls and hid in their bedrooms when it all felt like too much. But they also found comfort in each other, in the music that screamed their anger and sadness, and in the quiet assurance from their mothers that they were stronger than they realized.

Coping with a nightly gas station run, buying snacks and sour slushies, eating them on the front yard curb of Anya's house, a street light illuminating on them while they watched sprinklers go off on the lawn of the neighbors house just across. Although they weren't romantically lovers, they held each other close and whispered sweet nothings to each other. ‘I love you’ and ‘my sweet baby’ they would blurt out.

“Girls, come inside for dinner!” Anya's mom gently yelled to them, the dim lighting of the kitchen alerting them. With that, they straightened out their flannels and went inside the house. They were truly friends and knew that seventh grade wouldn't always be a stab in the chest.

***

A week later, while Himari and Anya were walking to class together, with books and binders in hand, Himari came across a poster. 

“Autumn School Dance! 10/25/02” 

Nothing short - nothing tight, and impress the spotlight!”

“Look!” Himari tugged on Anya's band tee.

They walked over to the taped poster, and Anya ripped it off of the wall.

“A school dance?” Anya furrowed her brows.

“Yeah. Even though we’re not the ideal pair, we could still go. Just you and me.” Himari looked up at her taller friend and smiled eagerly.

“Fine, fine. I already know people will laugh at us,” Anya sighed. “And we certainly won't ‘impress the spotlight’, or whatever.” 

“Don't worry, they're all a bunch of nobodies.” Himari assured, tapping on Anya's bindi while hugging her.

After school, they both notified their mothers about the dance the following Thursday of the week. Like always, they worked on their homework together, pirated music online with the dreadful loading and bugs of Limewire, hoping that Himari’s personal computer wouldn’t start acting weird with trojan viruses and cheesy chain emails, and taking random photos and videos  of each other with their moms heels and clothing on, lip syncing to Foo Fighters’ The Colour And The Shape album.

“I wish that eighth grade girl, Kat, was coming to the dance..” Anya groaned, sprawled out on her bed with Himari after their shenanigans. 

“You like her, don’t you?” Himari teased and poked Anya on her side.

“No!” Anya defended quickly. Once she saw Himari’s eyebrow raise in skepticism, she knew she was defeated. “Okay, I do. But you can't blame me! She's just like us, but more nonchalant and mature… and prettier.” Anya went on.

“You’re right. Eighth graders are much cooler than us seventh graders..” Himari realized.

***

Thursday rolled around, and after school, Priya and Akumi prepared themselves for their daughters first dance. Priya brought shaving cream, razors, and clothing, while Akumi brought accessories and gift bags.
“It's your first shave before your first dance! Aren't you girls excited?” Priya exclaimed.

Before they knew it, all four women stood in the bathroom of Anya’s house, Akumi sitting on the counter and Priya sitting on a stool. Himari and Anya were standing in warm water, marinating their legs. Both girls had body hair on their legs, and they weren't wearing their usual jeans or fishnets, just swim proof shorts. It made them so self conscious. A blatant reminder of their insecurities. Their cheeks quickly turned ruddy at the state of their hairy legs. 

“Do we really have to do this?” Himari asked. 

“Yes, Himari-chan,” Akumi gently replied. “You guys have to look pretty, especially for your first dance.”

The two girls groaned in distaste before slathering the shaving cream on their legs with wet hands.

“You might bleed or cut, so be careful and pay attention, you little rebels,” announced Priya.

“Don’t start, Maa.” Anya rolled her eyes.

As the girls slowly ran the razors over their legs, they watched as the hair glide with the shaving cream. The new sensation made them squirm in discomfort, though it didn’t hurt. They put the razor in every direction of their legs until they were left completely hairless. When they were finished, they drained the water and immediately got out: they were glad that it was over."