Page 56 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“Which definitely solves the hooking-up problem,” he says.
“Don’t sound so certain. Some people are into that kind of thing.”
He looks, briefly, stumped. Then he bites down on his lip, his shoulders shaking so hard he appears in danger of falling over. His voice is saturated with amusement when he slides forward again. Tilts his head at me. “Wow. I never pegged you as the type.”
“Shut up,” I grumble. “I was just making a point.”
“So was I.”
“Your point isn’t convincing enough,” I say, shaking myself free from his gaze. “Let’s go back to the drawing board.”
“Your wish is my command,” he says sweetly. Sweetly enough that I stare up at him and stumble over my thoughts and fall headfirst into his trap. He starts laughing again as my face overheats. “You really like that, don’t you? So youarethe type—”
I twist my head away and drag my laptop closer toward me like a shield. We spend the remaining period going back and forth on every possible option. I suggest a farm; he says he would like to go somewhere free from the looming threat of accidentally stepping into animal excrement. He pulls up a website for an “affordable” five-star hotel in the city center; I remind him that it would only beaffordableif the school sold drugs or donated all our kidneys, which leads us on a tangent about which teacher looks most like a potential drug dealer (we both settle on Mr. Kaye, and I observe how depressing it is that this is somehow the only thing we’ve managed to agree on so far). I then raise the idea of traveling to a national park; he protests that he doesn’t enjoy parks.
“Why are you making this so hard, Julius? Didn’t you hear the principal? The second we finish this proposal, the torture will stop and we’ll be released from each other at last. We won’t even have to speak to each other ever again.”
A strange look crosses his face. “I know that.”
“Then—”
“Let’s choose this place,” he says, the humor gone from his tone. He points at a lakeside location I’d picked and he’d dismissed because he found the welcome message on their home pagesuspiciously friendly.
I blink. “Really? That’s— You agree?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He stands up and grabs his coffee cup, all without looking at me. And even though I should be glad we’ve ticked off our final task, gladder still to be rid of him, I feel more like I’ve missed a step on the stairs. Before I can put a finger on it, he turns around on his way out and says only, “Congratulations, Sadie. The torture is over.”
The torture is over.
These are the last words Julius speaks to me in over a month. And they’re true. Or they’re supposed to be true. After I deliver the completed proposal to Principal Miller, he doesn’t bring up any more tasks for Julius and me to work on together. We go back to our own lives, our own busy schedules and old routines. We move like two planets in orbit; both on the same trajectory, but never touching.
The only time he breaks the silence is when we get our tests back in math.
“What’s your score?” he asks, twisting around in his seat to look at my paper.
I pin it flat on the table, facedown, and try to conceal my surprise. Try to control my beating heart. It’s been so long since we’ve talked that I feel oddly self-conscious, out of sync with our old, familiar rhythm. “Not telling.” Actually, I don’t mind showing him—I received a 100 percent. I just want to be difficult. I just want him to keep talking to me.
He regards me with an intensity that’s surprising. He’s gripping his paper so tightly it’s starting to crease. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he says.
“Promise?”
His gaze is sharp. “Of course.”
“Fine.” I let my face break into a satisfied smile. “One hundred percent.”
The corners of his lips cut down—the subtlest of reactions, the smallest sign of irritation—but he simply turns around again.
“Hey.” I frown at his back. “Hey, aren’t you going to tell me yours?”
“I’d rather not.”
My blood heats. “You literally promised me, like, two seconds ago—”
“I was crossing my fingers,” he says.
“You were what?”
He lifts his fingers to show me. “See? It doesn’t count.”
