I fear I make the wild beasts easy prey

Here is your servant; lord, have mercy on me.

but he had the giftof self-possession from grey-eyed Athena.

Then the backwashhit him, ripping him under and far out.An octopus, when you drag one from his chamber,comes up with suckers full of tiny stones:

I know how he who makes earth tremble hates me.

What a dear welcome thing life seems to childrenwhose father, in the extremity, recoversafter some weakening and malignant illness:his pangs are gone, the gods have delivered him

Athena countered him:

“O damned confusion! Can this be a ruseto trick me from the boat for some god’s pleasure?

But Ino saw him—Ino, Kadmos’ daughter,slim-legged, lovely, once an earthling girl,now in the seas a nereid, Leukothea.

and praise from the Akhaians—not this chokingwaiting for me at sea, unmarked and lonely.”

But now the god of earthquake, storming homeover the mountains of Asia from the Sunburned land,sighted him far away. The god grew sullenand tossed his great head, muttering to himself

sea nymph dressed in a silvery gownof subtle tissue, drew about her waista golden belt, and veiled her head

When Dawn spread out her finger tips of rose

they retired, this pair, to the inner caveto revel and rest softly, side by side

any god has marked me out againfor shipwreck, my tough heart can undergo it.What hardship have I not long since enduredat sea, in battle! Let the trial come.”

“Son of Laërtês, versatile Odysseus,after these years with me, you still desireyour old home? Even so, I wish you well.If you could see it all, before you go—all the adversity you face at sea—you would stay here, and guard this house, and beimmortal—though you wanted her forever,that bride for whom you pine each day.Can I be less desirable than she is?Less interesting? Less beautiful? Can mortalscompare with goddesses in grace and form?”

“What a dog you are!

brimming his eyes. The sweet days of his life timewere running out in anguish over his exile,for long ago the nymph had ceased to please.Though he fought shy of her and her desire,he lay with her each night, for she compelled him.But when day came he sat on the rocky shoreand broke his own heart groaning, with eyes wetscanning the bare horizon of the sea.

where gods have beef

Your awesome visits in the past were few.

But he saw nothing of the great Odysseus,who sat apart, as a thousand times before,and racked his own heart groaning, with eyes wetscanning the bare horizon of the sea.

Now face to facethe magical Kalypso recognized him,as all immortal gods know one anotheron sight

He turned then to his favorite son and said:

But as she went she put new spirit in him,a new dream of his father, clearer now,so that he marvelled to himselfdivining that a god had been his guest.Then godlike in his turn he joined the suitors.

With this Athena left himas a bird rustles upward

Meneláos, the red-haired kingat Sparta

My mother says I am his son; I know notsurely. Who has known his own engendering?I wish at least I had some happy manas father, growing old in his own house—but unknown death and silence are the fate

by your looks, Odysseus’ boy?The way your head is shaped, the fine eyes—yes,

he can do anything

I see the gods delay him.But never in this world is Odysseus dead—only detained somewhere on the wide sea,upon some island, with wild islanders;savages, they must be, to hold him captive.Well, I will forecast for you, as the godsput the strong feeling in me—I see it all,and I’m no prophet, no adept in bird-signs.

I don’t suppose you walked here on the sea

a man whose bones are rotting somewhere now,

What if his great fathercame from the unknown world and drove these menlike dead leaves through the place, recoveringhonor and lordship in his own domains?Then he who dreamed in the crowd gazed out at Athena.

She seemeda family friend, the Taphian captain, Mentes,

She bent to tie her beautiful sandals on,ambrosial, golden, that carry her over water

’ll send him to the mainland then, to Sparta

nymph with pretty braids

Wayfinder, Hermês, cross the seato the island of Ogýgia;

mind you, he does not kill the man;

Polyphemos,brawniest of the Kyklopes

Could I forget that kingly man, Odysseus?There is no mortal half so wise; no mortalgave so much to the lords of open sky.

master mind of war

But my own heart is broken for Odysseus

grey-eyed goddess Athena

And yet Aigísthosknew that his own doom lay in this. We godshad warned him, sent down Hermês Argeiphontês,our most observant courier, to say:‘Don’t kill the man, don’t touch his wife,or face a reckoning with Orestês

Yet all the gods had pitied Lord Odysseus,all but Poseidon, raging cold and roughagainst the brave king

Her ladyship Kalypsoclung to him in her sea-hollowed caves—a nymph, immortal and most beautiful,who craved him for her own.

Muse

Lord Hêlios, the Sun,and he who moves all day through heaventook from their eyes the dawn of their return

for their own recklessness destroyed them al

You wereright, Sadie Wen. I am completely, helplessly obsessed with you.Love,Julius

All of which is to say I really hope this finds you.And I hope you find me too.

For ten years I thought I was preparing to destroy you,when really I was preparing to love you

When I was fourteen, I would stare up at my bedroomwalls and wonder what it was like to fall in love. Most of my inspirationcame from songs and the movies. But still, I imagined it. What it would belike to be someone who had somebody else. I would imagine tenderness.The concept of infinite. Of endless patience. Imagine them chasing after meeven when I run. Cradling my sorrows in the palm of their hands. Imaginethem caring, trying to understand.

Julius,

You’re so beautiful it enrages me

I want you to hold me like a grudge, keep me like apromise

Like, if this were a marriage, they’re already shopping around for the ring.And it’s occurring to me as I speak that that’s a weird analogy, but, like,whatever, because they’re interested.”

Is this one of those jokes where you say you’re thesurprise because your presence itself is a gift?”

I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, and even though I know we’ll bothbe exhausted tomorrow, we stay up talking until four in the morning, andwhen I finally do fall asleep, I feel lighter than I have in years.

“Even if I were mad at you, you can be mad at someone andstill love them.”

“I assure you, I’ve never once been tempted to smash a cake in somebody’sface,”

I want him to know he looks more beautiful than ever in the light, up close.I want to kiss him again, until all his doubts dissipate to nothing. I want totake away everything that’s ever hurt him. But for now, I simply smile athim. Hold out my hand.

Julius. His lips are swollen, his black hair rumpled fromwhere I’d run my fingers through it

He has a point. A very good one. And in either case, I don’t have thestrength to argue any further, because he’s kissing me again, and it’severything. It’s so, satisfyingly perfect. It’s as if I’ve been suffocating insilence for days, months, years, and now I can finally inhale. Nothing hasever made as much sense as his hands on my waist, his heart hammeringagainst my rib cage, the involuntary sound he makes when I adjust myposture, slide my hand farther down his neck to the hollow of hiscollarbones.He says my name, whispers it like it’s sacred. And just when I’m wonderinghow we could ever stop this, how I could ever do anything except listen tohis sharp intakes of breath, let him kiss me until my head goes fuzzy—

“It’s us, Sadie,” he says, like that’s answer enough. “When have we beenbad at anything?

“I know. Even when I wasimagining it—”“You imagined this?”He pauses, which feels like unfair punishment. Then he brings his lipsfirmly up to mine again. “Do you always pay such close attention toeverything people say?” he demands between short, uneven breaths.296“No. Only what you say.”A sharp intake of air. “You have to stop doing that, Sadie.”His hand tightens around my waist. “I won’t survive it.”

“Fine, then.” His breath warms the shell of my ear. Tickles my cheek.“Please.”I can feel my heart pounding. “What?”“Please, Sadie. I’m begging.”A triumphant grin splits over my face. “All right. I suppose, in that case—”He doesn’t even give me a chance to finish my sentence. His mouth is onmine in an instant, desperate, urgent.

His eyes widen, and he leans in, lips parted, his fingers trembling like mothwings over my cheeks. It’s clear what he wants, and I almost let him. ButI’m not going to make it that easy.I twist my head away. “I recall you saying you would rather die than kissme again.”He lets out a soft, half- stifled groan, and the sound shoots straight throughmy bloodstream. Makes my pulse quicken.“God, you really know how to hold a grudge.”“They’re your words, not mine,” I tell him, refusing to sway.“You’re killing me now,” he murmurs against my neck. His lips graze myskin, and his other hand slides up, tangles in my hair, his nails lightlyscraping my scalp. Despite myself, I feel my resolve buckle. “Isn’t thatenough?”“No.” I try to ignore it. The heat in my veins. The crisp scent of him,peppermint and rain. For once I have all the power, and I’d be a fool to let itgo without putting up a good fight— no matter how badly I want him to justkiss me.

“I choose you,” I say quietly, glad for the shadows conceal-ing my flushedcheeks. For the support of the wall behind me.“You’ll always be my first choice, Julius Gong.”“Really?”294“Really.”

He doesn’t seem to hear me at first. He’s still talking, rambling really, thewords flowing out like rainwater. “I can’t always say pretty things, andsometimes I tease you when really I just want you to look my way, and—

“Of course, if you . . . if you don’t want to,” he says into the silence, slidinghis gaze away from me, “I can accept that. I won’t bring it up again. I knowI’m not . . . I know what I’m like. That I’m infuriating. And selfish. Andcruel. I know I’m not perfect the way my brother is, and I manage todisappoint my parents every time. It’s okay if you don’t choose me, really—I never expected to be the first choice. I wouldn’t blame you—”“I do choose you.”

“You had to write those awful emails,” he continues, lowering himselfdown next to me. Except he’s kneeling, and he’s still too close. I’mconvinced he can hear my heart thrumming. “You had to kiss me then kickme then fill my head with your voice.293You made it clear— so, terribly clear— how much you hate me.That I’m the last person in the world you would ever consider.But I kept looking for signs that would suggest otherwise. I kept wonderingif it was still possible. Because I’m willing to lose everything,” he says, hiseyes blacker than the surrounding darkness, than the sky outside, “so longas I don’t lose you.”

“I mean, nothing has even really happened between us,” he says hoarsely,“and already it’s hard for me to concentrate whenever you’re around. Mybrother was right, in a sense, about you being a distraction, except you’re somuch more than that.I can’t pretend to care about the things that once interested me. I can’t fallasleep. I play through every look you’ve ever cast in my direction. I readthrough your emails over and over until they’re carved into my memory.You did this to me,” he says, and there’s a rough, bitter edge to his voicenow, nearly an accusation.

“You have to understand . . . If you knew the effect you had 292on me, how often I think about you, the things I would do for you . . . Iwouldn’t stand a chance against you ever again. You would have takeneverything from me,” he goes on in a rush, like the words are burning himfrom within, like he has to get it out before the pain becomesoverwhelming. “Not just a debating championship or some points for a testor a fancy award or a spot in a competition— but my whole heart. Mypride. God, my sanity. It would be all over. You would annihilate me.”

There were only two possible explanations for why you were acting theway you were, and the other seemed too unlikely. And I was— scared.”

He grabs my other wrist. Locks both ofthem together with one hand, pins them to the wall behind me, high abovemy head.“Hold. Still.”

“Sorry, I was walking past their dorm room and kind of over-heard a bit oftheir conversation— I left just as Julius showed up to her room though. SoI’m guessing he likes her.”“Whose room?”“Abigail’s room.”“Wait, Julius likes Abigail?”“No, Julius likes Sadie. They just share the same room.”“Him and Sadie?”“ No— Oh my god, this is why you’re so behind on gossip.”

“Why am I so behind on the gossip? How did I miss this?”

My head jerks up against my will. This is what I mean about the sickness,because only somebody who is utterly unwell would hear that one word andwonder: No, what? No, there’s more?No, he doesn’t wish to leave? No, he doesn’t like me?

Sadie.”I freeze. Because this time, it’s not coming from Abigail. It’s a low, malevoice, coming from behind me.

“I sent them.”

a fish bone had gotten lodged in my throat. Instead of making abig deal out of it and trying to cough it out in front of thirty- six people Iwas directly or indirectly related to, I’d chosen to swallow it inward, toquietly absorb the pain as the bone scraped its way down while I sat thereand smiled. Nobody could have guessed that something was wrong.

Look away. But I can sense his gaze on me for the rest of the movie.It’s the longest movie I’ve ever seen

It’s easier to watch him while he’s watching the screen.

I am okay. Completely okay. I’m okay when I stomp up to the cabinbathrooms and stand under the hot spray of the shower, letting the heat meltthe ice from my bones, scraping the mud from my skin with such force itleaves behind angry red nail marks. I’m okay when I slather my hair withtoo much shampoo and close my eyes against the water like it’s pouringrain; when I sob into the palm of my hand, alone where nobody can hearme.

“Are you okay?” she worries. “Do you want me to punch him for you?”

and I see him swallow, the rising bump in his throat.

“You’re the worst,” I tell him, my lips bare inches from his, neither of usretreating. It’s torture, blistering agony. It feels like 264I’m being burned alive. “You make me sick. You make me so violentlyangry sometimes, I could—” I want to continue, but the burning sensationspreads to my eyes, my nose. I won’t cry. I won’t be weak in front of him.My fingers curl hard into the collar of his shirt, to make the sentiment clear

I can feel the heat of hisbreath against my lips when he says,“I hate you more.”“That’s impossible.”His smile is a sneer. “I promise it isn’t.”

“Take it back,” I tell him quietly, amazed by my self- control.What I really want is to shove him out of the boat, to throttle him with mybare hands. “I’m going to give you one chance to take everything you saidback.”His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.“God, Julius—” I cut myself off, bitterness creeping over my tongue.There’s something so presumptuous, so condescending about it, that hewould twist my sincerity into some sort of charity. That while I’ve beentrying to see the best in him, he’s been assuming the worst of me. “Youknow what? I hate you,”

“Don’t I?” he says, and he sounds perfectly confident in himself, hisskewed judgment. “You’re so fixated on being nice, aren’t you? The

“You don’t have to pity me,” he says in a low voice, and my brain goesblank. “This is why I didn’t want you to meet my brother, and you shouldn’thave been listening to our conversation to begin with. You shouldn’t takeany of the stuff he says seriously, especially the stuff about you. I really—”His fingers form closed fists. “There’s nothing— nothing I resent more thanwhen people feel sorry for me. Because I don’t need it. I’m fine.I’m perfect.”

I crash gracelessly against him inside the canoe, hisbody pressed to the seat, mine pressed to his.

I pick up the paddle easily, tightening my grip around the rough wood. “Justteach me how to row this thing.

It’s not as if I was ever certain I could be his first choice. But knowing thatI’m his last choice— it’s a twist of a knife in the gut.

Julius grins back at her. My nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms, myhurt hardening into rage. It’s not Rosie I’m angry at though. It’s him. It’salways him

ecause for whatever cursed reason, there aremultiple paintings of naked clowns hung up in every room, right on opendisplay for everyone to see

high- pitched, strangled sound escapes mymouth.His brows furrow. “Sorry?”“I was just— saying hi,” I say brightly. “In greeting. Hello.”He shoots me a weird look and walks right past me without another word.And I’ve decided I would like to stop existing

there’snothing warm or gentle about it at all. This is a violent intrusion, my ownbody revolting against me. There are no butterflies in my stomach, onlyscorpions.

She’s sipping a drink that’s more whipped cream than actual liquid

Evidence like: He ran the race for me when I felt like I was dying. Like: Hestayed behind with me after the party, and he’s 243never shown any particular interest in sweeping floors before, so there musthave been another reason. Like: Max said so when he came into the bakeryafter school, and didn’t his brother say that he’d been searching for ourbakery? Like: There was a very brief moment four and a half weeks agowhen he gazed over at me so tenderly I felt my breath catch.

But I always start with the evidence first. I gothrough the information I already have, the facts I find the most compelling,that will most likely stand out to an examiner.Only after that do I pick my argument. Otherwise it’s a futile practice, awaste of precious writing time; it doesn’t matter what you believe in, orwant to believe in, if you’re not supported by the data.

“It was going to be,” I say grimly. “But Julius rejected the idea on the termsthat it would be too romantic— and yes, I know, the irony is occurring tome as we speak.”“He really shot himself in the foot with that one, huh?

“I was genuinely attracted to a cartoon lion at thirteen.Like, something about his claws really worked for me.”

“It’s Julius, isn’t it?” Abigail says. “You’re talking about Julius Gong.”

I always go back and overanalyze everything he’s said, andwhat I’ve said. I want to leave a good impression

ut on days whenhe’s not there, I’m also disappointed

A thousand emotions swim in his eyes, one tied to another:gratitude and resentment for his gratitude and something else. “Sadie,” hesays, quiet, his voice pitched only for the space between us. “I . . .”

“How touching, that my little brother has a girl outhere protecting his dignity. This is really very sweet.”

The irony is thatfor the first time, I’m not angry at him; I’m angry because of him. Becausethe only person who should be allowed to attack him is me

“Are you unable to stop yourself from being irritating when I’m literallydefending you?” I hiss.

Iwould hate to see you getting distracted and losing your wits over some girland letting all your work go to waste—

I saw your search results.

y giving you some advice

Julius just smiles

His gaze flits to me as the girl types out her name, like he wants tomake sure I’m watching,

“You’ve been moping because of a boy, last I heard,” he whispers againstmy ear. Heat rushes up my neck, gathering around the point where I canfeel his lips. “Who is it? Do I know him?”

are you the one who rejected my sister? Is that why she’s been somopey?”“What?” I hiss.“What?” Julius asks, stiffening at once. His gaze flickers to me

“Are you here to select bread,or a future wife? What’s taking so long?”His smile is sharp, taunting. “The latter.”

“Did you get rejected by a boy orsomething?

It’s the kind of scoresomeone like Ray would be over-joyed with.

Ijust want to be difficult. I just want him to keep talking to me

in over a month.

“Congratulations, Sadie. The torture is over.”

We won’t even have to speak to each otherever again.”A strange look crosses his face. “I know that.”

“Your wish is my command,” he says sweetly. Sweetly enough that I stareup at him and stumble over my thoughts and fall headfirst into his trap.“You really like that, don’t you?” He starts laughing again as my faceoverheats. “So you are the type—”

You literally need a helmet and a harness just to climb intobed.”“Which definitely solves the hooking-up problem,” he says.“Don’t sound so certain. Some people are into that kind of thing.”

“Not even if they did this?” he asks quietly, and he leans forward. All atonce he’s too close, overwhelmingly close. I’m frozen to the spot as hepauses on purpose, his mouth bare inches from the base of my neck, so Ican feel his breath trembling against my skin. “Do you need me todemonstrate further?”A low, hoarse sound escapes my lips. It could be a protest or a plea; I don’tknow anymore. I don’t know anything.“What was that, Sadie?” he presses, lowering himself by just anotherfraction of an inch—I shove him away. “I get it. ” My heart is still beating at an abnormal rate,heat coursing furiously through my veins. Yet even worse than my fear ofwhat might’ve happened is the disappointment that it didn’t. And the fearthat he can somehow sense my disappointment, the itch in my skin fromwhere his mouth had hovered seconds earlier. Only physical attraction, Iremind myself sternly. It must be some kind of unfortunate side effectleftover from the kiss at the party. “I get it, okay? You didn’t have to makeyour case in such a disgusting manner.”Something shifts in his expression. Then he smiles, and it’s as smug as ever.“Are you admitting that I’m right?”

t’s not like they’re going to try and sneak off into the cabins to make outjust because the view’s pretty and someone touched their hair—”

let me set the scene for you. It’s sunset, the sky is the perfect shade of pink,the air just warm enough that you can slip out of your sweater and set itdown on the sand like a towel. You can hear the waves lapping against theshore, taste the salt on your tongue. There’s music playing softly fromsomeone’s phone speaker. You’re sitting next to the person you’ve beeneyeing for the whole semester, and when a breeze rises and messes up yourhair, he lifts his hand and . . .”

“That one of us will drop dead and the school will end up involved in along, painful, costly lawsuit despite the fact that they made all our parentssign that form that says in very fine print that nobody is to blame if we’reinjured, abducted, or murdered.”

It would be great if youcould get this organized as soon as possible and hand me a proposaltomorrow morning.”

“All of this is to say that Julius is lovely,” I say quickly.“And Sadie is the light of my life,” Julius says, his lip curling, even thoughthere’s an odd note to his tone. Something that could be confused forsincerity. “The sun in my sky, the source of all my joy. She’s the reason Iwake up every morning excited to go to my classes. Not a day goes bywhere I’m not grateful that she exists, that she’s there, that I get to talk toher and pass her in the halls and listen to her laugh.”I’m concerned he’s gone a bit too far with the irony, but Principal Millerlooks convinced. No, he even looks moved.

“She’s right. I help her all the time.”I let out a high- pitched laugh. “Although, of course, I help him plenty aswell, seeing as I’m much more familiar with the syllabus than he is—”“But only because I’m so busy doing the advanced questions.”Julius’s grin is so wide it looks like it hurts. There’s a visible muscletwitching in his jaw. “And because I don’t find memorizing the syllabus tobe an effective study method, although I concede that it may be beneficialfor those with a rudimentary understanding of the content—”207“Which is exactly the kind of thinking that could lead some people,” I sayin a bright voice, squeezing my fingers together under the desk, “to losethree marks on an important test and then complain that the topic wasn’tcovered, when it was actually stated in black and white.”

We’re so close now. We’re basically best friends.”“The best of friends.” Julius nods fast. “We hang out even when we’re notat school. She’s the first person I think of when something goes well andwhen something goes wrong. We even finish each other’ s—”“Math questions,” I say. “He’s been a great help in class.”

“You’re looking great today, Principal Miller,” Julius says.I’m almost impressed by his ability to dive straight into such shamelessflattery at any given moment. It’s way too early in the morning for this. “Isthat a new tie?”

he adds, carelessly, “Consider it compensation for all the awards I’ve takenfrom you.”My gratitude curdles into a scoff on my tongue, and he laughs at the look onmy face.“You’re welcome,” he says.“For being cocky?”“That too.”But I slide the medal into my back pocket, and even though I can’t decidewhat it really means— a gift, a form of compensation, proof of something— it’s somehow one of the best things I’ve ever received.

It’s prettierthan any necklace I’ve ever seen

When Julius crosses the finish line alone, the indisputable winner, to wildroars from the spectators, a grin splits over my face.

“I’ll give you the medal as a present,” he says, already turning around. “Justwait.”

You’re always insistent on coming first in everything, but when it comesdown to it, you’re ready to put yourself last just to please other people—”“The others need me to,” I protest, confused why we’re even having thisconversation. “They didn’t want to race so—”“Screw the others,” he says fiercely. The heat in his voice shocks me. Burnsme to the core. “I don’t care about them. I only care about

“Then why are you blushing?” Julius asks.

I remember the wanting, the dangerous knife point of desire, the need to dosomething foolish and reckless with him. Now that I’m completely sober,it’s easy to dismiss it all as pure, physical attraction. It makes scientificsense. The alcohol would have helped me ignore the many defects of hispersonality, until all that was left was his geometrically pleasing features,

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds.I stare. “For what?”“The dare at your party.” He grins. “Never imagined you and Julius wouldbe so into it.”

“As soon as my feet start moving very fast,” he says, “my heart just startsbeating wildly, and my vision goes all blurry. It’s like being on a rollercoaster. Or in a race car. The speed at which the world rushes past me isterrifying.”

The fact that she’s even asking is proof she’s just suffered a terrible blow toher self- esteem.

“The reason she and Liam were fighting was because she found out he’sbeen cheating on her. Not just with one person, but multiple people.”

We weren’t in love with each other. We weresimply polite

like glitter in the carpet, a winestain on a favorite dress

Nobody, I realize. But nobody ever had to tell me.

There’s nothing I want more than for time to be a physical thing, somethingI can split into two with my own hands, so I can turn it around, shatter it,undo all the consequences

“No! Bro, I swear—”“I’m not your bro

What if we kissed again?

I want him to say it again. I wish he’d never said it.

your comb breaks and you run out of whatever expensive hair productsyou’ve been using to make your hair appear deceptively soft when I’m sureit’s not, because there’s nothing soft about you, anywhere at all.”

. So I give in to the impulseand lean forward, smoothing his hair. “It’s so soft.Even softer than it looks,” I murmur, playing with a dark lock of it betweentwo fingers. He’s gone very still before me, his pupils black and dilated. Ican feel the air ripple with his next expelled breath, almost a pained sigh. “Ialways did like your hair.”“I thought you hated it,” he says. His voice is scratchy, like he’s swallowedsand

“It’s really obvious here,” I say, tracing out the line ofhis collarbone with one fingertip. Even his skin is unnaturally hot.Something flashes over his face. He wets his lower lip and steps back.

“You also didn’t seem too sorry about . . .” He trails off on purpose, but hiseyes flicker down to my lips. Linger there, for a beat too long.This is something else I know I’ll always remember, no matter how hard Itry to scrub it from my memory, to pretend otherwise.That I had kissed Julius Gong.That I’d kissed him, and wanted it

They only make it in servings of two, so now . . . now Inever order it. Because I don’t have anyone to share it with.”Because having one parent is enough.

It’s an old family photo, taken ten years ago. We’re at a hot pot restaurant,the four of us squeezed around the round table, the plates spread out in frontof us. Max is little more than a kid, his hair spiky and his cheeks round.He’s wearing that basketball jersey he loved so much he’d refuse to take itoff even to wash the toothpaste stains on the front. My mom’s dressed up inher favorite cardigan and turtleneck, her raven hair curled and styled in away it hasn’t been since that night. And my dad’s gazing over at me withsuch pride that it hurts to inhale. We look . . . happy. It must be the world’sgreatest magic show; it’s so convincing, even if it’s false. Made up. Make-believe. Because less than a month after the photo was taken, he had left

I can’t focus on anything else. I can’t just forget about it and go on with myown life. It’s like there’s something hard wedged inside my chest. I’llalways feel guilty. I’ll always want to make amends.”He doesn’t reply, and I realize I’ve said way too much.“Forget it,” I mumble. “You won’t understand.”“I’m trying to.”

He simply rolls up his sleeves and startssmoothing out the cushions on the couch.

Everyone said he was attractive.”

“What about this, then?” I challenge, and before he can reply, I grab thecollar of his shirt and pull him to me.This time, when our lips meet, I don’t back away. I deepen the kiss, lettingmy fingers slide up his neck, curl into his hair. For one moment, I can feelhis shock, the tension running through his frame like a heated wire, and Ithink: I’ve won. I’ve proven him wrong. Then he kisses me back, pressesme closer, and something inside me slides off- balance.

Julius touches a finger to his lips like he can’t quite believe it either. Thenhe straightens. Cocks his head, his eyes black with cool amusement. “Youcall that a kiss?” he says on a scoff. His voice comes out lower than usual,and I can see the effort in the movement of his throat. “That was barelyanything.”

I let my anger carve away my nerves and close my eyes and kiss him. It’s sofast, so light that I only have time to register the startling softness of his lips

ut his expression is unreadable. He shows no outwardemotion, and somehow that’s worse. Maybe that’s how little it affects him,how little it means.Maybe that’s how little I matter.

“We’ve decided. We dare you . . . to kiss Julius.”

“Okay, then . . . Do you like anyone?”It has nothing to do with me, but my heart seizes as if I’ve just beenelectrocuted. I’m blinking too fast, sitting up too straight.I can’t control my body, can’t control the weird, nervous feeling flutteringthrough my veins. Can’t stop myself from looking at him as if I can find theanswer written over his face.For the briefest second, he looks back at me.

He hesitates. Runs a slow, self- conscious hand through his hair. “Does it . .. really look bad? My clothes, I mean.”I’m dumbfounded— as much by the question as the fact that he’s askingme. “You look how you always look, Julius,” I manage.His eyes are wary. “And what is that?”

“Cute outfit, Julius Caesar. Are you planning on heading toa job interview soon? Because with that blazer, I’m sure they’d hire you.

“How sad. You’re not wanted in your own home? You have to come botherme in mine?”He flinches, then rights himself again with cool poise. The twist of hismouth turns cruel. “Well, if I can make your night a little worse, why not?I’ll at least have accomplished something here.”

I simply didn’t have anywhere better to go

He looks just as confused, as if someone else had guided him to my house.He’s certainly not dressed for a party; he’s wearing a navy blazer that bringsout the darkness of his eyes, the natural red tint of his lips. But then hisfeatures wrap themselves into a perfect little scowl, and he stuffs his handsinto his pockets, straightens his spine. “The same thing as everyone else,”he says.

“Although, just to put it out there,even if you were a serial killer, I would absolutely stick by you and sharpenyour knives.”“How sweet.”“I’d also clean the blood off your bathroom floor,” she adds brightly. “I wasreading this fascinating article the other day about how to use basic laundrydetergents to do just that. You wouldn’t have to worry about leaving behindany evidence.”

As someone who’s a strong advocate of saving up just in case a cometcrashes into our house and insurance refuses to cover it, it’s a bit harder forme to enjoy the elaborate bouquets of flowers and chocolate fountainAbigail’s bought for this one occasion. I

he wrotedown lawyer

The kid who wanted to be a playwright now wants to be anaccountant. The boy who wanted to be an astronaut now plans on becominga pharmacist. The one who wanted to be an artist now has their sights set onmed school.Hobbies are traded for more stable, lucrative, practical careers.

But my fingers itch the whole way home, and for the rest of day, as I closeup the bakery and do my daily workout routine and finish my homeworkand brush my teeth, I can’t think about anything except him.

I begin to shove everything in my bag, but he adds, “I hear you’re throwinga party this weekend?”My hands freeze over my notebook. “Is there a problem with that?”“So you really are. Hosting a party.” He stretches the last word out like it’ssomething ridiculous, like I’m planning to house an elephant or organize aChristmas feast in late April. “Why?”“Because I feel like it,” I say, defensive. I’m lying, of course, but I’m moreoffended by the implication that I can’t be the kind of person who’d throw aparty for fun. That he thinks he has me all figured out. That I’m an openbook to him, and he can read me easily, better than anybody else.

You don’t have to feel bad just because I’m naturallygood at it. If anything, you should be encouraged by the fact that we sharethe same genes. It’s impossible for you to be terrible, even if you aren’tquite as good—

Even though I’m talking to him, I’m watching Julius. He appears to bemuttering something to himself— either kill me,

A soft, half- muffled sound draws my attention to Julius. He’s pressed ahand to the lower half of his face, his shoulders shaking, then stilling justfor a second before he loses it again, shaking his head too, as if he’sannoyed he finds it so funny in the first place.

is glasses are, apparently, framesonly; his fingers pass right through them.

I want to know if Julius was afraid of the dark when he was younger. If heever believed in ghosts or Santa or the Loch Ness monster. I want to knowwhere he studies, whether it’s by the light of the living room window oralone in his bedroom, if he keeps the door wide open or closed. I want toknow what he would dress up as for Halloween, what song he picks out at121karaoke. How early he rises, how late he sleeps. What dishes their mothercooks for the Spring Festival, what he talks about on long car rides. I wantto collect these pieces of information like ammunition. Part of me wants toembarrass him, and part of me is simply, overwhelmingly curious.

Moleskine

On the very first day,he’d sent me an incredibly difficult equation from some kind of advanceduniversity paper as a challenge. I’d solved it just to spite him, and dugthrough all the papers available online to find something even trickier, andsent that back. We’d then fallen into the habit of exchanging questionsevery morning. We never said anything else. Just the screenshot, and theanswer. One blow traded for another. He would respond back each timewithout fail, and we’d kept it up all the way until school started again.

Intimidatingly smart. I hold on to those words, examine them up close. I’venever thought of myself as intimidating or scary, yet it feels like the greatestcompliment. A confirmation of my wildest hopes.

I conceal my surprise. I’d thought he was grossly exaggerating when he toldme on the phone that his little brother talks about me all the time. But then Inotice the crimson color creeping up Julius’s neck, and the only logicalexplanation for it is that whatever he’s said is either terrible, or wonderful.“What has he said about me?”

even when my schedule is packed.”

“You’re accusing me of being too happy?” I forget to lower my voice thistime, and the elderly woman shoots me a glare over the top of her historicalromance novel. I mouth an apology and continue in a fierce whisper,“That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing.”“Acting too happy,” he corrects, his gaze piercing. “When I don’t reallythink you are.”My chest burns, like the words have squeezed their way inside 116and peeled the flesh from my heart. But I can’t let it show. “You don’t knowme that well,” I mutter.

you sound like you’re in an adver-tisement fororganic fruit juice. It’s overly cheery.”

To my surprise, he laughs. “Oh, I know you. You’re the other captain, right?My little brother talks about you all the time.”I falter. Beside me, Julius has gone very still, his complexion pale. “Your . .. little brother?”“Yeah,” James says breezily. “My brother, Julius Gong.”

Something about the tone, the inflection of the words, the faint rasp at theedges.

everytime someone’s yelled at me, every embarrassment and failure anddisappointment.

I laugh, which seems to please him

Go on. You’re not going to let her curse at you fornothing, are you?

Julius stares down at the phone like it might grow teeth and bite him. Forthe first time, he looks wildly uncomfortable, a flush spreading up the

I wish I wasn’t the kind of person who wasalways so sensitive to other people’s shifting moods and tones, who startleswhen someone raises their voice even a little, who cowers when someoneelse gets annoyed