โโI canโt believe I didnโt know you had a brother,โ I tell Julius.โ
He makes the same face heโs been making all afternoonโa kind of pained grimace, like thereโs something sharp stuck to the sole of his leather shoes. โYeah, well, most people donโt.โ With one hand, he pulls open the
glass door to the bookstore and follows me inside. โWe donโt share the same family name, and he graduated six years ago. So.โ
โRight,โ I say, lowering my voice.
Itโs very quiet inside the store; you can hear the blaze of the fireplace,
the sound of rustling paper, the soft thud of a book being placed back onto a shelf. The displays at the front are lined with the most recent bestsellersโa mix of politiciansโ memoirs, brick-sized fantasy novels, and self-help books that contain expletives in the titleโand handwritten notes from the staff, gushing over their favorite picks for the season. The cream-colored walls
are decorated with recommendations too, as well as posters advertising a debut authorโs launch tomorrow.
At the back of the bookstore, past the Mystery and Thrillers section, the aisles open up to a mini cafรฉ. The aroma of fresh-ground coffee seeps through the air, layered over the distinct, smoky book scent Iโm used to smelling in our school library. There are only two tables available, and an elderly woman has already taken the one closest to the window, a plate of half-eaten raspberry cheesecake set down before her.
I sling my schoolbag over the chair by the other table and tug out my phone and laptop to take notes for the interview. Then I sit and cross my legs. And uncross them again.
โWhat?โ Julius asks as he sits down across from me. I stare back at him. โI literally didnโt say anything.โ
โI know you want to say something though,โ he presses. โYouโve been all weird and fidgety since lunch. Just get it out already.โ
My lips purse. The truth is that I am a little, kind of, just somewhat extremely curiousโor maybeย bewilderedย is the better word for it. Iโve
always conceived of Julius as a singular, self-sufficient entity, a lone force. I wouldnโt expect him to be aย brotherย to someone else, the same way I wouldnโt expect the mahogany table to have a sibling. Because that cracks open the door to thousands of other bizarre possibilities: of Julius as a young child, of Julius as a boy who goes on summer vacations and has
movie nights and family dinners, who wrestles his brother for the remote control or sulks in his room after a fight or goes on a hunt around the house for his favorite shirt. It makes him feel too real, too human.
But thatโs not the only strange thing about this discovery.
โWhy . . . are your surnames different?โ I ask, then wonder if this is a
sensitive topic. Maybe their parents are divorced. Maybe he comes from an incredibly complicated background, where his mom isnโt really his mom or his dad is his brotherโs dad but not actually his dad or something. That would explain whyย heโsย been moody ever since his brother agreed to do the interview with us after school.
โMy mother didnโt think it was fair for us to both take my fatherโs last name,โ he says with a shrug. โSo when I was born, she gave me hers.โ
โI kind of love that, actually.โ
He gives me a long, almost defensive look. โAre you being sarcastic?โ โNo,โ I say, annoyed. โNot all of us are incapable of expressing
sincerely positive sentiments, Julius.โ
โIt can be hard to tell, with your usual tone.โ โWhatโs wrong with my tone?โ
He raises his brows. โMost of the time when youโre talking to peopleโ teachers, especiallyโyou sound like youโre in an advertisement for organic fruit juice. Itโs overly cheery.โ
โYouโre accusing me of beingย too happy?โ I forget to lower my voice this time, and the elderly woman shoots me a glare over the top of her
historical romance novel. I mouth an apology and continue in a fierce whisper, โThatโs ridiculous. Thereโs no such thing.โ
โActing too happy,โ he corrects me, his gaze piercing. โWhen I donโt really think you are.โ
My chest burns, like the words have squeezed their way inside and peeled the flesh from my heart. But I canโt let it show. โYou donโt know me that well,โ I mutter.
I expect a sharp retort, a kick to follow the punch, but he sits back.
Clears his throat. โSorry,โ he says, looking uncomfortable. โI . . . That was unnecessary. Iโm justโโ A sigh drags out between his teeth. โNot particularly looking forward to this.โ
And that makes two things I didnโt know Julius had before: an older brother and the ability to apologize. The bitter emotion clenched inside me loosens slightly. โThe interview, you mean?โ I ask. โWhy? Heโs your own brother.โ
โI know.โ
โAnd he sounds really accomplished. Like,ย really,โ I say, opening up my phone to my research notes.
James Luo is so accomplished that he has his own Wikipedia page. It goes through all his major milestones and achievements so far, including
how he graduated from Woodvale as valedictorian at the age of sixteen and received a full scholarship to study at Harvard, where he wrote his literary debut within a month โon a whimโ and sold it for seven figures before heโd even turned twenty. Or how he won some kind of huge international debating tournament three years in a row but then made the unprecedented move of quitting last minute, because he didnโt find it โintellectually stimulating in a way that was meaningfulโ anymore.
The most recent update was about his sophomore novel,ย Blue Crescent Blade. It doesnโt even come out for another three months, but itโs already received countless glowing reviews, an exclusive profile inย O, The Oprah
Magazine, and is being hailed as a โtour de force,โ an โutter triumph,โ and a
โreckoningโโwith what, Iโm not sure.ย Some big celebrity called it one of their two favorite books ever, the other being the Bible.
โLook.โ I pull up another article, featuring a glossy, professional black- and-white photo of James in a plain turtleneck. Heโs staring out the window with a pensive expression on his face, and the resemblance to Julius is striking. They have the same sculpted lips, the same thick black hair and
fine angles. But James is broader jawed, and heโs wearing these square
frame glasses that emphasize the hollows in his cheekbones. โIt says here his book is the breakout book of the decade.โ
โWho says that?โ Julius asks without glancing at the article.
I scan through the page, but even though a dozen other celebrities are name-dropped, the quote isnโt attributed to anyone. โIt, um, just does.โ
โOne can only assume itโs universally true, then.โ He says it in a brisk, offhand manner, but his tone is sour.
Then he catches sight of someone over my shoulder, and his grimace
twists deeper, as if the sharp thing in his shoe has transformed into a lethal scorpion.
โHello.โ
I spin around to find James Luo striding up to us, his palms spread out, his mouth stretched into a wide grin. He looks exactly like he does in his author photo, with his slicked-back dark hair and square glasses; heโs even wearing what appears to be the same turtleneck. But heโs taller than I expected. When Julius stands up, a few inches of distance remain between them.
โI canโt believe you didnโt ask me about the interview right away,โ
James is saying as he thumps Julius on the back so hard youโd think Julius was choking. โYou know how happy I always am to help you out with your cute school projects, even when my schedule is packed.โ
Juliusโs expression darkens. โItโs not really a school project. The principal signed us up for this.โ
โYouโre right.โ James nods sagely, his eyes sweeping the room. I swear they light up when they land on a pyramid of his books placed right in the
middle of the shelves. โSchool projects are very important.โ Julius scowls but doesnโt say anything.
โAnd you.โ James suddenly turns his attention to me. โYou must be Sadie Wen. Youโre practically a household name.โ
I conceal my surprise. Iโd thought he was grossly exaggerating when he told me on the phone that hisย little brother talks about me all the time. But then I notice the crimson color creeping up Juliusโs neck, and the only logical explanation for it is that whatever heโs said is either terrible or wonderful. โWhat has he said about me?โ
Julius looks horrified. James, however, looks delighted.
โOh, you know. When you beat him in that biology test last month he wouldnโt shut up about it forย daysโโ
โStop,โ Julius mutters out of the side of his mouth. He refuses to meet my gaze.
But James continues with good cheer, โAnd heโs always going on about how intimidatingly smart you are. How hard he has to work to keep up with you.โ
Intimidatingly smart.ย I hold on to those words, examine them up close.
Iโve never thought of myself as intimidating or scary, yet it feels like the greatest compliment. A confirmation of my wildest hopes. Julius Gong
takes me seriously. He isnโt just competing because he thinks itโd be embarrassing to lose. Heโsย afraidย of losing to me.
โYou know,โ James says, โhe got really sick last summer, but he wouldnโt even rest. He brought all his textbooks back to his bed because he could barely stand and insisted that, like, if he didnโt study hard every
single day youโd pull aheadโโ
โWait.โ My gaze swivels to Julius. โYou were sick?โ
That doesnโt make senseโIย rememberย last summer. On the very first day, heโd sent me an incredibly difficult equation from some kind of advanced university paper as a challenge. Iโd solved it just to spite him, and dug through all the papers available online to find something even trickier, and sent that back. Weโd then fallen into the habit of exchanging questions
every morning. We never said anything else. Just the screenshot and the answer. One blow traded for another. He would respond each time without fail, and weโd kept it up all the way until school started again.
How could he have been ill?
โIt wasnโt that serious,โ Julius says, running a hand through his hair. โAnd even with a fever, my brain still works better than the average personโs.โ
โThatโs not how you acted.โ James raises his brows at me. Iโve seen
Julius make that exact expression so many times itโs like looking at a mirror image of him. โWhen he wasnโt studying, he was sulking.ย Kept asking our mother to make him his favorite soup, luo song tangโโ
โI thought you said you only had twenty minutes to do the interview?โ Julius interrupts loudly. He sits back down and pulls out the Moleskine notebook he always uses to take notes. โShouldnโt we be getting started?โ
โAh, of course.โ James beams, and I find myself thinking,ย Their smiles are different.ย James smiles like he has an infinite number of them, like it
costs him nothing. But Juliusโs smiles are sharp, sudden, sometimes ledged with mockery or laced with poison. His real smiles are so rare that each one feels like a miracle, like youโve won something. โWhat do you want to
know?โ
I want to know if Julius was afraid of the dark when he was younger. If he ever believed in ghosts or Santa or the Loch Ness monster. I want to
know where he studies, whether itโs by the light of the living room window or alone in his bedroom, if he keeps the door wide open or closed. I want to know what he would dress up as for Halloween, what song he picks out at karaoke. How early he rises, how late he sleeps. What dishes their mother
cooks for the Spring Festival, what he talks about on long car rides. I want to collect these pieces of information like ammunition. Part of me wants to embarrass him, and part of me is simply, overwhelmingly curious.
But weโre here to interview James about his career, not his brother, so I restrain myself and ask him instead about where he draws his inspiration,
how much time he devotes to writing each day, what the drafting process is like.
โFor me, you see, the words are like sparrows,โ he says, rubbing his eyes. I blink hard, but Iโm not imagining it. His glasses are, apparently,
frames only; his fingers pass right through them. โI could spend the whole day chasing them, but theyโd only startle and fly away from me. Itโs more important to stay still, and let the sparrows come on their own.โ
โMm,โ I say, hastily tearing my gaze away from his fake glasses to write down his response. โThatโs very interesting.โ
โNow, obviously, there are days when you do have to coax the sparrows down with a bit of birdseed,โ he continues. โCertain types of birdseed work better than others. And sometimes you think you need the premium brand, but itโs in fact the organic brands, or not even a particular brand at allโonly the berries you pluck in the wildโthat are the most effective.โ
โUm. Sorry.โ I pause. โIโm sort of getting lost with this analogy.
What . . . are the birdseeds meant to be?โ โNothing,โ he says.
โOh, okayโโ
โAnd everything,โ he goes on. โI will leave that to your interpretation.
Interpretation is crucial, you see. Itโs what this is all about.โ
Julius either rolls his eyes or finds a very interesting spot in the ceiling to stare at. He hasnโt spoken much this whole interview.
โSo are you working as a full-time author now?โ I ask, moving down the list to the next question Iโve prepared.
โOh, no.โ James throws his head back and laughs so loud the elderly woman glares over at our table again. โNo, no, no. God, no. I couldnโt do thatโfor one, it would be such a waste of my Harvard Law degree. I mean, anyone wouldย killย just to get into Harvard, you know? Iโd be a fool to throw all that aside. And my professors would be crushed too, seeing as Iโm the most promising student theyโve taught in centuries. Their words, obviously, not mine.โ
โYour professors must be very healthy,โ I say.
A soft, half-muffled sound draws my attention to Julius. Heโs pressed a hand to the lower half of his face, his shoulders shaking, then stilling just for a second before he loses it again, shaking his head too, as if heโs annoyed he finds it so funny in the first place. At least heโs stopped looking like the tortured subject of a Renaissance painting.
โHm?โ James just looks confused.
โSeeing as theyโve been teaching for centuries and all.โ
He falters, then recovers. โWell, theyโre so experienced it certainly feels like theyโve been teaching that long. Harvard is all about the history, you
know.โ
I note quietly that this is the twenty-fifth time heโs brought up the wordย Harvardย in the past ten minutes. If Harvard were a ghost, he would have successfully summoned it back to life by now. โSo youโre not writing full- time. That must be hard to balance, then.โ
โWell, itโs worth the financial stability.โ He folds his hands together. โThe book money is really just a fun little bonus, but Iโm definitely not going to rely on it for retirement or anything like that.โ
In the back of my mind, the words from the article appear in screaming, bold black text:ย sold for seven figures.ย Thatโs his idea of a fun bonus? The absurd statement also seems to have an instant sobering effect on Julius, who definitely rolls his eyes this time.
โItโs really more of a side hustle for me,โ James says. โThe old saying is true: Donโt put all your eggs in one basket. Now Iโve separated my eggs into the law basket, and the author basket, and the investment basket, and also my debating coach basket . . .โ
Even though Iโm talking to him, Iโm watching Julius. He appears to be muttering something to himselfโeitherย kill meย orย cashmere, which seems less likely.
โYeah, sure,โ I say, distracted. โI hear that youโve done a lot of debating.โ
โAbsolutely. It really sets you up for success in so many fields, even if you donโt end up becoming a professional champion debater like myself.
Thatโs why I always encourage Julius to get more involved in debating.โ He gives Julius a light shove. โRight, Juโzi?โ
I almost choke on my own saliva.
Juโzi throws me a warning look, then frowns at his brother. โI thought weโd retired that nickname already. It makes no sense. Why would I be called a tangerine in Chinese?โ
โWhy? Because itโsย soย adorable.โ James grins. โAnd I really mean it, about the debating thing. You donโt have to feel bad just because Iโm naturally good at it. If anything, you should be encouraged by the fact that we share the same genes. Itโs impossible for you to beย terrible, even if you arenโtย quiteย as goodโโ
Julius stands up. โIโm going to get us some drinks. You want any?โ He directs the question at me, which is truly a sign of how much he doesย notย wish to be around his brother. That, and the fact that he would so eagerly volunteer himself for any sort of task without a gold star or extra credit or compliment attached to it.
But I think Iโm starting to get it. The vicious look on his face when Iโd beaten him in that class debate. Why heโs never mentioned his brother before. Why heโs so ruthlessly determined to be first all the time. Why heโs scowling now, the lines of his shoulder tight.
We place our orders. Heโs still scowling when he returns later with a glass of warm water for me, black coffee for himself, and some sort of
herbal infusion tea that I thought people only pretended to like in theory to convince everyone else theyโre on a health kick. But James downs the drink in one go and asks for a refill.
โGet it yourself,โ Julius grumbles.
James merely looks over at him, expectant.
With a sigh, Julius pushes off his chair again. When he comes back, weโre just wrapping up Jamesโs final response about his plans for the next year, which include a fully funded trip around Europe, a major film
adaptation heโs both writing for and producing, and a lecture at some fancy lawyersโ convention.
โThis has been great,โ he says, beaming. Itโs a wonder how he manages to smile so widely and speak at the same time. โNow, Iโm going to go sign some stock while Iโm here. Itโll probably take a whileโI haveย thousandsย of copies to get through.โ He gives James another loud thump on the back.
โYou kids have fun though.โ We do not have fun.
Mostly, we tidy up our notes and sit in silence until I break it first. โWell. We definitely have enough material for that four-page spread
now . . . Actually, just his description of the five-star hotel he stayed at for his debut novelโs national tour is enough material for the spread.โ
Julius nods along, but his eyes follow his brother as he shakes hands with an enthusiastic fan. They take a selfie together, Jamesโs signature winning smile and the cover of his debut on display. The fan appears to be bawling.
โPeople always act like that around him,โ Julius remarks under his breath. โEven our own parents.โ
โYour parents . . . always ask your brother to autograph the collar of their shirt?โ I ask as James whips out a gold Sharpie he apparently just keeps in his front pocket.
Julius lets out a surprised scoff of laughter, proving my theory from earlier. His smiles really do feel like miracles. Especially when youโre on the receiving end of them.
Warmth spreads through me, but then I give myself a mental kick.
Remind myself of who Iโm talking to.ย Julius Gong.ย The boy whoโs made my life unbearable for the past ten years. He wouldnโt even be here right now if he wasnโt forced to by the principal.
โI better go home,โ I say.
His expression flickers. โSo soon?โ
I pause, caught off guard, and his demeanor changes in response. The smile is gone in a flash, the lines of his face carved into their usual cool, unimpressed mask.
โI mean, arenโt you going to transcribe the notes first?โ he asks. โSurely you donโt intend to leave that work to me?โ
Thisย is the Julius Gong I know. The Julius Gong I can comfortably hate.
Iโm almost relieved. โIโll transcribe them,โ I tell him, only so we can wrap this up faster. โIโll email the finalized version to you by midnight.โ
โOkay. Good. You better.โ
I begin to shove everything in my bag, but he adds, โI hear youโre throwing a party this weekend?โ
My hands freeze over my notebook. โIs there a problem with that?โ โSo you really are. Hosting a party.โ He stretches the last word out like
itโs something ridiculous, like Iโm planning to house an elephant or organize a Christmas feast in late April. โWhy?โ
โBecause I feel like it,โ I say, defensive. Iโm lying, of course, but Iโm more offended by the implication that I canโt be the kind of person whoโd throw a party for fun. That he thinks he has me all figured out. That Iโm an open book to him, and he can read me easily, better than anybody else.
โYou never do anything just because you feel like it, Sadie Wen,โ he says, flattening his palms over the table. โYou must have a multistep strategy. A long-term objective. Or else why are you inviting people like Rosie to your house?โ
โDoes it matter?โ Irritation races through me like brush fire. โItโs not like Iโm invitingย you.โ
His black eyes glitter. I watch his throat move slightly before he replies, his voice cold, โI wouldnโt have come even if you did.โ
โOkay,โ I say flatly. I donโt tell him I had considered inviting him this afternoon; weโre inviting most of the year level anyway. But now that
thoughtโthe very fact that Iโd evenย entertainedย the ideaโmortifies me. Why would I ever give Julius a reason to reject me? Rejection is the most humiliating form of defeat. Itโs losing the battle before itโs even begun. Itโs lowering your weapon so they can spear you in the chest. โThen donโt.โ
โI wonโt,โ he says, his jaw taut. โYouโve said that already.โ
โI want to make it clear.โ
โDonโt worry, itโsย veryย clear to me.โ
We glare at each other, breathing hard as if from physical exertion, my nails digging into the metal spiral of my notebook. Nobody else has ever had the power to fill me with such pure, blistering rage. To make me so angry I want to flip over a table, stamp my feet like a screaming toddler, burn holes into the carpet. Before I can do any real damage, I take my
things and leave without even bothering to zip up my bag.
But my fingers itch the whole way home, and for the rest of day, as I close up the bakery and do my daily workout routine and finish my homework and brush my teeth, I canโt think about anything except him.