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Chapter no 1

I Hope This Doesn't Find You

โ€ŒItโ€™s an honor to be waiting outside the school gates in the winter cold.โ€Œ

This is what Iโ€™ve been telling myself for the past hour as I shiver in my ironed blazer and watch my fingernails turn a concerning shade of purple. Itโ€™s an immense honor. A privilege. Aย joy. Itโ€™s exactly what I envisioned when Ms. Hedge, the year level coordinator, called for me in the middle of my math honors class yesterday and asked that I show a few visiting parents around the school.

โ€œI trust that youโ€™re the right person to do it,โ€ sheโ€™d said with a wide smile, her gnarled hands folded neatly across her desk. โ€œAs school captain, you can tell them about how much Woodvale Academy cares for its students, and how well weโ€™ve set you up for success. Feel free to also mention all the extracurriculars youโ€™re involved in and your many

achievementsโ€”like how you recently came in first in the track-and-field regional finals. The parents will love that.โ€

Iโ€™d smiled back at her and nodded along with so much fake enthusiasm I gave myself a neck cramp.

My neck is still stiff as I straighten the badges pinned to my front pocket, stamping my feet hard to ward off what feels like imminent frostbite. My best friend, Abigail Ong, always jokes that I collect badges

like a magpie. Sheโ€™s not wrong, exactly, but Iโ€™m not just admiring how the gold lettering forย school captainย catches the pale morning light. Itโ€™s also a matter of symbolism. Every single badge I own is proof of something: that I have perfect grades, that Iโ€™m the MVP of every sports team Iโ€™m on, that Iโ€™m an active member of the school community, that I help out at the local library. That Iโ€™m smart and successful and have a good future ahead of me

โ€”

Footsteps crunch on the dry grass.

I jerk my head up and squint into the distance. Itโ€™s so early that the parking lot is still empty, save for a rusted brown Toyota thatโ€™s probably been there since before the school was built. All the redbrick buildings on campus are quiet, the windows closed, the clouds rising over the bare trees painted a soft watercolor pink.

No sign of any lost-looking parents.

Instead, a terribly familiar face comes into view, and out of habit, all the muscles in my body tense. Black eyes, sharp angles, a smile like a blade.

That single, ridiculous strand of dark hair falling over his forehead. The school blazer draped around his shoulders like heโ€™s posing for a high- fashion magazine.

Julius Gong.

My cocaptain, and the most prominent source of pain in my life.

At the mere sight of him, I experience a rush of loathing so pure and visceral it feels akin to wonder. Itโ€™s hard to believe that someone with such an awful personality could have such pleasing looksโ€”or that someone with such pleasing looks could have such an awful personality. The equivalent of opening up a gift box with gorgeous silk ribbons and confetti and foil packaging and finding inside it a poisonous snake.

The snake in question stops three solid feet away from me. The patchy, yellowing grass stretched out between us is noโ€‘manโ€™sโ€‘land.

โ€œYouโ€™re early,โ€ he says in his usual slow drawl, as if he can barely be bothered delivering the whole sentence. In the entire decade Iโ€™ve been

unfortunate enough to know him, Julius has never started a single conversation with a proper greeting.

โ€œEarlier than you,โ€ I tell him, like itโ€™s a major point of victory that Iโ€™ve been standing here so long I canโ€™t feel my toes.

โ€œYes, well,ย Iย was busy with other things.โ€

I catch the implication:ย Iโ€™m busier than you. I have more important things to do because Iโ€™m a more important person.

โ€œIโ€™m busy too,โ€ I say immediately. โ€œVery busy. My whole morning has been one urgent matter after another. In fact, I came here straight from my workoutโ€”โ€

โ€œThat does sound like a very urgent matter. I fear the nationโ€™s economy would collapse if you didnโ€™t get your daily push-ups in.โ€

Youโ€™re just bitter because I proved in our last PE class that I can do more push-ups than you.ย The words are perched right on the tip of my

tongue. They would be so satisfying to say out loud, almost as satisfying as beating him in another fitness test, but I swallow them down. Stuff my

hands in my pockets. The chill seems to be spreading through my bone marrow in the particularly unpleasant kind of way Iโ€™ve come to associate with winters here in Melbourne.

Julius smiles with one side of his mouth, an expression so insincere I would rather he scowl. โ€œCold?โ€

โ€œNope,โ€ I say through chattering teeth. โ€œNot at all.โ€ โ€œYour skin is blue, Sadie.โ€

โ€œMust be the lighting.โ€ โ€œYouโ€™re also shaking.โ€

โ€œWith anticipation,โ€ I insist.

โ€œYou do realize we only needed to get here at seven thirty, right?โ€ He rolls back his sleeve, consults his watch. Itโ€™s a brand too expensive for me to recognize, but fancy enough for me to know itโ€™s expensive. I actually wouldnโ€™t be surprised if he was checking the time for the sole purpose of showing it off. โ€œItโ€™s seven twenty now. How long exactly have you been standing out here like an honorary human statue?โ€

I ignore his question. โ€œOf course I realize. I was there when Ms. Hedge told us.โ€ Because after Ms. Hedge had given me her cheerful little speech about representing the school, Julius had shown up in her office too, and to my acute annoyance, sheโ€™d given him the exact same task. Iโ€™d then vowed that I would beat him in thisโ€”I would rock up to school way earlier, a hundred times more prepared, in case anyone else arrived early too, and

make an incredible first impression on the parents before he could. Iโ€™m

aware that this isnโ€™t something weโ€™ll beย gradedย on, but that doesnโ€™t matter.

In my head, I like to keep a running mental scoreboard of every test, competition, and opportunity in which Julius and I have clashed since we were seven, complete with its own specific point system that makes sense only to me:

Plus three points for earning one of Mr. Kayeโ€™s rare approving smiles. Plus five points for hitting a fundraiser goal.

Plus six points for coming first in the school basketball tournament. Plus eight points for winning a class debate.

As of now, Julius is at 490 points. Iโ€™m at 495, thanks to the history test I came first in last week. Still, I canโ€™t be complacent. Complacency is for losers.

โ€œThey better arrive soon,โ€ Julius says, checking his watch again. The vaguely American curl of his words has a way of making the disdain in his voice more pronounced. For some time now, Iโ€™ve suspected that his accent is fake. Heโ€™s only ever set foot in the States for campus tours; thereโ€™s no logical reason why heโ€™d sound like that, except to seem special. โ€œI have no interest in freezing.โ€

I roll my eyes.ย The world isnโ€™t made to serve you, I want to snap at him.

But the world must have been made to laugh in my face, because right on cue, as if heโ€™s manifested them into existence, four cars roll into the parking lot. The doors click open, one by one, and an auntie steps out from each vehicle.

Auntieย is the most accurate descriptor I can think of. I donโ€™t mean it in the blood-relative kind of way (though my own aunts are definitely all

aunties), but as a state of mind, a particular mode of existence. It can be felt, it can be seen, but it canโ€™t be strictly defined. It has its unique markers: like the massive perms, the tattooed eyebrows, the Chanel bags, the valuable

jade pendant tied together with a cheap red string. But there are also noticeable variations among them.

For instance, the first auntie to strut up to the gates is wearing six-inch heels and a neon-green scarf so bright it could function as a traffic light.

The auntie in line after her is dressed in more subdued colors and has naturally stern features that remind me of my mom.

Iโ€™m not surprised that the parents interested in sending their kids to our school all happen to be Asian. We make up at least 90 percent of the student population at Woodvale Academy, and thatโ€™s just a conservative estimate.

Howย it came to be this way is sort of a chicken-and-egg question. Are the Asian kids here because their parents wanted them to attend a selective high school for gifted students? Or were their parents drawn to this school

because they heard there were a bunch of Asian kids here?

I know for my mom it was the latter. A week after my dad left, she

withdrew me from the practically all-white Catholic primary school I was in at the time and moved us to the other side of town.ย Itโ€™s good to be

surrounded by community, she told me, her voice so weary I couldnโ€™t think of anything except to go along with whatever she wanted, that day and every day afterward.ย People who will understand.

Julius shifts beside me, and I jolt back to the present. When he moves forward, I step out faster in front of him, my model-student smile snapping into place. I practice it in front of the mirror every day.

โ€œAyi, shi lai canguan xuexiao de ma?โ€ I say in my very best Mandarin.

Are you here to tour the school?

The first auntie blinks at me, then replies in smooth English, with an American accent that could put Juliusโ€™s to shame, โ€œYes. I am.โ€

Heat shoots up my face. Without even having to look, I can sense Juliusโ€™s quiet glee, his delight at my embarrassment. And before I can recover, heโ€™s already made his grand entrance, his spine straight, chin up, the smug curve of his lips broadening into a warm grin.

โ€œHello,โ€ he says, because he never has any problem greetingย otherย people. โ€œIโ€™m Julius Gong, the school captain, and Iโ€™ll be showing you around campus this morning.โ€

I clear my throat.

He raises a dark brow at me but adds nothing. I clear my throat again, louder.

โ€œAnd this is Sadie,โ€ he says after a beat, waving a loose hand at me. โ€œThe other captain.โ€

โ€œSchool captain,โ€ I canโ€™t help emphasizing. My smile is starting to hurt my face. โ€œIโ€™m school captain. Iโ€™m also set to be valedictorian.โ€

โ€œI honestly donโ€™t think they care,โ€ Julius murmurs into my ear, his voice low enough for only me to hear, his breath warm despite the freezing weather.

I try to act like he doesnโ€™t exist. This is made somewhat difficult by the fact that all four aunties are busy scanning Julius from head to toe, like

theyโ€™re trying to pick out their future sonโ€‘inโ€‘law. โ€œHow old are you?โ€ one of the auntie asks.

โ€œSeventeen,โ€ Julius says readily.

โ€œYou look very tall,โ€ another auntie says. โ€œWhatโ€™s your height?โ€

Julius regards her with all the patience in the world. โ€œSix foot one.โ€ โ€œThatย isย tall,โ€ she says, like this is an impressive feat on par with curing

cancer.ย Itโ€™s just genetics, Iโ€™m tempted to point out, though of course I restrain myself.ย He literally didnโ€™t even have to do anything.ย โ€œAnd youโ€™ve been at this school for how long now?โ€

โ€œTen years,โ€ he replies. โ€œAlmost my entire life.โ€

I press my tongue down against the sharp edge of my teeth. This part I could answer for him. By either curse or coincidenceโ€”and Iโ€™m increasingly leaning towardย curseโ€”we entered Woodvale Academy in the same year. I had been the quiet girl, the shy one, the new kid nobody really wanted anything to do with, whileย heย was interesting, mysterious, effortlessly cool. He had acted as if he already knew he would one day rule the place, taking everything in with that calculating black gaze of his. Then in PE, we were placed on opposing teams for a game of dodgeball. The second he had the ball in his hands, his eyes slid to me. Pinned me down. It was like those David Attenborough animal documentaries where you watch in slow

motion as the serpent closes in on its prey. I was the rabbit; he was the snake.

Somehow, out of the thirty-something kids in that sweaty, poorly ventilated gym, he had pickedย meย as the person to beat. But I was exceptionally good at dodging, light and fast on my feet. Each time he aimed at me, I swerved out of the way. In the end, it was only the two of us left. He kept throwing. I kept ducking. It probably would have gone on like that until the very last period, but the other kids in our class were getting tired of standing around, and the teacher had to step in and call it a tie.

From that point on, Julius Gong became the bane of my existence. The issue is that nobody else seems to share my frustrations, because he only ever bares his fangs at me.

In fact, the aunties are already in love with him. Heโ€™s still smiling and nodding, asking the aunties about their health and their cooking and some upcoming farmerโ€™s market (when Iโ€™m certain Julius has never set foot into anything that starts withย farmerย in his life), and theyโ€™re all just eating it up. As one of the aunties asks him about his grades, he pauses, turns his head just a fraction toward me, and his smile twists into a smirk I alone can see.

โ€œTheyโ€™re okay,โ€ he says, with false modesty. โ€œI did receive the Top Achieverโ€™s Award for English just last semester. And chemistry. And economics. And physics.โ€

โ€œWah,โ€ย the aunties gush in sync. They couldnโ€™t be more cooperative if heโ€™d paid them. โ€œThatโ€™s incredible.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re so smart.โ€

โ€œTo do so well at such a competitive school? You must be a genius.โ€ โ€œBoth handsomeย andย intelligent. Your parents really raised you well.โ€

I can imagine my own blood boiling inside me, the steam scorching my throat. To the rest of the world, he might be an angel, a perfect student with a pretty face. But I know what he really is, what heโ€™s like.

โ€œWe should get the tour going,โ€ I say sweetly, clenching my teeth behind my fake beam. โ€œThereโ€™s lots for us to see. Since there are four of you . . . I can show you two around.โ€ I gesture to the aunties standing

closest to me. Neither of them looks particularly happy about this arrangement. The auntie with the green scarf actually heaves an audible sigh of disappointment, which is always encouraging. โ€œAnd Julius can lead the way for the others.โ€

The remaining two women step behind him at once, and Julius pushes open the wrought iron gates with all the ease of a host at his own party. โ€œGladly,โ€ he says. โ€œFollow me.โ€

In the back of my mind, the numbers flash like a warning sign:

Three points to Julius.

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