Page 59 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
I watch their exchange silently from behind the counter.
“Woodvale Academy, right?” the girl asks, pointing to his uniform from such a close distance that it defeats the very purpose of pointing.
Julius lifts his head from the game playing on the screen. Acknowledges her with a faint smile. I grind my back teeth. “That’s right.”
“I always heard the boys were hotter at Woodvale,” she says, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And here I thought they were exaggerating.”
Julius laughs, and I feel a hot rush of violence. My fingernails dig into the counter surface as he turns fully toward her.
“I’m not sure if you recognize me?” the girl continues. “A lot of people follow me online. Not saying I’m famous, but I’m not, like,notfamous either.”
“This is my first time seeing you anywhere,” Julius says.
She doesn’t seem fazed. “Well, it’s never too late. If you want to search my name . . .” Then she holds out a hand for his phone.
I expect him to decline. It’s not like this is the first time a girl has shown interest in him, famous or not. In year eight, basically everyone in the year level had a crush on him because he was the fastest runner in PE and could open any bottle you passed to him. In year nine, everyone loved him because he was invited to do some kind of fashion shoot for the school, and in the final photos he was enviably beautiful, his shirtsleeves folded, his black hair falling long and soft over his eyes. In year ten, everyone wanted him because he justwas. Because he didn’t seem to care much for anyone, which lent him a cool, unapproachable air. Because he had grown another two inches and his shoulders were broader and his jaw sharper. Because he had a way of speaking like everything he said mattered, meant something.
And while he’s always basked in the attention, he’s never seemed particularly interested in committing to a relationship.
Which is why I’m stunned to see him take out his phone now and pass it over. His gaze flits to me as the girl types out her name, like he wants to make sure I’m watching, and I remember how much I hate him. It’s a physical kind of hatred, the kind that feels like someone’s shoved their fist into my chest. The kind that makes my gums itch.
“Okay, so this is my account,” she’s explaining, as though he’s never used a phone before. “I’ve followed myself for you. These recent pictures on the beach aresoembarrassing—I mean, I know the comments all say I look super cute, but I have mixed feelings about the bikini—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing,” I announce. It’s true. Well, technically, we should be closing in two and a half minutes, but all the other customers have already left.
The girl blinks at me. Julius just smiles.
“I guess I better get going, then,” the girl says, and shoots me such a friendly look I feel bad. I almost consider taking back my words, inviting her to stay longer if she really wants to—until she grips Julius’s shoulder, delicate fingers curling into his shirt, and adds, “Remember, you can message me whenever. Tonight, if you’d like.”
Julius is still smiling at me when he replies. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
•••
Julius doesn’t leave.
Not when I flip the sign on the door, or when I turn off the front lights, or when I tell him, quite clearly, “You should leave.”
He stands up, but only to lean back against the wall. “Are you going to make me?”
“I can,” I say. “You’re not a customer anymore. I can do anything.”
His stance doesn’t change. “Do it, then. Do whatever you want.”
Irritation floods through me. I’m seriously contemplating whether or not to drag him out by force when I notice the set of his jaw. The gleam in his eyes. He’s goading me. But it’s not just that. It’s as if . . . he’s looking for a fight, or a distraction. I remember how he’d looked when he first entered the shop, and I feel myself hesitate.
But he seems to sense the change in me. In a heartbeat, he withdraws, his expression snapping closed. “Honestly I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway,” he says, pushing off from the wall. “See you at school.”
“Hey—”
He steps out without another word, leaving me staring in his wake, my head buzzing as if I’ve just been cramming for a final exam. There’s too much noise, too many confounding concepts. He didn’t even buy any bread.
“He’s into you,” Max remarks from behind me.
I startle. “Excuse me?”
“He kept looking over at you,” he says with a little grin. “At least thirty times. I counted.”
“I didn’t know you could count that high,” I say dryly, to hide my speeding pulse.
