โSometimes your body knows before your mind does.โ
My skin tingles all the way to the school cafรฉ at lunch, even though I canโt place a finger onย why. On the surface, everything is the same: the crisp chill in the air, the students lining up outside for warm bagels and hot chocolate, blowing into their hands and wrapping their blue-and-white
scarves tighter around their necks while they wait.
But somethingโs different. Somethingโs changed.
โDo you feel that?โ I ask Abigail as we join the back of the line. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, throwing wide swaths of golden light over the courtyard.
โFeel what?โ
โI donโt know,โ I murmur, glancing around me. My eyes lock with some girl from a lower year level. Her gaze lingers on my face a beat, as if in confirmation, before she twists her head away and whispers something to her friend, her hand covering her mouth.ย Itโs not about you, I tell myself.
Thereโs literally no reason why theyโd be talking about you.ย But a sick feeling spreads over my rib cage. โI just . . . feel like people are staring.โ
โMaybe itโs because of how gorgeous we are.โ Abigail tosses her glossy hair over her shoulder. โI would stare at us too.โ
โYour confidence is inspiring,โ I say, โbut somehow, I doubt thatโs it . . .โ
We shuffle forward, and it happens again. Another girl catches my eye, then pointedly looks in the other direction.
โWell, darling, youย areย school captain,โ Abigail says. โPeople are going to notice you, right? I thought youโd be used to it by now.โ
And people do notice me. Itโs why I campaigned so hard to be elected school captain in the first place, why Iโve thrown myself into delivering
speeches at assembly and sending out mass reminders about fundraising
events and conducting student surveys the principal only pretends to read. Well, that, and because I knew it would look great on my Berkeley application, and because Iโd heard that Julius was running for captain, and anything he did I had to do as well. But right now people are doing more thanย noticing.ย In my peripheral vision, I see someone Iโve never spoken to before point straight at me.
โOkay,โ I say, my uneasiness growing. โMaybe Iโm being paranoid, but I seriously thinkโโ
โWhat theย hell?โ
I whip around to find Rosie, of all people, storming up to us. No, toย me.ย Her eyes are narrowed, her phone gripped in one hand. Sheโs only five foot one, so tiny that our classmates sometimes like to lift her up for fun, but thereโs nothing small or delicate about her as she plants herself firmly to the ground in front of me.
My mind goes blank. All I can think is:ย What is happening?
โIs there, like, something you want to say to my face?โ she asks, her voice hard, accusing. โDo you have a problem with me, Sadie?โ
โWhat?โ I stare at her. The gears in my head are still turning frantically, trying to produce a single reason why Rosie would go from calling me a saint to acting like Iโve just run over her dog within the span of two classes. Is this about the notes? Had she wanted them earlier? But it canโt just be that. Up close, her lips are quivering, all the muscles in her jaw clenched.ย โI donโtโ Of course not. I donโt have any problem with youโโ
โI thought you were nice.โ Sheโs speaking louder and louder, her
features animated with rage. โAnd even if you did have beef with me, you shouldโve told meย in privateย before blasting it out to everyone.โ
A hush has fallen over the courtyard, heads turning to watch.
โI donโt know whatโs going on,โ I tell her, half pleading. Acid churns in my stomach. I hate it when people are mad at me. I hate it, I hate it, I canโt
stand it. โI swear, itโs probably a misunderstandingโโ โYeah, sure.โ
โIโm notโโ
โAre you really going to pretend it wasnโt you?โ
โHey,โย Abigail snaps, stepping before me, her arm raised to block my body. But even then, Iโm shaking, my teeth chattering so loudly I can feel the echo reverberating in my skull. I want to fold in on myself, disappear
into the ground.ย Donโt be mad, I want to say, as pathetic as it sounds.ย I donโt know whatโs going on, but please just donโt be mad. Because it might be
Rosie standing here now, but in my head itโs someone else. Footsteps storming out the living room and the slam of the door, like a thunderclap, the rumble of the engine, then the horrible, crushing quiet. Thatโs what
happens when people get angry. They leave, permanently, and they forget you, and thereโs no going back.
โDid you or did you not,โ Rosie says, holding her phone up close to my face, โwrite this?โ
With difficulty, I take in the email loaded onto the screen, and the world falls away from me.
I can hear my own ragged breathing, my blood pounding in my ears.
I recognize every word, because I did write it. I can even remember
where I was, slumped against my bedroom wall and fuming. Rosie had sent out a mass email to everyone in the year about throwing a party to celebrate winning the science fair.ย Guess you can all call me a nerd now, sheโd joked. And next thing I knew I was typing out a reply faster than my fingers could keep up.ย Thisย reply:
If youโre going to steal someoneโs project and take all the credit, you could at least have the decency to not flaunt it around like you actually had anything to do with it. Since when did you even care about science? Since when did you care about any of your subjects at all? You spend most of class texting people and online shopping and watching videos of cats and then when the assignment actually
comes around, you decide you can just leech off my work? Just because I didnโt say anything at the time doesnโt mean I didnโt knowโ
โWell?โ Rosie demands.
โIt shouldnโt be there,โ I whisper, my fingers tingling. My whole body feels numb. It shouldnโt be there. It shouldnโt. Itย canโt be. The email was
meant to be in my drafts, for my eyes only. But the truth is staring me in the face. For god knows what reason, my draft was sent out, and not just to her.
It was sent via Reply All,ย which means everyone included in her original emailโeveryone in the year levelโwould have received it.
And then a new, terrifying possibility dawns on me.
Itโs so terrible that my heart shuts down. My blood runs cold.
Oh godโ
The crowd shifts, and the last person I want to see right now appears. He doesnโt even have to push his way through; he simply walks forward, his head lifted, and everyone parts for him, offering up all the space he needs.
Julius brushes past Rosie and Abigail like theyโre not even there and stops before me. His eyes blaze black, but the rest of his features are pure ice. And all at once, my worst fears are confirmed.
โSadie,โ he says, his voice more a rasp than its normal drawl. He says my name like itโs poison, like it costs him something. โCome with me.โ
Then he stalks off, without even glancing back to check if Iโm following.
โข โข โข
I do follow.
I donโt want to, but itโs either that or stay behind and let Rosie yell at me while everyone stares.
My face feels raw when Julius finally slows down in the school gardens. Weโre a good distance away from the cafรฉ and the basketball
courts, and thereโs nobody else around. Itโs pretty here, I observe through my panic, with ivy crawling over the fences and winter roses blooming in the background. Thereโs even a small pond, glittering amid the greenery. When the school first built the gardens, theyโd brought in a duck as well, but then a fox snuck in at night and killed it, and people were so upset that we held a funeral. Everyone attended, and one of the boys in my year level wept, and the duck ended up being buried in the grass.
Actually, I think the duck might have been laid to rest right under the spot Iโm standing.
โIโll have you know,โ Julius begins, low and furious, โthat I wasย not
named after a Roman dictator.โ
Iโm so disoriented, so shaken still, that I can only say: โYou werenโt?โ โAbsolutely not.โ
โWhat . . . were you named after, then?โ
โA printing company,โ he says, then pauses, like he regrets volunteering this information. โBut thatโs beside the point.โ
It takes me a moment to realize what heโs referring to.ย A Roman
dictator.ย My emails. In one of the many angry emails Iโd written to him, I had mocked his name.ย Your parents must be so proud, Iโd said.ย Youโre really living up to your namesake.
โNo,โ I whisper, my stomach swooping low. โNo, no, no, no. No. No
โโ
โHow long have you been planning this?โ he asks, pressing in with both
his voice and his body. He leans forward. I shift back, the bristles of a low thornbush scraping my spine. But I would gladly let the thorns pierce my skin if it could hide me from this mess. None of this should be happening. โThere were forty-two emails addressed to me. The earliest dated back toย nine years ago.โ
โYou read all of them?โ Suddenly, I would like to trade positions with the dead duck. โIโ How? When?โ
โYouโre askingย me?โ he demands. โYou were the one who sent them.
Imagine my surprise when I open my laptop at the start of physics class and
my inbox isย floodedย with emails from you. If I missed out on crucial content because I was preoccupied with your many insults to my character, I hope you know that youโre entirely to blame.โ
โNo,โ Iโm still trying to say, repeating myself over and over as if I can somehow change reality through the sheer force of my denial.ย โNo.โ
โWere you saving them up this entire time? Waiting for the right moment to strike?โ
โI wasnโt.โ
โYou werenโt what?โ And unlike Rosie, he actually waits for me to answer.
โIโI didnโt mean to send those emails,โ I tell him. Iโm afraid Iโm going to faint, or throw up, or both. โI justโ A lot is going on right now. But I donโt know how they got to you. I really . . . I swear, you have to believe me. You were never supposed to get them.โ
His dark eyes roam over my face, and the air in my lungs stills. The way heโs looking at meโitโs like he can see everything, every terrible, ugly thought thatโs ever flickered through my mind, every impulse and fantasy, every lie and insecurity. โI believe you,โ he says at last, evenly.
Iโm so surprised I almost canโt speak. โYou . . . do?โ
โI believe that youโd never want anyone else to read those emails,โ he says, folding his arms across his chest, the angles of his face sharp and hostile. โThat would go against yourย good studentย reputation, right? You would never be that brave,โ he adds with a scoff. โYouโre too fake.โ
It feels like someoneโs held a torch to my cheeks. Everything in me burns. โYou think Iโm fake?โ
โYou donโt think you are?โ He cocks his head. โYou go around smiling and charming the teachers and agreeing to anything anyone asks of you like youโre some kind of angel, and then you go back and write your secret little emails about how much you hate my guts and wish to strangle meโโ
โItโs called being nice,โ I cut in.
โYes, strangulation is very nice. Practically a peace offering.โ โThatโs not what Iโm saying.โ
He laughs, a cold, hard sound. โYou never say what you mean anyway.โ Thereโs a dangerous pressure building behind my eyes. I blink furiously,
squeeze my hands into fists, ignore the odd knot of pain in my throat. โYou canโt accuse me of being fake forย having basic manners.โ If this were any other day, I would stop here. Just short of getting into a real confrontation, of speaking my mind. But then I realize, with a burst of hysteria, that Julius already knows what I think. Thereโs no point pretending anymore when heโs seen the worst of me. Itโs almost liberating. โI know you donโt care about
anyone except yourself, and I know you can get away with it because youโreย you, but not all of us are built like that.โ
Something flashes over his face, and I falter.
Maybe I went too far. Maybe I was too harsh. As much as I hate him, the emails are still my fault. โI am sorry,โ I make myself say, my tone softening just a little. โI was really, really annoyed when I drafted those emails, so if they hurt your feelingsโโ
And as if Iโve hit a switch, his expression hardens. His mouth tugs up in a mocking smile, his black eyes glittering. When he exhales, I can see the ghost of his breath in the air between us. โHurt my feelings?โ He says it like a joke. โYou have far too high an opinion of yourself, Sadie. You arenโt
capable of hurting me. On the contrary . . . donโt you remember what you wrote?โ
An alarm goes off in my brain.
Danger. Retreat.
But Iโm frozen to the ground, only my heart galloping faster and faster. โFrom what I recall, you wrote two whole paragraphs protesting the
color of my eyes,โ he drawls, and I feel myself pale with horror. โTheyโre too dark, like those of a monster from the fairy tales. Like a lake you could drown in on the coldest day of winter. My lashes are too long, more fitting for a girlโs. I donโt deserve to be so pretty. My gaze is too sharp, too intense; you canโt hold it for long without being overwhelmed.โ He stares right at
me as he speaks, like he wants to see if itโs true, to witness his effect on me in real time. โYou said it makes it difficult for you to concentrate in class.โ
Iโve always resented Juliusโs perfect memory, but Iโve never resented it as much as I do in this instant.
โThatโs enough,โ I try to say.
But of course he wonโt listen to me. If anything, he only seems more determined to continue. โYou then wrote three hundred words ranting about my hands.โ He flexes his long fingers, examining them carefully. โI had no idea you paid such close attention to the way I held my pen or gripped the violin bow or how I looked when I was answering something on the board.โ
I unclench my jaw to defend myself, but I canโt think of a single solid defense. It really is every bit as mortifying as it sounds.
โYou know what I think?โ he murmurs, drawing so close his mouth skims my ear, his cruel face blurring in my vision. My breath catches. Goose bumps rise over my bare skin. โI think youโre obsessed with me, Sadie Wen.โ
Heat lashes through me. I move to shove him away, but my hands only hit hard, lean muscle, the flat planes of his chest. He laughs at me, and I want to kill him. I mean it with every cell in my body. Iโve never wanted to kill him so badly. I hate him so much that I could cry.
โGo away,โ I hiss.
โYou donโt have to be embarrassedโโ
I hardly ever raise my voice, but I do now. โGod, just leave me alone. Iโm so sick of you.โ It comes out even louder than I intended, cracking the serenity of the gardens, sounding over the treetops. My throat feels scraped open with the words.
He finally steps away then, his face impassive. โOh, donโt worry, I was already planning on leaving.โ Because it has to be his choice, not my command. Because he wonโt even give me this one small satisfaction.
I donโt watch him go. Instead I fumble for my phone in my skirt pocket and load up my emails.ย Maybe theyโre not all as terrible as I think, I attempt to reassure myself, though it sounds delusional, the voice of a girl
insisting the fire isnโt that big when her house is burning down before her.
Maybe youโre overreacting. Maybe the situation is still salvageable.
But then I open my first email to Julius from nine years ago, and a few sentences in, my insides turn to stone.
your a lier, Julius Gong.
when the Chinese teacher asked us for the idium for โwater and fire donโt mix,โ I answered at the same time you did!!!!!! How DARE you tell the teacher you were the one who got it right and not me??!!! How DARE YOU take MY gold stickre???? Who gave you the right, huh? you donโt deserv any stickers. your a very, very bad person, I donโt care how good other poeple think you are. Iโm gonna make you regret this so much youโll cry, just you wait.
My awful spelling at eight years old is almost as embarrassing as the content itself.
Desperate, I pull up another one. A Reply All response to an email
Julius had sent to the year level below, offering to sell his study material for an offensive sum only a day after Iโd offered upย myย notes for sale. My spelling here is better. The content is, objectively, worse.
Sometimes I dream about throttling you. I would do it slowly. I would do it when you werenโt ready, when you were relaxed. I imagine wrapping my hands around your long, pale throat and watching the fear bloom in your eyes. I imagine your skin turning red, your breathing quickening as you struggle. I want to watch you in pain, up close. I want you to beg me. I want you to admit you were wrong, that Iโve won. Maybe you would even sink to your knees for me. Plead for mercy. That would be fun, but even then, that wouldnโt be enoughโ
It takes all my self-restraint not to hurl my phone into the pond.
I squeeze my eyes shut so tight I see stars. I like to consider myself a smart person. I take great pride in knowing things, like whether a graph is
wonky, or when an answer is accurate, or which essay topic is going to work best.
But it doesnโt require much intelligence to know that Iโm completely, utterly screwed.