I saw your search results.

y giving you some advice

Julius just smiles

His gaze flits to me as the girl types out her name, like he wants tomake sure I’m watching,

“You’ve been moping because of a boy, last I heard,” he whispers againstmy ear. Heat rushes up my neck, gathering around the point where I canfeel his lips. “Who is it? Do I know him?”

are you the one who rejected my sister? Is that why she’s been somopey?”“What?” I hiss.“What?” Julius asks, stiffening at once. His gaze flickers to me

“Are you here to select bread,or a future wife? What’s taking so long?”His smile is sharp, taunting. “The latter.”

“Did you get rejected by a boy orsomething?

It’s the kind of scoresomeone like Ray would be over-joyed with.

Ijust want to be difficult. I just want him to keep talking to me

in over a month.

“Congratulations, Sadie. The torture is over.”

We won’t even have to speak to each otherever again.”A strange look crosses his face. “I know that.”

“Your wish is my command,” he says sweetly. Sweetly enough that I stareup at him and stumble over my thoughts and fall headfirst into his trap.“You really like that, don’t you?” He starts laughing again as my faceoverheats. “So you are the type—”

You literally need a helmet and a harness just to climb intobed.”“Which definitely solves the hooking-up problem,” he says.“Don’t sound so certain. Some people are into that kind of thing.”

“Not even if they did this?” he asks quietly, and he leans forward. All atonce he’s too close, overwhelmingly close. I’m frozen to the spot as hepauses on purpose, his mouth bare inches from the base of my neck, so Ican feel his breath trembling against my skin. “Do you need me todemonstrate further?”A low, hoarse sound escapes my lips. It could be a protest or a plea; I don’tknow anymore. I don’t know anything.“What was that, Sadie?” he presses, lowering himself by just anotherfraction of an inch—I shove him away. “I get it. ” My heart is still beating at an abnormal rate,heat coursing furiously through my veins. Yet even worse than my fear ofwhat might’ve happened is the disappointment that it didn’t. And the fearthat he can somehow sense my disappointment, the itch in my skin fromwhere his mouth had hovered seconds earlier. Only physical attraction, Iremind myself sternly. It must be some kind of unfortunate side effectleftover from the kiss at the party. “I get it, okay? You didn’t have to makeyour case in such a disgusting manner.”Something shifts in his expression. Then he smiles, and it’s as smug as ever.“Are you admitting that I’m right?”

t’s not like they’re going to try and sneak off into the cabins to make outjust because the view’s pretty and someone touched their hair—”

let me set the scene for you. It’s sunset, the sky is the perfect shade of pink,the air just warm enough that you can slip out of your sweater and set itdown on the sand like a towel. You can hear the waves lapping against theshore, taste the salt on your tongue. There’s music playing softly fromsomeone’s phone speaker. You’re sitting next to the person you’ve beeneyeing for the whole semester, and when a breeze rises and messes up yourhair, he lifts his hand and . . .”

“That one of us will drop dead and the school will end up involved in along, painful, costly lawsuit despite the fact that they made all our parentssign that form that says in very fine print that nobody is to blame if we’reinjured, abducted, or murdered.”

It would be great if youcould get this organized as soon as possible and hand me a proposaltomorrow morning.”

“All of this is to say that Julius is lovely,” I say quickly.“And Sadie is the light of my life,” Julius says, his lip curling, even thoughthere’s an odd note to his tone. Something that could be confused forsincerity. “The sun in my sky, the source of all my joy. She’s the reason Iwake up every morning excited to go to my classes. Not a day goes bywhere I’m not grateful that she exists, that she’s there, that I get to talk toher and pass her in the halls and listen to her laugh.”I’m concerned he’s gone a bit too far with the irony, but Principal Millerlooks convinced. No, he even looks moved.

“She’s right. I help her all the time.”I let out a high- pitched laugh. “Although, of course, I help him plenty aswell, seeing as I’m much more familiar with the syllabus than he is—”“But only because I’m so busy doing the advanced questions.”Julius’s grin is so wide it looks like it hurts. There’s a visible muscletwitching in his jaw. “And because I don’t find memorizing the syllabus tobe an effective study method, although I concede that it may be beneficialfor those with a rudimentary understanding of the content—”207“Which is exactly the kind of thinking that could lead some people,” I sayin a bright voice, squeezing my fingers together under the desk, “to losethree marks on an important test and then complain that the topic wasn’tcovered, when it was actually stated in black and white.”

We’re so close now. We’re basically best friends.”“The best of friends.” Julius nods fast. “We hang out even when we’re notat school. She’s the first person I think of when something goes well andwhen something goes wrong. We even finish each other’ s—”“Math questions,” I say. “He’s been a great help in class.”

“You’re looking great today, Principal Miller,” Julius says.I’m almost impressed by his ability to dive straight into such shamelessflattery at any given moment. It’s way too early in the morning for this. “Isthat a new tie?”

he adds, carelessly, “Consider it compensation for all the awards I’ve takenfrom you.”My gratitude curdles into a scoff on my tongue, and he laughs at the look onmy face.“You’re welcome,” he says.“For being cocky?”“That too.”But I slide the medal into my back pocket, and even though I can’t decidewhat it really means— a gift, a form of compensation, proof of something— it’s somehow one of the best things I’ve ever received.

It’s prettierthan any necklace I’ve ever seen

When Julius crosses the finish line alone, the indisputable winner, to wildroars from the spectators, a grin splits over my face.

“I’ll give you the medal as a present,” he says, already turning around. “Justwait.”

You’re always insistent on coming first in everything, but when it comesdown to it, you’re ready to put yourself last just to please other people—”“The others need me to,” I protest, confused why we’re even having thisconversation. “They didn’t want to race so—”“Screw the others,” he says fiercely. The heat in his voice shocks me. Burnsme to the core. “I don’t care about them. I only care about

“Then why are you blushing?” Julius asks.

I remember the wanting, the dangerous knife point of desire, the need to dosomething foolish and reckless with him. Now that I’m completely sober,it’s easy to dismiss it all as pure, physical attraction. It makes scientificsense. The alcohol would have helped me ignore the many defects of hispersonality, until all that was left was his geometrically pleasing features,

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds.I stare. “For what?”“The dare at your party.” He grins. “Never imagined you and Julius wouldbe so into it.”

“As soon as my feet start moving very fast,” he says, “my heart just startsbeating wildly, and my vision goes all blurry. It’s like being on a rollercoaster. Or in a race car. The speed at which the world rushes past me isterrifying.”

The fact that she’s even asking is proof she’s just suffered a terrible blow toher self- esteem.

“The reason she and Liam were fighting was because she found out he’sbeen cheating on her. Not just with one person, but multiple people.”

We weren’t in love with each other. We weresimply polite

like glitter in the carpet, a winestain on a favorite dress

Nobody, I realize. But nobody ever had to tell me.

There’s nothing I want more than for time to be a physical thing, somethingI can split into two with my own hands, so I can turn it around, shatter it,undo all the consequences

“No! Bro, I swear—”“I’m not your bro

What if we kissed again?

I want him to say it again. I wish he’d never said it.

your comb breaks and you run out of whatever expensive hair productsyou’ve been using to make your hair appear deceptively soft when I’m sureit’s not, because there’s nothing soft about you, anywhere at all.”

. So I give in to the impulseand lean forward, smoothing his hair. “It’s so soft.Even softer than it looks,” I murmur, playing with a dark lock of it betweentwo fingers. He’s gone very still before me, his pupils black and dilated. Ican feel the air ripple with his next expelled breath, almost a pained sigh. “Ialways did like your hair.”“I thought you hated it,” he says. His voice is scratchy, like he’s swallowedsand

“It’s really obvious here,” I say, tracing out the line ofhis collarbone with one fingertip. Even his skin is unnaturally hot.Something flashes over his face. He wets his lower lip and steps back.

“You also didn’t seem too sorry about . . .” He trails off on purpose, but hiseyes flicker down to my lips. Linger there, for a beat too long.This is something else I know I’ll always remember, no matter how hard Itry to scrub it from my memory, to pretend otherwise.That I had kissed Julius Gong.That I’d kissed him, and wanted it

They only make it in servings of two, so now . . . now Inever order it. Because I don’t have anyone to share it with.”Because having one parent is enough.

It’s an old family photo, taken ten years ago. We’re at a hot pot restaurant,the four of us squeezed around the round table, the plates spread out in frontof us. Max is little more than a kid, his hair spiky and his cheeks round.He’s wearing that basketball jersey he loved so much he’d refuse to take itoff even to wash the toothpaste stains on the front. My mom’s dressed up inher favorite cardigan and turtleneck, her raven hair curled and styled in away it hasn’t been since that night. And my dad’s gazing over at me withsuch pride that it hurts to inhale. We look . . . happy. It must be the world’sgreatest magic show; it’s so convincing, even if it’s false. Made up. Make-believe. Because less than a month after the photo was taken, he had left

I can’t focus on anything else. I can’t just forget about it and go on with myown life. It’s like there’s something hard wedged inside my chest. I’llalways feel guilty. I’ll always want to make amends.”He doesn’t reply, and I realize I’ve said way too much.“Forget it,” I mumble. “You won’t understand.”“I’m trying to.”

He simply rolls up his sleeves and startssmoothing out the cushions on the couch.

Everyone said he was attractive.”

“What about this, then?” I challenge, and before he can reply, I grab thecollar of his shirt and pull him to me.This time, when our lips meet, I don’t back away. I deepen the kiss, lettingmy fingers slide up his neck, curl into his hair. For one moment, I can feelhis shock, the tension running through his frame like a heated wire, and Ithink: I’ve won. I’ve proven him wrong. Then he kisses me back, pressesme closer, and something inside me slides off- balance.

Julius touches a finger to his lips like he can’t quite believe it either. Thenhe straightens. Cocks his head, his eyes black with cool amusement. “Youcall that a kiss?” he says on a scoff. His voice comes out lower than usual,and I can see the effort in the movement of his throat. “That was barelyanything.”

I let my anger carve away my nerves and close my eyes and kiss him. It’s sofast, so light that I only have time to register the startling softness of his lips

ut his expression is unreadable. He shows no outwardemotion, and somehow that’s worse. Maybe that’s how little it affects him,how little it means.Maybe that’s how little I matter.

“We’ve decided. We dare you . . . to kiss Julius.”

“Okay, then . . . Do you like anyone?”It has nothing to do with me, but my heart seizes as if I’ve just beenelectrocuted. I’m blinking too fast, sitting up too straight.I can’t control my body, can’t control the weird, nervous feeling flutteringthrough my veins. Can’t stop myself from looking at him as if I can find theanswer written over his face.For the briefest second, he looks back at me.

He hesitates. Runs a slow, self- conscious hand through his hair. “Does it . .. really look bad? My clothes, I mean.”I’m dumbfounded— as much by the question as the fact that he’s askingme. “You look how you always look, Julius,” I manage.His eyes are wary. “And what is that?”

“Cute outfit, Julius Caesar. Are you planning on heading toa job interview soon? Because with that blazer, I’m sure they’d hire you.

“How sad. You’re not wanted in your own home? You have to come botherme in mine?”He flinches, then rights himself again with cool poise. The twist of hismouth turns cruel. “Well, if I can make your night a little worse, why not?I’ll at least have accomplished something here.”

I simply didn’t have anywhere better to go

He looks just as confused, as if someone else had guided him to my house.He’s certainly not dressed for a party; he’s wearing a navy blazer that bringsout the darkness of his eyes, the natural red tint of his lips. But then hisfeatures wrap themselves into a perfect little scowl, and he stuffs his handsinto his pockets, straightens his spine. “The same thing as everyone else,”he says.

“Although, just to put it out there,even if you were a serial killer, I would absolutely stick by you and sharpenyour knives.”“How sweet.”“I’d also clean the blood off your bathroom floor,” she adds brightly. “I wasreading this fascinating article the other day about how to use basic laundrydetergents to do just that. You wouldn’t have to worry about leaving behindany evidence.”

As someone who’s a strong advocate of saving up just in case a cometcrashes into our house and insurance refuses to cover it, it’s a bit harder forme to enjoy the elaborate bouquets of flowers and chocolate fountainAbigail’s bought for this one occasion. I

he wrotedown lawyer

The kid who wanted to be a playwright now wants to be anaccountant. The boy who wanted to be an astronaut now plans on becominga pharmacist. The one who wanted to be an artist now has their sights set onmed school.Hobbies are traded for more stable, lucrative, practical careers.

But my fingers itch the whole way home, and for the rest of day, as I closeup the bakery and do my daily workout routine and finish my homeworkand brush my teeth, I can’t think about anything except him.

I begin to shove everything in my bag, but he adds, “I hear you’re throwinga party this weekend?”My hands freeze over my notebook. “Is there a problem with that?”“So you really are. Hosting a party.” He stretches the last word out like it’ssomething ridiculous, like I’m planning to house an elephant or organize aChristmas feast in late April. “Why?”“Because I feel like it,” I say, defensive. I’m lying, of course, but I’m moreoffended by the implication that I can’t be the kind of person who’d throw aparty for fun. That he thinks he has me all figured out. That I’m an openbook to him, and he can read me easily, better than anybody else.

You don’t have to feel bad just because I’m naturallygood at it. If anything, you should be encouraged by the fact that we sharethe same genes. It’s impossible for you to be terrible, even if you aren’tquite as good—

Even though I’m talking to him, I’m watching Julius. He appears to bemuttering something to himself— either kill me,

A soft, half- muffled sound draws my attention to Julius. He’s pressed ahand to the lower half of his face, his shoulders shaking, then stilling justfor a second before he loses it again, shaking his head too, as if he’sannoyed he finds it so funny in the first place.

is glasses are, apparently, framesonly; his fingers pass right through them.

I want to know if Julius was afraid of the dark when he was younger. If heever believed in ghosts or Santa or the Loch Ness monster. I want to knowwhere he studies, whether it’s by the light of the living room window oralone in his bedroom, if he keeps the door wide open or closed. I want toknow what he would dress up as for Halloween, what song he picks out at121karaoke. How early he rises, how late he sleeps. What dishes their mothercooks for the Spring Festival, what he talks about on long car rides. I wantto collect these pieces of information like ammunition. Part of me wants toembarrass him, and part of me is simply, overwhelmingly curious.

Moleskine

On the very first day,he’d sent me an incredibly difficult equation from some kind of advanceduniversity paper as a challenge. I’d solved it just to spite him, and dugthrough all the papers available online to find something even trickier, andsent that back. We’d then fallen into the habit of exchanging questionsevery morning. We never said anything else. Just the screenshot, and theanswer. One blow traded for another. He would respond back each timewithout fail, and we’d kept it up all the way until school started again.

Intimidatingly smart. I hold on to those words, examine them up close. I’venever thought of myself as intimidating or scary, yet it feels like the greatestcompliment. A confirmation of my wildest hopes.

I conceal my surprise. I’d thought he was grossly exaggerating when he toldme on the phone that his little brother talks about me all the time. But then Inotice the crimson color creeping up Julius’s neck, and the only logicalexplanation for it is that whatever he’s said is either terrible, or wonderful.“What has he said about me?”

even when my schedule is packed.”

“You’re accusing me of being too happy?” I forget to lower my voice thistime, and the elderly woman shoots me a glare over the top of her historicalromance novel. I mouth an apology and continue in a fierce whisper,“That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing.”“Acting too happy,” he corrects, his gaze piercing. “When I don’t reallythink you are.”My chest burns, like the words have squeezed their way inside 116and peeled the flesh from my heart. But I can’t let it show. “You don’t knowme that well,” I mutter.

you sound like you’re in an adver-tisement fororganic fruit juice. It’s overly cheery.”

To my surprise, he laughs. “Oh, I know you. You’re the other captain, right?My little brother talks about you all the time.”I falter. Beside me, Julius has gone very still, his complexion pale. “Your . .. little brother?”“Yeah,” James says breezily. “My brother, Julius Gong.”

Something about the tone, the inflection of the words, the faint rasp at theedges.

everytime someone’s yelled at me, every embarrassment and failure anddisappointment.

I laugh, which seems to please him

Go on. You’re not going to let her curse at you fornothing, are you?

Julius stares down at the phone like it might grow teeth and bite him. Forthe first time, he looks wildly uncomfortable, a flush spreading up the

I wish I wasn’t the kind of person who wasalways so sensitive to other people’s shifting moods and tones, who startleswhen someone raises their voice even a little, who cowers when someoneelse gets annoyed

“Wow, she really doesn’t like you,” Julius says after a beat. He can’t evenhide the surprise in his voice

blazer

I wonder if this is how she feelswhen I’m teaching her stoichiometry.

Because beneath my apprehension is the stronger, deeply ingrained need tobe liked. To be accepted. To be forgiven. To be recognized as good. I’ll doanything to redeem myself. The words on the bike shed flash through mymind again, and my chest contracts, like all the air has been sucked out ofthe room.

I could host it whenthey’re gone, clean up before they’re back.

is entire left eye is swollen shut, the skinaround it a vivid purplish- blue. The bruise wasn’t there yesterdayafternoon.

ulius moves closer andloosens the brush from my stiff fingers. Then he brings it down hard overthe brick and begins scrubbing, using so much force the muscles in hisshoulders flex beneath his damp shirt.Unlike his previous attempt, he erases all the marker in one go.“Done,” he says, letting his arm fall back to his side. “Simple as that.”But nothing about this moment feels simple. I open my mouth, though I’mnot sure what I plan to tell him. Thanks?Please forget this ever happened? Do you think I’m a bitch too?Before I can make up my mind, he’s walking away. Not with his usual slowleopard’s stride, as if it’s a gift to mankind to simply see him in motion, butwith purpose, like there’s somewhere he needs to be. Someone he needs tofind.

“Well,” Julius says from behind me, “it’s a very uninspired choice of words.Such a basic pejorative denotes low intelligence.”This, of all things, jolts a weak laugh out of me.

I wonder if he keeps as clear a record ofour every exchange as I do.

ut his eyes fall on my face first,and he glimpses something there that changes his demeanor at once. Hisgaze sharpens. His shoulders tense.“What is it, Sadie?” he asks again, but in a different way.Lower, more serious. Urgent.

But when I drape it over myself, it falls around me like acape. I don’t mind it though. It’s warm and dry and it smells like him: likemint and cedar and the beginnings of something sweet, familiar, somethingthat reminds me of summer when we were fourteen years 91old. Then I catch myself inhaling, hugging the soft fabric closer to myshivering body, and freeze.There must be water lodged in my brain for me to be acting this way.“Thanks,” I say, willing my voice to sound normal. “You can turn aroundnow.”He turns slowly. His gaze catches on the blazer where it ends just above theknee, covering up my skirt. A slight movement in his throat, like he’sswallowing something sharp.

“My bag. My blazer’s inside.”I pause. On their own, the words make perfect sense. But strung together,and coming from him, they might as well be an alien language. There’s noway he’s making an offer—

“And white polyester,” he says, his voice strained,“once wet, becomes transparent.”

Because Ihaven’t had the chance to do something so ridiculous in a while, to behavelike a child.

brain, because rather than tripping over myself with apologies or frettingover lost time, I double over, cackling.“I’m—sorry,” I squeeze out through my giggles. “I didn’ t— mean—”His eyes narrow, but it’s hard to take him seriously when the front of hisshirt is plastered to his skin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you did thaton purpose.”“I swear— it wasn’ t—” I clutch my stomach, breathless with laughter, andit hits me out of nowhere that this is the first time I’ve really laughed inalmost two days. It’s like my body is a rubber band, stretched too tight inevery direction— and now it’s finally snapped, the tension released. I gulpdown the cold, sweet air, filling my lungs with it.Then he grabs the hose faster than I can react and turns it on me.I yelp.The violent blast of water is so cold it almost burns. It’s in my nose, myhalf- opened mouth, the inside of my shirt. I can feel it running down myspine, pooling into my shoes. And the only clear thing in my blurred visionis Julius’s face. He’s smiling now, evidently pleased with himself.

“Oh my god, you’re so stubborn.”“You’re so bossy,” he shoots back.“Difficult,” I seethe.“Demanding.”“Arrogant.”“Impatient.”“Cynical,” I speak over him, my fists clenching around the hose as morewater spews out. “ Snobby—”“Overcritical,” he jeers at me.“ Manipulative—”“ Judgmental— hey, watch it.”

I have very nice hands— as you have already observedin the past. It would be a shame to ruin them.”

“This is just the school’sexcuse to make us do manual labor.”

Turns out Ialways want to be wanted, even by the boy I loathe.

“As a solution, we ask that you work closely togetherover the coming month to bridge your differences, until your tensions havedissolved. I don’t just mean in your regular captain duties, but across theschool, throughout various activities. Consider it a show of comradery.”

CazSong

“Oh, right— you mean assho—” I clamp my mouth shut, but not before Icatch Julius laughing into his fist. It’s nice that he can still find it in himselfto make fun of me under our present circumstances. Very heartening.

a spoilt brat, an insufferable thorn, acold- hearted deceiver, and a certain word that refers to the . . . downwardregion of the human anatomy?”

“Why can’t you go in first?” He says it coolly, as if I’m the one who’s beingridiculous, but there’s a wariness to his expression.His eyes keep sliding to the door like it might open up the gates of hell.He’s nervous, I realize.

“Oh my god, shut up.”He falters briefly, then gives me an odd sort of smile, like he’s caught medoing something I shouldn’t, like he knows me better 77than I want him to. My skin tingles from the unwelcome attention. “Yourlanguage turns cruder by the day. Decided to drop the model student act forgood?”“Seriously, Julius,” I say through clenched teeth, lifting my hand, “if youdon’t stop talking, I’ ll—”“Hit me?” His smile sharpens, as though in challenge. It’s a smile that saysyou wouldn’t dare. “Choke me, the way you fanta-sized about in youremail?”

Therewas red marker.” He pauses for emphasis. “On my face.”

Before anyone can celebrate, the door swings open once more, andSamantha comes marching in again. Her complexion has changed fromgray to crimson. “I just remembered that I won’t be paid the speaker’s fee ifI don’t stay for the full session.”

“Never,” she seethes, 72“in all my years of visiting schools have I come across students so— sorude and undisciplined.

“Have you ever heard of a diary, Sadie? It might be a worthy investment.”

Julius’s eyes cut to me, quick as lightning, cold as ice. “Well, I don’t thinkanyone should ever write an email like this to begin with. It’s remarkablyimmature, and a sign of the sender’s unresolved anger issues— not tomention low self- esteem.”“But what if the recipient deserved it?”I don’t realize I’ve stood up and spoken until everyone whirls around tostare at me, the concentrated weight of their attention like a hammer to thestomach. But I’m only staring back at one person. Julius. The tightness ofhis jaw, the darkness of his eyes.“So you’re saying it’s the recipient’s fault,” Julius says with a laugh. “Wow.Sure.”Okay, stop talking, the logical part of my brain tells me. Shut up and sitdown right now.But my mouth seems to have cut ties with my brain. “I’m just saying thatmaybe if the recipient were a little less infuriating, and wasn’t quite so

“You,” Samantha says, and points right at Julius.

but she’s always more disruptivewhen she senses that I’m in a bad mood. It’s her way of simultaneouslyraising my blood pressure and my spirits.

“I’m talking about, like, really feeling ourselves. Have you never drawn theperfect cat wing and felt the utmost need to share it online, for it to be savedin perpetuity, to become our lasting legacy? Don’t you think it’s a crime notto show the world the new black dress I bought and how good it makes myfigure look?”

“Now, you might be under the impression that since you’re the youngergeneration and you grew up with your little tablets and laptops and iPadsand gadgets, you don’t need any advice, right?

“The Digital Student: Online Etiquette andCybersafety”

hen, without meaning to, my gaze slides to Julius in the second 66row— just as he lifts his head and glowers at me.A shock goes through my body at the venomous look on his face. I’d hopedhis anger would dissipate after yesterday, but it seems to have onlyfermented.

“Can you stop that?” I snap, whipping my head around.The kid freezes. My mother freezes too; she looks stunned.I’m shocked myself. The words don’t feel like they could have come out ofmy own mouth. It’s like somebody has removed every filter I’ve fixed inplace, cleared out a direct path from my brain to my lips.

I wonder if he blamesme for what happened too. If that’s the reason for the faint but alwaysnoticeable friction between us, why he only comes back once every week orso, why half our conversations seem to lapse into silence.

And now, in that gap, someone’s drawn a red, jagged line all the way downthe middle.

Abigail chews her lip. “Well, I . . .” B

If I slow down, if I think too hard, I’ll fall apart

“What’s so funny?” Abigail yells after them, because she’s never beenafraid of confrontation. “Your new bangs?”

“I would like to make a general announcement that if, for somereason, you take issue with a grade that I have given you in the past, youcan discuss it with me in a civil manner.” Her gaze snaps back to me, and Iwish more than anything that a sinkhole would open up and swallow mewhole.

imagine wrapping my hands around your long, pale throat and watchingthe fear bloom in your eyes. I imagine your skin turning red, your breathingquickening as you struggle. I want to watch you in pain, up close. I wantyou to beg me. I want you to admit you were wrong, that I’ve won. Maybeyou would even sink to your knees for me. Plead for mercy. That would befun, but even then, that wouldn’t be enough—

your a lier, Julius Gong.when the Chinese teacher asked us for the idium for “water and fire don’tmix,” I answered at the same time you did!!!!!!How DARE you tell the teacher you were the one who got it right and notme??!!! How DARE YOU take MY gold stickre???? Who gave you theright, huh? you don’t deserv any stickers. your a very, very bad person, Idon’t care how good other poeple think you are. I’m gonna make you regretthis so much you’ll cry, just you wait.My awful spelling at eight years old is almost as embarrassing as thecontent itself.

Heat lashes through me. I move to shove him away, but my hands only hithard, lean muscle, the flat planes of his chest. He laughs at me, and I wantto kill him. I mean it with every cell in my body. I’ve never wanted to killhim so badly. I hate him so much that I could cry.“Go away,” I hiss.“You don’t have to be embarrassed—”I hardly ever raise my voice, but I do now. “God, just leave me alone. I’mso sick of you.” It comes out even louder than I intended, cracking theserenity of the gardens, sounding over the treetops. My throat feels scrapedopen with the words.He finally steps away then, his face impassive. “Oh, don’t worry, I wasalready planning on leaving.” Because it has to be his choice, not my

“You know what I think?” he murmurs, drawing so close his mouth skimsmy ear, his cruel face blurring in my vision. My breath catches. Goosebumps rise over my bare skin. “I think you’re obsessed with me, SadieWen.”

“From what I recall, you wrote two whole paragraphs protesting the colorof my eyes,” he drawls, and I feel myself pale with horror. “They’re toodark, like those of a monster from the fairy tales. Like a lake you coulddrown in on the coldest day of winter. My lashes are too long, more fittingfor a girl’s. I don’t deserve to be so pretty. My gaze is too sharp, too intense;you can’t hold it for long without being overwhelmed.” He stares right atme as he speaks, like he wants to see if it’s true, to witness his effect on mein real time. “You said it makes it difficult for you to concentrate in class.”

“Hurt my feelings?” He says it like a joke. “You have far too high anopinion of yourself, Sadie. You aren’t capable of hurting me.On the contrary . . . don’t you remember what you wrote?”

“You think I’m fake?”“You don’t think you are?” He cocks his head. “You go around smiling andcharming the teachers and agreeing to anything anyone asks of you likeyou’re some kind of angel, and then you 41go back and write your secret little emails about how much you hate myguts and wish to strangle me—”“It’s called being nice,” I cut in.“Yes, strangulation is very nice. Practically a peace offering.”“That’s not what I’m saying.”He laughs, a cold, hard sound. “You never say what you mean anyway.”

You wouldnever be that brave,” he adds with a scoff. “You’re too fake.”

“There were forty- two emails addressed to me. The earliest dated back tonine years ago.”

“A printing company,” he says, then pauses, like he regrets volunteeringthis information.

Footsteps storming out the living room and the slam of thedoor, like a thunder-clap, the rumble of the engine, then the horrible,crushing quiet.

I hate it when people are mad at me. I hate it, Ihate it, I can’t stand it.

my laptop seems to be in adifferent position

It’s the fifty- seventh draft email I have

Also, your hairstyle is ridiculous. You might think it looks all natural andeffortless, but I bet you spend entire hours of your 30morning styling it with a tiny comb so that the one singular strand falls overyour left eye at the perfect angle. From the bottom of my heart, I really hopeyour comb breaks and you run out of whatever expensive hair productsyou’ve been using to make your hair appear deceptively soft when I’m sureit’s not, because there’s nothing soft about you, anywhere at all

I simply like to unleash all my rage in my email drafts

I want to leave a permanent mark. I want him to feel it, to hurt. I want todestroy him.

Just so you know, Ms. Rachel took a peek at our group project earlier andsaid it looked— and I quote—“phenomenal.” I’m saying this now so you’renot too shocked when our grades come back and mine’s higher than yours. Iknow how upset you get every time I win.Best regards,Julius Gong, School Captain

I act like this is news to me, a happy coincidence. Like I didn’t spend hourssearching her up online and reading through an old interview she did for heralma mater’s student magazine, where she mentioned her interest in theWarlord Era. Like I didn’t choose this specific topic for the very purpose ofappealing to her personal tastes

Then I notice Julius watching me in my peripheral vision, and it’s like I’vebeen zapped. Everything sharpens back into focus. I won’t give him thesatisfaction of seeing me struggle. I refuse to.

“You know what? I can just do the rest myself. Totallycool.”

“The summary,” I get out. The summary I already wrote out for you, I addinside my head. Word for word. The one I asked you to copy down onto thetemplate that I predesigned, and printed, and personally delivered to yourhouse in the winter rain on the first day of the midyear break so you coulddo it when you had time. That summary? “I thought . . . I mean, sure,” I say,seeing his blank stare. “That’s okay. What about you, Georgina?”Georgina makes a gesture that reminds me of a flower wilt-ing. “I’m sorry,”she says, pouting. “I tried to start, I promise, but, like, my face still hurtsfrom when I hit my nose against the bathroom wall?”“I thought you said you were fine,” Ray says.25Georgina shoots him a quick, pointed look, then turns back to me, her darkeyes shining with emotion. “I feel worse whenever I have to work on anassignment. It’s, like, super unfortunate. I wish I could do more to help, but. . .”

“We didn’t do it,” he says bluntly

I’d assumed that kind of unconditionallove and support only existed in old sitcoms.

I’ve correctly predicted the breakup of everycouple in our year level so far, haven’t I?”

“Youdon’t trust any of them.”

“Hello, darling,” she says. She started calling people darling ironically lastyear, but it seems to have entered her permanent vocabulary. The same goesfor bamboozled, vexed, and the random, self- invented phrase fumbled thebirdie

“could you scan your notes in color andsort them by date and topic? And could you add in your practice essays too?Just send it all over to my school email by tonight—”

embarrassing how tight I latch on to these little pieces of validation, howmuch I want to be liked, to make everyone happy.

. “Like, it looks so soft?” It’s somewhatconcerning that she’s chosen to vocalize this as a question. It implies adesire to find out the answer.

It’ll be just us, and we won’t need anyone else. Our lives will be better thanthey used to be with my dad around. I’ll do everything he should’ve done,provide everything he should have provided. I’ll do so much that nobodywill feel his absence lingering in our living room like a silent ghostanymore. Maybe Mom will even start smiling again.

Julius catches my eye, like he wants to make sure I’mlistening

But then there came a minor issue with the bathrooms. To bespecific, the toilets were all built facing the side, instead of the door, so youcouldn’t sit down on them without banging your nose. At first the schoolasked us to be grateful and flexible and view it as a learning

Obviously this has been communicated well, because the communication atthis school is flawless

“At Woodvale, teachers and students are on very close terms, and we’reencouraged to express ourselves in, ah, creative ways. Every time we walkthrough these beautiful halls, we’re reminded that our teachers are alwayslooking down on us from above. Like, um, angels. Or God.”

Three points to Julius.

“I honestly don’t think they care,” Julius murmurs into my ear, his voicelow enough for only me to hear, his breath warm despite the freezingweather.

I clear my throat.He raises a dark brow at me, but adds nothing.I clear my throat again, louder.“And this is Sadie,” he says after a beat, waving a loose hand at me. “Theother captain.”

he never has any problem greeting other people

For some time now, I’ve suspected that his accentis fake. He’s only ever set foot in the States for campus tours; there’s nological reason why he’d sound like that, except to seem special.

As of now, Julius is at 490 points. I’m at 495, thanks to the history test Icame first in last week

Black eyes, sharp angles, a smile like a blade.That single, ridiculous strand of dark hair falling over his forehead. Theschool blazer draped around his shoulders like he’s posing for a high-fashion magazine.Julius Gong

track- and- field regional finals

Woodvale Academy c

Lira catches my eye and arches her brow. “Are you staring at my chest ormy necklace?”I give her a shameless smile. “Which one won’t earn me a slap in theface?”“I’m just trying to gauge whether or not you’re planning on stealing it.”She runs a slender finger over the stone. “You are a pirate, after all.”“True,” I say. “But then, so are you.”

bring it to my lips with a provoking smile and thenpress a hand to her cheek. It’s soft and sharp and as full of as manycontradictions as she is.“Are you ready?” she asks.I kiss her by way of reply, surprising myself that I waited a full minute.It’s an unusual show of patience on my part.Lira grins, her teeth skimming my lips, and lets her tongue run acrossmine. She clutches on to the collar of my shirt and I wrap my arms aroundher waist. It’s like holding a story rather than a person; she feels wild andinfinite in my arms.

Her tentacles floodinto each other and take the shape of legs

My sister’s kingdom glistens somewhere behind me,

Elian settles beside me, gathering me in his arms. When he lifts me, myhands curl around his neck as though it’s the most natural thing in theworld. I don’t think about how it feels to have him hold me – to truly seeevery inch of me. I can’t focus on how much my heart knocks against mychest

then I realize that he’s checking for injuries. Making sure I’m okay until hecan see it for himself.

He kisses me then. Just once. Delicate in a way I’ve only known withhim. And then the icebergs fall and the impact creates a wave high enoughto swallow us whole. I throw my arms around Elian and let my magic coatus. Shielding us from the bursts of snow that threaten to crush us to thewater bed

“I don’t like you because you’re nice,” Elian says. His forehead touchesmine, his lips hovering a breath away.“That says a lot about your psyche.”

Elian laughs an offbeat, exhausted sound. “You’re not understandingme,” he says, grabbing my hand. “I’m not leaving you.”“Elian, I—”“Don’t say something heroic and self-sacrificing,” he tells me. “Becausethen I might start thinking you’ve actually got some humanity in you.”I smirk. “That would be boring.”

The Flesh-Eater grins, saliva clinging between the lines of his sharkteeth, cutlass tail primed by my prince’s heart.

Elian lets out a breath, amusement and surprise and something far tooclose to pride.

hand tightens on my jaw and we’re a tangle of fingers and teeth and theworld obliterates around us. It’s all stardust.I bite his lip and he moans into me. We devour each other, gaspingdesperate breaths until we exhaust the air.Elian breaks away, as savage and brutal as the kiss itself. He doesn’t pullback, so much as he severs himself from me. Tearing his lips from mine.When he looks at me, his eyes are a feral mirror of my own. Dazed andfurious and so, so hungry.I run my tongue across my bottom lip, where his angler taste still lingers.

It’s nothing like the soft and tentative tryst we shared under the stars. It’swild and burning, something newly territorial in it. His lips crash fiercelyonto mine, hot and soft, and when I feel his tongue slip against mine, everyanimal part of me comes alive. It’s inside of him, too. The predatoryimpulse. We claim each other, right here on the edge of war.Elian drags his hands through my hair and I clutch him, pushing andpulling him closer against me. Even no distance feels like too much. His

“Do you know what I want from you?” I whisper.Elian swallows. “I’m not going to give you the crystal.”When I reply, my voice is throaty. “I’m not talking about that.”“Then what?”I grin, feeling more wicked than I have in so long. “Your heart,” I say,and I kiss him.

Any human who takes a siren’s heart will be immune to the power of theirsong.Only Elian didn’t need to take my heart; I gave it to him.

Lira. I grab her before she hits the ground, skidding to the floor in her place.My leg burns against the snow, ankle twisting as my arms catch her waist.

By falling for a monster, I have become one for her.

And to let thePrinces’ Bane live . . . of all the things I’ve done, that would be the worst.To put so many people in danger would be monstrous. And yet, one look atLira’s pleading eyes, and I know that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Stop,” I demand, and my voice cracks.

my hand falling from Lira’s

other hand, threaded wildly into Lira’s

I go to shove past her again, but she grabs me in desperation, fingersslipping into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I seize.

“Kahlia!” Lira screams.

She wouldlet Lira be killed so I could carry the guilt of it. She would refuse to saveher so I could be disgraced when I did

She hisses. “Just like a human, to rely on weapons to make a kill.”

“When you die,” she says, “do youthink my daughter will weep?”I lift my knife. “Kill me and find out.”