Page 61 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“Shut up, Julius,” I snap. “I’m talking.”
“Yeah, let her talk,” James says, tilting his head and appraising me as if I’m an unexpected bonus question at the end of a test. “It’s good to see you again, Sadie Wen. Of course, I never imagined it would be under the present circumstances—”
I speak over him. “You’re wrong about Julius. He hasn’t slacked off on a single test in the ten years I’ve known him. He’s president of every club he’s run for. He’s the only one who could get his classmates to give him a standing ovation for a minor English presentation. And if he ever comes in second, it’s not because he isn’t good enough—it’s simply because I’m better—”
Julius coughs. “Is this whole thing building up to a self-congratulatory speech?”
“Are you unable to stop yourself from being irritating when I’m literally defending you?” I hiss.
“Yes, well, you seemed to be getting sidetracked—”
“You’re the one getting sidetracked.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Rake my hand through my hair. Catch my train of thought again. “What I wassayingis that despite how annoying Julius is, and how vain, and cowardly, and insincere, everyone who’s met him knows he’s destined for great things. Through sheer stubbornness and manipulation, he’ll find a way to make great things come to him.”
James casts Julius a skeptical look. “Are we talking about the same person here?”
“Maybe you just don’t know your brother that well,” I say coldly. I can’t remember ever feeling so angry. So tempted to smash a car with a hammer. No, that’s a lie—Julius always manages to infuriate me. The irony is that for the first time, I’m not angry at him; I’m angry because of him. Because the only person who should be allowed to attack him is me.
James is silent for a while. Then he laughs, the sound bright and too cheery, echoing down the street. “How touching, that my little brother has a girl out here protecting his dignity. This is really very sweet.”
“It’s not about his dignity,” I tell him, articulating each and every word. “It’s about mine. By insulting my competition, you’re insulting me.”
He raises his brows. “That’s quite the bold statement.”
Normally I would shrivel up at this kind of accusation. Blush and back down. Swallow my words, relinquish the space I’ve earned. But the adrenaline is still pumping through my veins, and it feels different when I’m speaking for the both of us. When—god knows how this happened—we’re on the same side. “And what of it?”
James laughs again, his mouth so wide I can see his back teeth. “I guess we’ll see if you’re right when the end-of-year results come out, huh?” Then he looks over at Julius and beckons for him with two fingers. “Stop sulking now and get in the car.”
“Wait,” I say, remembering. “Your phone. You forgot it.”
I hold the phone out and Julius takes it very carefully, but his hand still brushes against mine, the barest contact somehow torturous. He hesitates. Meets my gaze. A thousand emotions swim in his eyes, one tied to another: gratitude and resentment for his gratitude and something else. “Sadie,” he says, quiet, his voice pitched only for the space between us. “I . . .”
The headlights switch on, the harsh white beam of light half blinding me. I block my face with one hand, squinting.
“Get in,”James repeats. “Hurry.”
Julius’s lips part, but he settles for a nod, then climbs slowly into the car. The doors lock; the engine starts. As they drive down the road, I think I catch him turning around in the seat. Looking back at me.
•••
I can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s mortifying. Unproductive.Unnatural.And quite frankly, it’s really enraging. He has no right to occupy this much space inside my head. Yet after I go home with Max and lock myself in my bedroom with every intention of completing my history homework ahead of time, I end up staring at my wall for eleven minutes.
“Stop it,” I hiss at myself, rubbing my face. “Get agrip.”
My brain has always been disciplined. Good at compartmentalizing feelings, separating necessary information from garbage, labeling the good and the terrible. Julius absolutely goes into the Terrible folder.
Yet tonight, my brain betrays me. Even when I try to distract myself by doing twice my usual set of sit-ups, hoping the physical exhaustion will quiet my mind, all it does is make my muscles ache.
Like a compulsion, a bad habit I can’t change, I keep imagining the ride home for him. Would Julius be fighting with his brother? Would my name come up again? Would he be wondering about me?
Finally I give up and message Abigail. Just two words:blue dress.
It’s the code we use in every mini emergency, from breakups to bad grades to boring family reunions. It means: Help. It means: Drop everything and talk to me. We first came up with it when I tore a massive hole through the back of my dress on a shopping trip, and Abigail immediately ran to the closest store to buy me a jacket to cover it up. I’d never seen someone whip out their credit card so fast.
Abigail calls me within two and a half minutes. “Yes, darling? What fire are we putting out?”
“Are you busy?”
