Page 80 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
He wrinkles his nose, but he also bumps my shoulder. It’s what we used to do when we were on the same team in basketball and won a game against our dad. And I’ve missed that. Not just our dad, but being on Max’s team. “Don’t you dare go all sappy on me,” he warns. “Save it for when I break a world record.”
“Fine. Then I’ll save you the speech and go do something productive.” I look around for a cloth. “Have all the tables been wiped already? Because I can—”
“No,” Mom says.
“No?” I repeat, confused.
“You just got back,” she says. “Rest. Relax. Do whatever you want to do.”
I hesitate. “Are you sure?”
“Go,” she insists.
I’m sorry.The words rise instinctively to my lips, but I push them down, seal them shut with the part of me that believes everyone else’s happiness should come at the expense of my own. Try something different for once. “Thank you,” I say quietly. It feels foreign. Strange. Yet it tastes sweet on my tongue, like forgiveness, like the rising spring air, like the lingering scent of strawberry shortcakes.
Like a beginning.
•••
On the bus ride home, I take the window seat and compose a brand-new email:
Julius,
I’m writing this to inform you that you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. You, with your smug, razor-sharp smiles, your mocking eyes, your arrogance, and your vanity. Your voice when you call my name, your hands when they wrap around mine. I’m not so familiar with vices—I like to think I have none, but if anything were to count, you would be my only one. It must be an addiction or an obsession. I have never known anybody as completely as I know you, and yet I still want to sit next to you, draw close to you, closer. I want you to tell me every story, want to listen to you speak until the night sinks in the sky and the stars fade out. I want you to hold me like a grudge, keep me like a promise, haunt me like a ghost. You’re so beautiful it enrages me.
Maybe you’re expecting an apology after all this time, so I’ll cut to the chase: It’s not coming. I apologize far too much—I’m working on it, I promise—but I’m not sorry for those emails.
You know that evening when I stumbled across your conversation with your brother? All right, not stumbled—followed. That’s beside the point. Afterward, I could track the hurt in your eyes, and everything in me burned. I’m not sure if I expressed myself clearly enough then, if I’d convinced you enough. If not, then let me establish for now and forever that you will never be second. You will never be inadequate. You will never be anything but good.
Because you care how your parents see you. Because you will talk about anything except the things that actually hurt you. Because you never commit to something if you can’t see it through to the end. Because you are brutally hard on yourself, and you have never gone easy on me in a competition or test. Because you challenge me, you distract me when my brain is being cruel, you sharpen my edges when the world tries to wear them down. Because every time I tired during class, I would catch your eye across the room, and remember why I needed to keep going.
Since I’ve decided to peel back my pride for the length of this email, let me tell you a little secret. When I was fourteen, I would stare up at my bedroom walls and wonder what it was like to fall in love. Most of my inspiration came from songs and the movies. But still, I imagined it. What it would be like to be someone who had somebody else. I would imagine tenderness. The concept of infinity. Of endless patience. Imagine them chasing after me even when I run. Cradling my sorrows in the palm of their hands. Imagine them caring, trying to understand.
And now there’s you. This whole time, it’s been you, and I didn’t even realize. In retrospect, it makes sense, doesn’t it? In order to beat the enemy, you have to understand them intimately. You have to observe them, learn their weaknesses, memorize their every word, track their progress, predict their next move. For ten years I thought I was preparing to destroy you, when really I was preparing to love you.
All of which is to say I really hope this finds you.
And I hope you find me too.
Sadie
I receive his reply within ten minutes. It’s only two sentences:
You were right, Sadie Wen. I am completely, helplessly obsessed with you.
Love,
Julius
This book could not have found its way to you without the talent and efforts of the following people:
My eternal thanks to my extraordinary agent, Kathleen Rushall. Thank you for always making me feel so seen and supported, and for being there throughout this entire journey. I may have trust issues, but I would trust you with my life. Thank you to the incredible team at Andrea Brown Literary Agency for your support.
A huge thank-you to Maya Marlette, for understanding the heart of this story and for helping me shape it into what it is today. It is such a tremendous joy and honor to get to work with you on another book. Thank you to Maeve Norton, Elizabeth Parisi, and Robin Har for all your work on the beautiful cover. Thank you to everyone at Scholastic for your enthusiasm and expertise, including: Elizabeth Whiting, Caroline Noll, Melanie Wann, Dan Moser, Jarad Waxman, Jody Stigliano, Jackie Rubin, Nikki Mutch, Savannah D’Amico, Lori Benton, John Pels, Rachel Feld, Erin Berger, Lia Ferrone, Avery Silverberg, Daisy Glasgow, and Seale Ballenger. All my thanks to Janell Harris, Priscilla Eakeley, Sarah Mondello, Jody Corbett, and Jessica White for playing such an integral part in preparing this book for publication. Thank you to the fantastic Emily Heddleson, Lizette Serrano, and Sabrina Montenigro. My heartfelt thanks to David Levithan, Ellie Berger, and Leslie Garych.
I am deeply grateful for Taryn Fagerness at Taryn Fagerness Agency. Thank you for helping bring this book to more readers around the world, and for all that you do.
Thank you to everyone in the US and abroad who has championed this book throughout the publication process and beyond.
