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Chapter no 19

I Hope This Doesn't Find You

โ€ŒDinner is a combination of roasted marshmallows and chicken kebabs and creamy potato salad.โ€Œ

It looks so good that even though I donโ€™t really have an appetite, I join my class around the campfire, stacking my paper plate with as much food as it can physically carry. Then I drape my cardigan over the log and sit down on it, inhaling the sweet smoke and the scent of the lake nearby, content to chew and stretch my legs out and lick the melted sugar off my fork.

The teachers are meant to eat with us outside too, but Ms. Hedge is the only one of the three who appears. Sheโ€™s barely sat down when her face pinches, her skin turning a concerning shade of green, and she dashes off in the direction of the cabins, a hand covering her mouth.

โ€œWhatโ€™s up with her?โ€ Ray asks.

โ€œMustโ€™ve been the raw salmon from earlier,โ€ Georgina says, with the firm authority of someone whoโ€™s suffered through food poisoning multiple times in the past. โ€œOn my way out, the other teachers looked like they were dying too.โ€

Sympathetic murmurs travel around the tight circle, but nobody makes a move to check up on the teachers. Instead everybody relaxes in the absence of any adult authorities. The air seems to lighten, the conversations around me rising in volume, whispered jokes and muffled giggles turning into full- body laughter. It feels less like a school retreat and more like a massive partyโ€”except, unlike the one at my house, I can almost bring myself to enjoy it. To eat the melted marshmallows and watch the sun start to slide its way down the horizon, lending a pink glow to the sky.

โ€œYou know what the moment calls for?โ€ Rosie speaks up.

โ€œSpin the bottle?โ€ Ray says instantly.

I drop my fork.ย No. Absolutely not.ย I think Iโ€™ll die if I have to kiss Julius again, and Iโ€™ll die if I see him kiss someone else. โ€œHow about scary stories,โ€ I suggest, with perhaps more fake enthusiasm than Iโ€™ve ever summoned in my life.

To be honest, I expect Rosie to shoot down my idea right away and call it childish, but she considers it for a second, then nods. โ€œSure,โ€ she says, crossing her ankles elegantly, as if the log is a throne. โ€œDo you have one?โ€

โ€œOh . . . I guess.โ€ I straighten, trying to make something up on the spot. โ€œOkay, okay, hereโ€™s one: Once there was a girl called . . . um, Skye. She was very smart and very organized. She had a habit of keeping all her homework notes and certificates and important files in a special compartment inside her locker. Then one day . . . she discovered that her locker was empty.โ€

This is meant to elicit gasps of shock and horror, but all I get are blank, perplexed stares.

โ€œSorry, is that meant to be scary?โ€ someone asks at last.

โ€œHer certificates areย missing,โ€ I emphasize, frowning. โ€œHer records of achievement areย gone. She may have to redoย all her homework.โ€

โ€œOkay, do we have any non-homework-related stories?โ€ someone else asks.

โ€œI have a ghost story,โ€ Julius offers, and all heads swivel to him. He

lowers his voice so itโ€™s just barely audible over the dry hiss and crackle of the campfire. โ€œAย realย ghost story. Actually, itโ€™s set right in the woods, not too far from here.โ€

โ€œSure it is,โ€ I mutter.

But everyoneโ€™s already listening closely, hanging on to his every word. โ€œThere used to be a house in these woods,โ€ he begins, soaking in the

attention. โ€œA young couple and their two children: a boy named Jack, and a girl named Scarlett. The boy was healthy and always happy; everyone who saw him adored him. But Scarlett was born . . .ย strange.โ€ He drags out the word in a whisper. โ€œAs a baby, her father claimed that her eyes would flash

red. It was quick, so quick it couldโ€™ve been confused for the light, but it happened too many times for it to be a coincidence. He even took her to the doctor once, wondering if it was some kind of rare disease, and the doctor said there was nothing wrong. Nothing that they could find anyway.โ€

On the other end of the circle, one of the girls shivers and wraps the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders.

โ€œThere were other things too,โ€ Julius continues. โ€œLike she would be running, and her shadow would disappear. Or she would throw a tantrum, and within an hour, a bird would drop dead outside their yard. Or she would get into a fight with her little brother, and heโ€™d wake up in the middle of the night claiming someone was choking him. Over time, her parents started to suspect that she was cursed. Perhaps a demon incarnate, or a monster.โ€

Itโ€™s a silly story. Typical. Certainly no better thanย mine, which is rooted in realism. But in the falling darkness, by the crimson light of the fire, I canโ€™t help the pinch of fear in my gut.

Julius catches my eye across the circle, and one side of his mouth lifts, as if he can read my mind. โ€œOn Scarlettโ€™s thirteenth birthday, there was a sudden, terrible storm. It was as if the sea was falling from the sky. The

whole house was flooded. The parents didnโ€™t even have time to pack; they just grabbed what they could and fled into the night. But whether by accident or not, they forgot about Scarlett. When they came back, almost everything was destroyed. The wood was rotted through, the furniture in pieces, the windows shattered. They looked around, and they couldnโ€™t find any sign of Scarlett. There was no body. Not even any of her old clothes or toys. It was as though sheโ€™d never existed.โ€

He pauses for dramatic effect. In the same instance, a heavy wind picks up, blowing through the trees, and more than a few people startle and

glance around them. The sky is no longer rose pink but graying, clouds forming in the near distance.

โ€œThey were rather attached to the woods, so they rebuilt their house in the exact same place,โ€ Julius says. โ€œBut every time it rained again, they could hear . . . crying. It sounded like a child. Like Scarlett. They tried to

follow it, but it seemed to be coming fromย withinย the house, within the very walls. A year later, there came another storm. Much tamer than the first.

Almost everyone survived it; the water levels didnโ€™t even rise above the knee. Except Scarlettโ€™s family was found drowned in the living room the next morning, all of them lying facedown.โ€

โ€œAnd then?โ€ someone whispers.

โ€œThatโ€™s it,โ€ he says smoothly. โ€œThey all died.โ€ Heavy silence follows in the wake of his words.

Then, somewhere in the distance a door slams, and Ray lets out such a high-pitched shriek I briefly wonder if a chicken has broken loose.

But the spell is broken. Everyoneโ€™s too busy laughing at Ray to linger on the details.

As the campfire burns on, people split off into private conversations, friends huddling together on the log. Iโ€™m cleaning my plate when I feel a weight lower itself next to me.

Rosie.

I instantly stiffen.

โ€œChill, Sadie, Iโ€™m not here to bite your head off,โ€ she says, seeing my reaction. Sheโ€™s smiling, which is very alarming. โ€œI just wanted to chat.โ€

โ€œAbout what?โ€ I ask.

โ€œIโ€™ve been thinking about the email you sent me, and you know what? I was really,ย reallyย pissed off.โ€ She brushes her hair over her shoulder. โ€œHonestly, when I first read it, I was ready to slap someone.โ€

I shift back, out of slapping distance.

โ€œBut I kind of deserved it. Iย didย copy your science project.โ€ She exhales. โ€œI didnโ€™t plan to. I donโ€™t know what I was thinking. Or, well, I guess . . .

Everyone knows Iโ€™m gorgeous, right? Sometimes when Iโ€™m walking past a mirror, I have to stop for a few seconds because I canโ€™t believe how stunning I am. Like, damn.โ€

I officially have no idea where this conversation is going.

โ€œIโ€™m proud of it,โ€ she adds. โ€œIt takes a lot of work to look this good all the time. But I was just . . . curious. What itโ€™s like to get great grades and

have people compliment you for your intelligence. To be you.โ€

This is perhaps the most bizarre statement Iโ€™ve ever heard. Even more shocking than Abigailโ€™s prediction about Rosie devoting the rest of her life to being a nun.

โ€œI was planning to apologize,โ€ she goes on, crossing her legs. โ€œExcept I feel like weโ€™d only be going in circles with our apologies. Iโ€™m sorry I copied your project; youโ€™re sorry you wrote that email. Iโ€™m sorry I proceeded to snap at you in front of the year level. So I guess what Iโ€™m really trying to say isโ€”thank you. For being understanding, and for all your help in general.โ€ She lets out a little laugh. โ€œFunnily enough, it wasnโ€™t until I made it a point to ignore you that I realized how often I turned to you for notes and stuff. You didnโ€™t have to do that, but you did.โ€

It takes me a minute to remember how to speak. โ€œUm. Youโ€™reโ€” welcome?โ€

She laughs again. โ€œSo weโ€™re good?โ€

โ€œYeah. Yes. Very good,โ€ I say, still stunned.

โ€œIโ€™ll miss you when we graduate, you know,โ€ she adds. โ€œI canโ€™t believe this will all be over soon.โ€

โ€œYeah,โ€ I repeat softly, gazing around the campfire, at all the familiar, laughing faces. โ€œI canโ€™t believe it either.โ€

โ€ข โ€ข โ€ข

โ€œShe actually said that?โ€

โ€œI know,โ€ I tell Abigail that evening, plopping down on the bed. Weโ€™re lucky enough to have been assigned one of the smaller cabin rooms, made for only two people. Some of the girls have to share with three or four others. โ€œI was so certain that she would never forgive me for the emails, that sheโ€™d spend the rest of her life hating me. That the damage would be irreversible. Iโ€™ve literally been sick to my stomach for weeks,ย months, thinking about it, and now . . . Thank god.โ€ I release a laugh, shaking my head.

She turns back to me from the dresser, a strange little smile on her lips. โ€œWere the emails . . . that bad? I mean, did it . . . affect you so much?โ€

โ€œThat bad?โ€ย I snort. โ€œThey were catastrophic.โ€

โ€œRight.โ€ Her smile wobbles. โ€œI didnโ€™t realizeโ€” I knew you were embarrassed, obviously, but you never talked that much about it.โ€

Itโ€™s true, I guess. I havenโ€™tย reallyย talked about it with anyone. Not my mom, because I donโ€™t want her to worry. Not Max, because I donโ€™t think heโ€™d understand. And not Abigail, because I donโ€™t want her pity. But maybe itโ€™s also habit by this point. The summer when I was eleven, we had flown to China for a large family gathering, and as everyone was trading stories and laughing and clinking drinks in the crimson glow of the restaurant, a fish bone had gotten lodged in my throat. Instead of making a big deal out of it and trying to cough it out in front of thirty-six people I was directly or indirectly related to, Iโ€™d chosen to swallow it inward, to quietly absorb the pain as the bone scraped its way down while I sat there and smiled. Nobody could have guessed that something was wrong.

It was only years later, when the event had long passed, that I had even thought to bring it up with my mother as a joke. She was horrified.ย You could have choked to death, sheโ€™d scolded me.ย You shouldโ€™ve said something.

But you were chatting with laolao, Iโ€™d replied.ย I was afraid of bothering you.

She had been silent for a long time. When she finally breathed out, her eyes were so sad and heavy Iโ€™d regretted bringing it up in the first place.

Why are you this way?ย she kept asking, until I didnโ€™t know if she was directing the question at me or herself.ย Since when did you become this way?

โ€œSadie,โ€ Abigail says, yanking me back to the cabin, to the present. โ€œThereโ€™s something . . . something Iโ€™ve been keeping to myself. I didnโ€™t mean to, I swearโ€”I know I shouldโ€™ve said it way earlier, but . . .โ€

I stiffen, my pulse accelerating immediately. โ€œWhatโ€™s wrong?โ€

She wrings her hands. Steps forward, then stops a few feet away from me. Abigail Ong is never nervous, not before delivering a class presentation, not before a date, not before any major test. Except sheโ€™s

nervous right now, her eyes flicking to the dark clouds rolling in beyond the window, then back to me. โ€œThe emails,โ€ she says. Thatโ€™s all she says at first.

I blink at her, not understanding. โ€œI sent them.โ€

I donโ€™t process the words. Thereโ€™s a faint ringing in my ears, all sound distorted, muted. I feel like Iโ€™m falling away from my own body, like those scenes in the movies where the camera zooms out and out from the person to the sky above them.

โ€œNot on purpose,โ€ she says, speaking in a rush, like sheโ€™s scared Iโ€™m not going to give her the chance to continue. โ€œNot all of them. I was justโ€”I was reading the draft you wrote to Julius, and I knew that heโ€™d been bothering you for ages, and in that moment I thought . . . I donโ€™t know, I was tired of seeing people walk all over you. It was only one email; it was onlyย supposedย to be one email. But then you had, like, hundreds of tabs open, and your laptop was lagging, and when I hit send, nothing happened, so I kind of justโ€”I kept clicking and trying to send it, and then suddenlyย all

your drafts were being sent out, and I couldnโ€™t undo it . . .โ€

Iโ€™m frozen in place, rooted in my shock. โ€œWait,โ€ I croak out. Squeeze my temples. โ€œYou sent the email?ย When?ย No, hang on . . .โ€

Itโ€™s all coming back to me, the details sharpened, everything different under a new light. When Iโ€™d rushed outside the classroom and come back to find my laptop moved. โ€œOh my god,โ€ I say. Part of me still refuses to

believe it. Waits for her to tell me sheโ€™s joking, sheโ€™s making it up.

โ€œI shouldnโ€™t have gone behind your back,โ€ she whispers, her face pale. โ€œI know. Iโ€™m sorryโ€”Iโ€™m so sorry. I take full responsibility. Iโ€™llโ€”Iโ€™ll write an explanation to every single person who received an email from you. Iโ€™ll do anything. Just . . . please donโ€™t be mad at me.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t get it,โ€ I say slowly, even as my heart pounds at breakneck speed, each thud painful. โ€œWhy didnโ€™t you say anything earlier?โ€

โ€œI tried to, I swear.โ€ She holds up a hand as if making an oath. โ€œBut

There never seemed to be a good time, and I truly believed I was making the right choice in the long run. My whole life, Iโ€™ve thought I knew what was best, but after everything that happened with Liam, it hit me that maybe my instincts arenโ€™t as reliable as I once believed. She pauses, swallowing hard, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Even amidst my shock and anger, a wave of sympathy tugs at me from deep within.

โ€œPlus, for a while there,โ€ she continues, โ€œit seemed like everything would sort itself out. People started treating you differently, pushing you around less. And you and Julius had gotten closerโ€”โ€

The sound of his name strikes me like a whip. โ€œHeโ€™s exactly why those emails should never have been sent.โ€

Iโ€™m trembling now, as if some invisible force is shaking me from within, wrenching my bones and nerves out of alignment. My teeth chatter, my fingers shake. Everything feels so unnatural that I donโ€™t know whether to stand, sit, storm out, or scream until my throat is raw. Abigail and I never fight; sheโ€™s too laid-back, and Iโ€™m too afraid of confrontation. The most heated argument weโ€™ve ever had was over whether potatoes should count as vegetables.

โ€œIf heโ€™d never read those emails, we wouldnโ€™t have been forced to do all those ridiculous tasks together, I wouldnโ€™t have thrown that party, and I wouldnโ€™t have had the chance to like him. And now I do, god help me, and itโ€”it really feels likeโ€”โ€ I struggle to find the right words, the most articulate way to convey the ache in my chest. โ€œIt feels like crap.โ€

โ€œOkay, whoa.โ€ For a second, Abigail seems to forget weโ€™re fighting. Her mouth falls wide open. โ€œI thought you had, like, a firm noโ€‘swearing policy

โ€”โ€

โ€œItโ€™s horrible,โ€ I continue furiously. โ€œItโ€™s revolting how much I care about him. Even now. I shouldnโ€™t want this. I shouldnโ€™t want him.โ€

Her jaw drops farther, her gaze catching on something behind me. โ€œUm, Sadieโ€”โ€

But Iโ€™m too angry to stop. โ€œOut of all the people in this school, it

somehowย hasย to be the one person who called me up just to taunt me when I had a fever and missed out on practiceโ€”โ€

โ€œSadie,โ€ Abigail says again, louder.

โ€œItโ€™s like Iโ€™ve been poisoned,โ€ I go on, my palms itching. โ€œItโ€™s like a sickness, and somehow, the cause and cure of it is him. I hate it so much, but I canโ€™t even control my own brainโ€”โ€

โ€œSadie.โ€

I freeze. Because this time, itโ€™s not coming from Abigail. Itโ€™s a low, male voice, coming from behind me.

My whole life seems to disintegrate before my eyes as I turn around on my heel, and Iโ€™m praying itโ€™s not him, it canโ€™t be him,ย pleaseย let it be anybody but Juliusโ€”

โ€œSorry to interrupt,โ€ he says. Heโ€™s holding out my cardigan in the doorway, and I canโ€™t read any of the emotions on his face as he stares at me. โ€œYou left this behind at the campfire . . .โ€

Itโ€™s somewhat difficult to hear him over the sound of my dignity splintering into a thousand pieces. I consider dismissing the whole thing as a joke, or maybe a reenactment from a very dramatic play about modern feminism, but I can tell from his expression, from the terrible, sweltering

silence in the room, that the damage has already been done.

Thereโ€™s no taking it back now.

โ€œThank you,โ€ I manage to say, which is a miracle in and of itself. I keep my eyes averted as I grab the cardigan from him, my skin searing hot.

โ€œNot at all,โ€ he says with equal politeness.

This is probably the most polite weโ€™ve ever been around each other. And thenโ€”nobody speaks.

Iโ€™m staring at a fissure in the wall, and in my peripheral vision, Abigail is staring at the clouds outside the window, and Julius is still staring at the side of my face. Itโ€™s excruciating.

โ€œWell, thanks a lot for visiting,โ€ I tell the spot under Juliusโ€™s shoes when I canโ€™t stand it anymore. โ€œThis has been very fun. If that was all, please feel free to go wheneverโ€”โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ he says quickly.

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 and wonder:ย No, what? No, thereโ€™s more? No, he doesnโ€™t wish to

leave? No, he doesnโ€™t like me?

But before he can elaborate, a deafening clap of thunder startles all of us, so loud it makes the floor tremble. I glance outside just in time to watch the skies split open, water pouring down to flood the earth. Itโ€™s almost breathtaking to witness the rain come in, the droplets shattering the lakeโ€™s

surface like hundreds of tiny knives. Within seconds, the pavement has darkened to black, the wild grass submerged under rapidly growing puddles.

Then, from inside a cabin, someone starts yelling.

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