Page 66 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“That’s if he picks me,” I whisper back.
“Of course he will. Based on athletic ability alone, he should.”
I shake my head and smile like the idea couldn’t be further from my mind, but secretly, humiliatingly, I am waiting for Julius to turn to me. To at leastconsiderme, if not choose me. I’m waiting for him to take his time, to meet my eyes. My stomach flutters from the sheer anticipation, and my heart—my heart is beating unbearably fast, the suspense of the moment so disproportionate to the stakes I want to laugh at myself.
And then I want to slap myself. Because he doesn’t hesitate, or even glance once in my direction. Instead, he waves Rosie forward.
“Oh my god,yes,” she says, grinning wide and making her way down the shore like a pageant queen. “We’ll make the perfect team.”
Julius grins back at her. My nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms, my hurt hardening into rage. It’s not Rosie I’m angry at though. It’s him. It’s always him.
He doesn’t choose me next either. He chooses Ray and Adam and Georgina, who gets out of swimming lessons every year by claiming she’s allergic to chlorine. It’s like I don’t even exist to him. Like last night never even happened. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe I’ve been spinning it into something it’s not.
By the end, I’m one of the last two people left. Me, and that boy in our year level who talks to nobody.
Julius’s eyes flicker between us. His expression is passive, careless, when he nods once at the boy. He doesn’t even appear sorry. It’s not as if I was ever certain I could be his first choice. But knowing that I’m his last choice—it’s a twist of a knife in the gut.
Humiliation stings my throat. I’m no longer planning to confess to him; I’m planning to choke him. But for the sake of my own dignity, I act like it doesn’t matter. I move over to Abigail’s side, my head held high, my fists clenched to stop them from shaking.
“Great. Now, who wants to race first?” Dave asks.
“I will,” Julius offers, rolling up his sleeves.
Dave’s sunburned face splits into a beam. “And who thinks they can take him in a one-on-one—”
“I’ll go,” I say loudly, marching forward, not even caring when the freezing lake water sloshes over my shoes. “I’ll beat him.”
There’s a beat of surprised silence. Dave blinks at me. “Oh! Oh, okay. Really loving the confidence here. Now, the paddle might be a little heavy for you—”
I pick up the paddle easily, tightening my grip around the rough wood. “Just teach me how to row this thing.”
•••
I’ve always been a fast learner.
It takes me only a few minutes to push the canoe into the lake, strap on my life jacket, and get used to steering with the paddle. Then I start paddling.
Wild geese startle and soar over my head, their white wings flapping as the canoe makes its way through the water, foam forming from the ends of the paddle. The earthy scent of the air fills my nostrils, coats my tongue. The lake itself is serene, tall grass rising over the opposite shores, the sun’s reflection rippling outward. I can make out the trees in the distance, their smooth, pale bark gleaming, their golden-green foliage swaying with the breeze.
If I wasn’t competing against Julius, I would probably admire the view more. Let myself sit in the rare silence and watch the light playing over the water, the wilted flowers floating across the surface.
But all I can focus on is his canoe in my peripheral vision.
I lean forward, dig my paddle deeper into the water, my muscles burning from the effort. It’s still not enough; he’s pulling ahead. I dig as hard as I can, but I apply too much force on one side and the canoe lurches unsteadily. Cold sprays my face, soaks through my clothes.
“Slow down,” Julius calls from beside me. He sounds irritated. “You’re going to fall into the water like that.”
“Youslow down,” I snap at him.
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He clenches his jaw and pushes his canoe onward with renewed vigor. Without looking at me, he asks, “What are you getting so angry for?”
I choke out a harsh laugh, the sound only half-audible over our splashing paddles. “Unbelievable.”
“What?”
“I’m not angry,” I say coldly. My arms are starting to weaken, and I can feel the wood rubbing open the skin on my palms, but I ignore the sting. “Why would I—” A sudden gust of wind tears through my hair, creating waves in the water, one bigger than the next. The canoe wobbles again, this time more violently. “—be angry?” I grip the edge of the canoe for support, grit my teeth against the emotions fighting for room inside my chest. “It’s not like we owe each other anything.”
He makes a soft, frustrated noise. “See, you’re saying that, but your tone strongly suggests otherwise.”
