Page 57 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“Oh, right.” I snort. “Very mature.”
“You only have yourself to blame,” he says. “Why would you believe me in the first place?”
As utterly infuriating as he’s being, part of me is almost grateful for it.Thisis the version of him—of us—I’m used to. Maybe everything is still the same. “Just show it to me, Julius,” I demand.
“No.”
“Then don’t blame me for this.” Before he has time to react, I lunge across the desk and snatch his paper out of his hand and flip to the front page, expecting the same score as mine or a 98 at the lowest—
86 percent.
I stare at the number in red, stuck on the impossible discovery. I have to blink fast to make sure I’m not reading it upside down. It’s the kind of score someone like Ray would be overjoyed with. The kind of score Georgina’s parents would buy her a brand-new car to reward her for. But by our standards, Julius and I both know that any score starting with the number 8 is subpar. It’s just above average. It’s an abomination.
“Are you done?” he snaps, grabbing his paper back. There’s a tendon straining in his neck, and he quickly covers the score up with his sleeve like it’s a terrible scar.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, at a loss for what to do, how to react. “I didn’t know— I was just—”
“You can gloat,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Go ahead. Do it. It’s what I would do.”
Even though it’s also whatIwould have done a month ago, I don’t feel like gloating at all. “Julius . . .”
At the front of the classroom, Mr. Kaye launches into his next lecture, effectively ending the conversation. Julius doesn’t turn around again. And just like that, the silence is back, a heavy curtain falling between us. It lasts for the rest of the class, then the rest of the day, then the rest of the week. Funny how quickly my definition of torture can change.
•••
I keep my eyes on the bakery door, but nobody walks in.
We haven’t had any customers so far today, and I can only blame the weather. It’s not exactly raining, but every now and then a dark cloud passes, and a few measly drops of water will dampen the cement. Like the sky can’t make up its mind.
In the dim, gray light, I stack up the trays and wipe down the glass and line up our new layered strawberry cakes behind the display. My mom’s headed off early to meet with an accountant, leaving Max and me here to watch over the bakery. Well,I’mwatching over the bakery. Max is watching a basketball game on his phone and munching on an egg tart.
“I have to ask,” I say. “Do you really justnothave homework? Ever?”
He replies without glancing up. “Nope.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then why did you ask?”
I rub my hand over my face. Usually I’d drop the matter and let him waste time however he wants. But today, I feel a flicker of irritation. “Could you maybe pretend to be productive, then? Or even, I don’t know, help out a little around the store?”
“Okay, whoa, dude. You’ve been in a foul mood recently,” Max says, setting his phone aside at last. He wipes the egg tart crumbs from his chin and leans forward in his seat. “Did you get rejected by a boy or something? If you did, just tell me—I can beat his ass.”
“I’d rather you scrub a table,” I tell him, fighting to keep my expression plain, even when I can feel my skin heating.
“Now, let’s not be so extreme,” Max says. “And that time I cleaned a table, you and Mom both yelled at me for using the wrong cloth.”
“As in the cloth we use towipe the floor—”
The door swings open behind me, and I spin around instinctively to greet them, my customer-service smile ready—
Until I see who it is.
Julius Gong is standing in the entrance. He’s still wearing his school uniform, but he’s discarded his blazer, and his tie is undone, hanging loose over his white button-down shirt. He looks different, for a reason I can’t quite place my finger on. Maybe it’s his stance. Or the crease between his brows. The shadows under his eyes.
“Why are you here?” I blurt out.
He crosses his arms over his chest, but not before some complicated emotion flickers across his features. “Why can’t I be here?” he drawls. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to buy bread. Obviously I didn’t know thatyouwould be here.”
