โThereโs a trick to writing a good history essay.โ
Most people assume that you start with the contention. You read the prompt and instantly form your stance on something, like whether the
sansculottes in the French Revolution ought to be considered a mob, and then you search through your memory for evidence to back yourself up:
quotes from famous historians, dates, statistics. But I always start with the evidence first. I go through 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 itโs a futile practice, a waste of precious writing time; it doesnโt matter what you believe in, or want to
believe in, if youโre not supported by the data.
I know this. Iย shouldย know this.
Yet after I hang up, I canโt help hoping that Abigailโs right. That maybe, miraculously, Julius could feel something for me other than bitterness or annoyance. And even though itโs not the logical thing to do, I find myself abandoning all my tried-and-tested study techniques and scrabbling for
evidence to prove it.
Evidence like: He ran the race for me when I felt like I was dying. Like: He stayed behind with me after the party, and heโs never shown any particular interest in sweeping floors before, so there must have been another reason. Like: Max said so when he came into the bakery after school, and didnโt his brother say that heโd been searching forย ourย bakery? Like: There was a very brief moment four and a half weeks ago when he gazed over at me so tenderly I felt my breath catch.
It probably isnโt substantial enough to convince any examiner, but itโs enough for me to convince myself by the end of the night. Iโm going to do
it, I decide. Iโm going to tell him, and Iโm going to pray he wonโt reject me on the spot.
โข โข โข
โIโm going to be sick,โ I inform Abigail when I slide into the bus seat the next morning.
Sheโs sipping a drink thatโs more whipped cream than actual liquid, her bag crammed into the space between us, her denim jacket draped over her lap like a pillow. Never one to let herself sit in discomfort, even if itโs just for a one-hour bus ride into the woods. โYou look like you didnโt sleep at all last night,โ she says, studying my face.
I grimace. โI didnโt. I was busy strategizing my next move.โ
She almost spits out her drink with laughter. โMy darling, youโre not planning to go to war hereโyouโre just telling a boy you like himโโ
โKeep your voice down,โ I hiss, scanning the bus. There are still
students shuffling their way down the aisle, others standing up to search for their friends or shove their luggage under the seats. โSomeone will hear
you.โ
โNobody could possibly guess who weโre talking about. Like, I barely believed you when youย toldย me. And heโs not even here yet,โ she says lightly. โAlso, if weโre really focusing on strategy, I feel like you should kind of ease into it. You know, considering your . . . history and all. You donโt want to startle him by launching into an impassioned speech straightaway.โ
โHuh?โ Iโm still craning my neck, checking every face that passes. I feel physically nauseous, and itโs only partially because I skipped breakfast altogether this morning. I feel almost as sick as I did before my school captain speech, before our endโofโyear exams, even. Isย thisย what liking
someone should be? Because contrary to common description, thereโs nothing warm or gentle about it at all. This is a violent intrusion, my own
body revolting against me. There are no butterflies in my stomach, only scorpions.
โMaybe just act friendly first. Or at least like you donโt absolutely
loatheย the guy,โ Abigail advises. โPlusโโ โOh my god, heโs coming.โ
After wasting so much time thinking about him since yesterday, itโs a surreal experience to see him just standing a few feet away. There, right there. The sun streaming in through the bus windows and hitting his face.
But if I look like I didnโt sleep last night, he looks like he hasnโt slept in weeks. Tired, blue-gray circles are smudged around his eyes, and his hair is rumpled for once, messy strands falling free over his forehead. Then he
catches me staring and stares back.
The scorpions inside my stomach crawl up to my throat. โRemember: Be friendly,โ Abigail hisses under her breath.
This is entirely counterintuitive to everything Iโve learned over the past ten years. As natural as jumping backward, or sticking your hand into a boiling pot, or running headfirst into a flaming building. But I force the
muscles in my face to relax. The corners of my lips to lift. A high-pitched, strangled sound escapes my mouth.
His brows furrow. โSorry?โ
โI was justโsaying hi,โ I say brightly. โIn greeting. Hello.โ
He shoots me a weird look and walks right past me without another word.
And Iโve decided I would like to stop existing.
โOkay, to be fair, that could have gone a lot worse,โ Abigail says once heโs settled into the back of the bus. The doors slide closed, and the teachers do a final head count before we start reversing out of the school parking lot. โItโs not like youย completelyย fumbled the birdie.โ
Iโm hitting my head very slowly against the window. โMaybe stop doing that,โ she tells me.
โDonโt worry, Iโm not doing it hard enough to risk impairing my cognitive functions.โ
โNo, Iโm worried because Ms. Hedge might see and force us to watch that seventy-minute video about the importance of self-love again. And also because Julius is currently looking in your direction.โ
I freeze. Feel all the heat in my body refocus in my cheeks. โAre you sure?โ
โQuite,โ she confirms somberly. โBut Iโll handle it.โ Before I can even ask, she speaks up in a loud voice, so loud it drowns out the rumbling engines. โItโs great to see that the windows are so sturdy, Sadie. Thank you so much for testing that out for me. Iโm now inclined to believe that the
news article I read about that twenty-year-old who crashed headfirst through the bus window and left a human-shaped hole in the glass was most likely fake.โ
I donโt know whether to burst into tears or laughter. โIs he still looking?โ I whisper.
โNope. All safe now.โ
I heave a sigh and slump back in my seat. โGod, Iย detestย this.โ
โYou still have the whole trip,โ she says, popping in an earphone and offering the other up to me. โJust wait until we get there.โ
We donโt talk much for the rest of the ride, except to change the music every few songs (our tastes are starkly different; Abigail listens to what she refers to asย sad music for hot girls, or music you can wail to, while I prefer music you can study to). Itโs one of the many reasons I love being around Abigail. We can talk on the phone for five hours straight in the evenings, stopping only to grab our phone chargers or a glass of water, but we can also just sit together and watch the changing scenery through the window.
Soon the roads narrow into a single winding lane, and the rising sun
glimmers through the trees on both sides. The malls and gas stations and busy cafรฉs disappear. Everything disappears, until weโre venturing deep into the mountains, and all the colors are some variation of gold and blue and green.
And then weโre not the only ones silent, drinking in the view. The other students quiet down too. Even the athletes have stopped their competition
of who-can-throw-their-empty-sports-drinks-higher-without-accidentally- hittingโaโteacher, which is pointless anyway, because there are no clear
rules or rewards.
โWow, itโs pretty,โ Abigail murmurs, and I agree.
Lake Averlore looks exactly the way it does in photos.
From the handcrafted cabins at the base of the mountain to the wisteria and lace wildflowers to the great elm trees fringing the lake bank. We round the corner, and the lake itself comes into full view, vast and beautiful, the emerald water so clear it glows in the daylight, reflecting the scattered
clouds in the sky. The place feels like its own secluded world, a retreat in the true sense of the word. Itโs almost enough to help me forget about
Julius, about the emails, about everything thatโs happened these past couple of months.
But then the bus jolts to a stop, and Iโm yanked back to reality. Or maybe some weird, alternate version of it. Because as everyone starts
unbuckling their seat belts and reaching for their things, Ray Suzuki stands up from his seat and turns to me. โHey,โ he calls. โDid you choose this
spot?โ
I straighten Abigailโs earphones and hand them back to her. Look up warily. โYeah?โ
โItโs not as bad as I expected,โ he grumbles.
Iโd think I had hallucinated it if Abigail wasnโt wearing a similar expression of disbelief.
โOh. Um, Iโm glad,โ I say, still waiting for the catch. Maybe the followโup sentence is:ย Itโs still a lot worse than Iโd hoped.ย Or,ย I was imagining a literal pit in the flames of hell to match the inside of your soul.
But it doesnโt come. He just nods, clears his throat, and joins the other students crowded down the bus aisle.
โSo youโre blushing and stuttering over Julius Gong, while Ray Suzuki is being sincerely appreciative of you,โ Abigail remarks, her brows raised. โBizarre. Truly, absolutely bizarre. Next thing you know, Ms. Hedge is
going to start advocating for underage drinking and Rosie is going to declare that her lifelong dream is to become a nun.โ
โDonโt be so dramatic,โ I say, laughing, but I canโt help feeling like she has a point.
โข โข โข
Weโre given half an hour to settle into the cabins.
Itโs very nearly perfect. The interior is designed like something from a fairy tale, with vintage couches and stacked bookshelves and a blazing fireplace. The local staff have laid out tables of homemade scones with fresh whipped cream and strawberry jam to welcome us; within minutes,
theyโre all gone, not even a crumb left on the porcelain plates. The teachers are given raw salmon appetizers and mocktails that smell suspiciously like cocktails, and Iโve never seen Ms. Hedge look so happy. The bunk beds are comfortably wide too, the sheets fragrant with the scent of flowers from outside.
The only problem isโ
โNaked clowns,โ Abigail says, her voice a mixture of horror and pure disgust.
All the other girls gather around her, staring up at the paintings on the wall. As in, paintings, plural. Because for whatever cursed reason, there areย multipleย paintings of naked clowns hung up in every room, right on open display for everyone to see. Above the beds, next to the mirrors, over the doors. Perhaps it would be better if they were done in some sort of abstract art style, but theyโre unforgivably realistic, the tiny brushstrokes capturing every detail.
โThis shouldnโt be allowed,โ Georgina Wilkins says, shaking her head. โThatโs justโwhatโs the word? Diametrical? Diagonal?โ
โDiabolical,โ I correct her automatically, then wince. I know from experience that this is one of my less popular traits.
But Georgina just throws me a grateful look and says, โRight. Exactly.โ Which proves how bad the paintings must be.
Abigail drags a hand over her face. โMy eyes feel like theyโre being physically attacked. To be more specific, like theyโre being kicked by a kangaroo and then dragged through cut glass and then set on fire.โ
โGod, Iโm sorry,โ I tell everyone. โI swear this wasnโt included in any of the photos on the website when we were picking out locations . . .โ
And maybe itโs true what they say, about unlikely alliances forming from common enemiesโeven if the enemy is a two-dimensional clown who should be arrested for public indecencyโbecause Rosie comes to stand next to me. โWhat are you apologizing for?โ she asks, flicking her hair over her shoulders. โItโs not as if you put the paintings up there
yourself.โ
I open my mouth. Then close it again. Iโm so used to taking responsibility for everything, to apologizing to her and everyone else, that it feels wrongย notย to say sorry.
โYouโre so strange sometimes, Sadie,โ Rosie continues, though she doesnโt sound like sheโs being unkind. โYou know most people rush to push blame away instead of taking all of it themselves, right?โ
I blink. Try to find my bearings again. โIโ Right. Well . . . it might not be my fault, but I do know how we can fix this. Temporarily, at least.โ
โPlease,โ Abigail says. โAnything.โ
I rummage through my bag and pull out the spare jacket I packed, then drape it over the painting frame so it covers the clown completely. โThere,โ I say. The others quickly join in, grabbing loose dresses and oversized sweaters, and soon weโre running from room to room, giggling, lending one another our clothes to block every single painting from view. The hysteria
fizzes on my tongue like alcohol, and when I turn around at one point, I catch Rosieโs eye. Thereโs no malice in her expression. Weโre both doubled over, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation, and for the first time in a while, I donโt feel like the year levelโs number one villain. I donโt feel like the perfect student either; Iโm just one of them.
Weโre still laughing when we stumble outside onto the lakeshore, into the sunlight.
The first activity for the day is canoeing. Two canoes have already been set down over the pebbles, the green lake water shimmering behind them. A tanned, buff guy with beaded bracelets around his wrists and ankles
introduces himself to us as David, But You Can Call Me Dave. Then he dives in right away, showing us how to hold the canoe paddle and adjust
your body position while Ms. Hedge sips her cocktail-mocktail and watches from under the trees.
โWeโll split you off into two teams,โ Dave says, rubbing his hands together. โAnd then, just to make things interesting, weโll do a little race. The first person to the other side of the lake wins. Got it?โ
Most of us nod. Abigail slaps a mosquito on her thigh and mutters into my ear, โI was hoping we wouldnโt have to do any physical exercise. When can we do a race to see who falls asleep the fastest? I bet Iโd win that without evenโโ
โYou,โ Dave says, pointing at her.
Abigail jerks her head up. Smiles without any shame. โYeah?โ
โSince youโre feeling so chatty, you can lead the first team. And . . .โ He looks around, sizing each of us up before his eyes land on Julius. โYou look like leader material.โ
โWell, he is school captain,โ someone volunteers. โOh, is that right?โ Dave asks.
Julius nods with barely concealed smugness, crossing his arms over his chest.
โPerfect. You can lead the other team, then,โ Dave decides. โBoth of you choose your members.โ
โI would pick you,โ Abigail whispers to me, nudging my ribs, โbut Iโm going to be generous and let you join his side.โ
โThatโs if he picks me,โ I whisper back.
โOf course he will. Based on athletic ability alone, he should.โ
I shake my head and smile like the idea couldnโt be further from my mind, but secretly, humiliatingly, I am waiting for Julius to turn to me. To at leastย considerย me, if not choose me. Iโm waiting for him to take his time, to meet my eyes. My stomach flutters from the sheer anticipation, and my heartโmy heart is beating unbearably fast, the suspense of the moment so disproportionate to the stakes I want to laugh at myself.
And then I want to slap myself. Because he doesnโt hesitate, or even glance once in my direction. Instead, he waves Rosie forward.
โOh my god,ย yes,โ she says, grinning wide and making her way down the shore like a pageant queen. โWeโll make the perfect team.โ
Julius grins back at her. My nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms, my hurt hardening into rage. Itโs not Rosie Iโm angry at though. Itโs him. Itโs
always him.
He doesnโt choose me next either. He chooses Ray and Adam and Georgina, who gets out of swimming lessons every year by claiming sheโs allergic to chlorine. Itโs like I donโt even exist to him. Like last night never even happened. Or maybe it didnโt. Maybe Iโve been spinning it into something itโs not.
By the end, Iโm one of the last two people left. Me, and that boy in our year level who talks to nobody.
Juliusโs eyes flicker between us. His expression is passive, careless, when he nods once at the boy. He doesnโt even appear sorry. Itโs not as if I was ever certain I could be his first choice. But knowing that Iโm his last choiceโitโs a twist of a knife in the gut.
Humiliation stings my throat. Iโm no longer planning to confess to him; Iโm planning to choke him. But for the sake of my own dignity, I act like it doesnโt matter. I move over to Abigailโs side, my head held high, my fists clenched to stop them from shaking.
โGreat. Now, who wants to race first?โ Dave asks. โI will,โ Julius offers, rolling up his sleeves.
Daveโs sunburned face splits into a beam. โAnd who thinks they can take him in a oneโonโoneโโ
โIโll go,โ I say loudly, marching forward, not even caring when the freezing lake water sloshes over my shoes. โIโll beat him.โ
Thereโs a beat of surprised silence. Dave blinks at me. โOh! Oh, okay. Really loving the confidence here. Now, the paddle might be a little heavy for youโโ
I pick up the paddle easily, tightening my grip around the rough wood. โJust teach me how to row this thing.โ
โข โข โข
Iโve always been a fast learner.
It takes me only a few minutes to push the canoe into the lake, strap on my life jacket, and get used to steering with the paddle. Then I start paddling.
Wild geese startle and soar over my head, their white wings flapping as the canoe makes its way through the water, foam forming from the ends of the paddle. The earthy scent of the air fills my nostrils, coats my tongue.
The lake itself is serene, tall grass rising over the opposite shores, the sunโs reflection rippling outward. I can make out the trees in the distance, their smooth, pale bark gleaming, their golden-green foliage swaying with the breeze.
If I wasnโt competing against Julius, I would probably admire the view more. Let myself sit in the rare silence and watch the light playing over the water, the wilted flowers floating across the surface.
But all I can focus on is his canoe in my peripheral vision.
I lean forward, dig my paddle deeper into the water, my muscles burning from the effort. Itโs still not enough; heโs pulling ahead. I dig as hard as I can, but I apply too much force on one side and the canoe lurches unsteadily. Cold sprays my face, soaks through my clothes.
โSlow down,โ Julius calls from beside me. He sounds irritated. โYouโre going to fall into the water like that.โ
โYouย slow down,โ I snap at him.
He doesnโt. Of course he doesnโt. He clenches his jaw and pushes his canoe onward with renewed vigor. Without looking at me, he asks, โWhat are you getting so angry for?โ
I choke out a harsh laugh, the sound only half-audible over our splashing paddles. โUnbelievable.โ
โWhat?โ
โIโm not angry,โ I say coldly. My arms are starting to weaken, and I can feel the wood rubbing open the skin on my palms, but I ignore the sting. โWhy would Iโโ A sudden gust of wind tears through my hair, creating
waves in the water, one bigger than the next. The canoe wobbles again, this time more violently. โโbe angry?โ I grip the edge of the canoe for support, grit my teeth against the emotions fighting for room inside my chest. โItโs not like we owe each other anything.โ
He makes a soft, frustrated noise. โSee, youโre saying that, but your tone strongly suggests otherwise.โ
โAnd since when did myย toneย matter to you? Last time I checked, you didnโt even want to look my way.โ
โAre you kidding? Iโโ His sentence dissolves into a muffled curse as my canoe slams against his, the sudden impact jolting both of us out of our seats. โSeriously, Sadie, watch outโโ
โIโm not doing it on purpose,โ I interject, pushing myself upright with a huff. โMaybe if you gave me more spaceโโ
โI canโt control the speed of this,โ he says. A shameless lie. He just doesnโt want to risk losing to me.
โWell, then, neither can I,โ I say, paddling faster.ย Iโm winning, I think. Weโre more than halfway there, the opposite shore close enough for me to see the shine of damp on the stones, the grass tall enough to reach my
knees.ย Iโll make it before him.ย But then my paddle gets caught on something in the water. A weed, maybe, or a net. I try to yank it free, but I lose control, and itโs like everything unfolds in slow motion. I can only stare in horror as my paddle swings out sidewaysโas Julius attempts to duck, but leans too
far backward, and crashes into the water, sending a great wave rushing toward meโ
And my stomach drops, gravity slipping out from under my body as my canoe flips upside down.