Page 43 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
He regards me warily. “Depends.”
“Sit down first,” I command, patting the floor next to me.
“I would prefer not to—”
“Sit,”I say, grabbing his wrist and tugging him down.
“The floor’s cold,” he protests, though he remains sitting, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his hands supporting his weight.
“Not as cold as you,” I say. My head swims, and it feels like I’m moving in slow motion when I shuffle around to face him. “So. Tell me. Why is it always me?”
His brows crease. “What kind of question is that?”
“Why is itme?” The words come out slurred, swollen on my tongue. I wave my hands around with growing frustration. “Why do you . . . Why do you put all your energy into makingmylife difficult? What did I ever do to you to make you . . . hate me so much? It’s been happening since the day we met each other. With dodgeball. With the spelling quiz in year six. With our history project. Witheverything. Why do you always single me out?”
“Because,” he says quietly, a curious expression on his face. I’ve never seen him so serious. So sincere. “You’re the only person worth paying attention to.”
And the pain comes crashing back through my chest, but it’s transformed. Warm at the edges, burning hot within. I close my eyes, swallow, unable to speak. I want him to say it again. I wish he’d never said it.
“Are you satisfied now?” Julius asks. He sounds almost angry about it, spiteful, like he’s been forced to prove a point against himself.
My eyes flutter open, and I’m alarmed by how close he is. Was he that close before? I can see the dark blue shadows under his collarbones, the flecks of gold in his irises, the soft curve of his lips, the pulse beating at his neck.What if we kissed again?The foolish notion floats to my brain, and I can’t shake it away.
But before the idea can expand into something dangerous, I hear the unmistakable rumble of a car engine. Headlights flash through the windows, briefly bathing the front entrance in bright orange light, the silhouette of trees outlined against the glass. Then voices drift through the front yard. Max’s voice, loud no matter the hour. “. . . can’t blame me forwinning, can you? You’re always telling me to learn from my sister and set higher goals for myself. Shouldn’t you be glad I’m so good at—”
“At mahjong?” comes my mom’s shrill reply. “You think I should be proud of you? Where did you even learn to play, huh? Have you been gambling when you’re supposed to be at school?”
“No! Bro, I swear—”
“I’m not yourbro.Ni bu xiang huo le shi ba—”
“Okay, then, dearest mother, maybe it’s just natural talent. Maybe this is my calling—Ow, stop hitting me—”
Oh my god.
They’ve come back early.
“Crap.” I stand up too fast, and for a second the room is nothing but a blur of color. My head pounds harder.“Crap.”
Julius jumps to his feet too. “What—”
“My parents,” I babble. “I mean—my parent. My mom. She’s back. She didn’t— She doesn’t know I was throwing a party. She’s literally going to kill me and throw my corpse into a dumpster when she finds out.”
“I think you’re misusing the wordliteral—”
I cut him off. “You have to get out of here before she sees you.”
“I— Okay.” He steps left, then right again. Hesitates.
“The back door.” I sweep the bottle into the bin—god, I couldslapmyself, I should never have let myself drink—and push Julius out of the room with both hands. The footsteps outside are drawing closer. The automatic lights on the front porch switch on. I can feel my heart pounding in my throat. The metaphorical panic-spider is no longer locked in the other room; it’s now scuttling up my leg, and I want to scream.
“Here,” I hiss at Julius, motioning toward the door. But then I see the top of Max’s spiky hair through the bushes. He’s coming in this way. I grab a fistful of Julius’s shirt and yank him back.
“What the hell?” Julius demands.
“Front door,” I amend, shoving him in the other direction. “Use the front door instead.”
No sooner than I’ve spoken, the lights on the front porch flick on as well.
