I Hope This Doesn’t Find You

by Ann Liang

“You’re such a saint, Sadie. A true lifesaver.” The compliment goes down my throat like syrup, warming me up from within. It’s embarrassing how tight I latch on to these little pieces of validation, how much I want to be liked, to make everyone happy. Sometimes I think I would give them one of my own arms if they asked very nicely.

I simply like to unleash all my rage in my email drafts, where I can be as harsh and petty and unforgiving as I want, because I also know that I’ll never have the nerve to send them out. When I write, I write anything and everything that comes to mind.

But of course he won’t listen to me. If anything, he only seems more determined to continue. “You then wrote three hundred words ranting about my hands.” He flexes his long fingers, examining them carefully.

JGCYCTXXPUBHCSRUZURKTX

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

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

Before I can make up my mind, he’s walking away. Not with his usual slow leopard’s stride, as if it’s a gift to mankind to simply see him in motion, but with purpose, like there’s somewhere he needs to be. Someone he needs to find.

OMG JULIUS BEAT HIS ASS UP!!

Because beneath my apprehension is the stronger, deeply ingrained need to be liked. To be accepted. To be forgiven. To be recognized as good. I’ll do anything to redeem myself.

I feel you girl

I try not to fidget in my seat. I wish I wasn’t the kind of person who is always so sensitive to other people’s shifting moods and tones, who startles when someone raises their voice even a little, who cowers when someone else gets annoyed.

Real

“Oh, I know you. You’re the other captain, right? My little brother talks about you all the time.”

I wouldn’t expect the mahogany table to have a sibling. Because that cracks open the door to thousands of other bizarre possibilities: of Julius as a young child, of Julius as a boy who goes on summer vacations and has movie nights and family dinners, who wrestles his brother for the remote control or sulks in his room after a fight or goes on a hunt around the house for his favorite shirt. It makes him feel too real, too human.

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

He’s waiting. For me to make a fool of myself. For me to make the first move. I let my anger carve away my nerves and close my eyes and kiss him.

Julius touches a finger to his lips like he can’t quite believe it either. Then he straightens. Cocks his head, his eyes black with cool amusement. “You call 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 barely anything.”

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

I can’t concentrate. The most terrible part of this is that it doesn’t feel terrible at all; not the warm flush of his skin against mine or the firmness of his grip or the breathless sound in the back of his throat. I want to stay like this. I want to keep going.

“Damn.” Someone whistles. “Didn’t know she had it in her . . .”

“I really can’t stand it when people are angry at me. Like, I know it might be simple for others, but I can’t focus on anything else. I can’t just forget about it and go on with my own life. It’s like there’s something hard wedged inside my chest. I’ll always feel guilty. I’ll always want to make amends.”

That I had kissed Julius Gong. That I’d kissed him, and wanted it.

“Be quiet.” I clamp both my hands over his mouth. “You’re prettier when you don’t talk.”

“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.”

I’m giggling so hard rn

It’s an ambush. “Okay, think, Sadie,” I instruct myself out loud, massaging my head. “Stop being drunk and think. Get it together. You don’t have any time left.” “This is a very fascinating look into your thought process,” Julius remarks.

Then suddenly, without warning, his arms are around me. If I weren’t so dizzy, I would jerk away. But to my own humiliation, I lean into him. It’s nice. It’s horribly, disgustingly wonderful, to feel the warmth of his body, the hard lines of his chest. I could sink into this moment forever, could let him hold me and—

But I bite it back down when he walks straight over to me. The gold medal swings from his neck, gleaming in the sunlight. He takes it off, then holds it out toward me. “Yours.”

“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 though there’s an odd note to his tone. Something that could be confused for sincerity. “The sun in my sky, the source of all my joy. She’s the reason I wake up every morning excited to go to my classes. Not a day goes by where I’m not grateful that she exists, that she’s there, that I get to talk to her and pass her in the halls and listen to her laugh.”

Julius, both me and you know you are being truthful

“Close, but no. If we die, that’s very inconvenient for them. If we hook up, that’s both inconvenient and awkward for them.” I’m pretty sure all my organs stop functioning. “What—” “When I say we, I obviously don’t mean—us,” he clarifies, and despite the taunting note in his voice, his cheeks turn red. He’s blushing, I realize.

AGGHHHHWHEHHWHH

You literally need a helmet and a harness just to climb into bed.” “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.”

“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.”

Julius’s phone is still lying there, faceup. He’d been in such a rush to go that he must have forgotten it. I swivel my head around, squint through the window, but he’s already halfway down the street, his lean silhouette a shadow in the falling darkness. “I’ll be right back,” I say, grabbing the phone. As I do, I can’t help noticing that it’s still open to the girl’s account—but he’s unfollowed her already.

AAHHHG

“Calm down, it’s not like you were searching up the closest brothel. It’s just a bakery. What are you getting all flustered for?”

<3333

And if he ever comes in second, it’s not because he isn’t good enough—it’s simply because I’m better—” Julius coughs. “Is this whole thing building up to a self-congratulatory speech?” “Are you unable to stop yourself from being irritating when I’m literally defending you?” I hiss.

“Oh my god, oh my god. Oh. My god. Oh my god—” “At this rate you’re literally going to call God down to earth,”

“No, no, you know what, darling, I’m not judging. Not at all,” she says. “I was genuinely attracted to a cartoon lion at thirteen. Like, something about his claws really worked for me.”

But I also remember the softness of his blazer around my shoulders. The look on his face tonight, the quick violence in his voice when his brother spoke of me. His breathing, quiet beside me, as he swept confetti from the floor after the party. His hands, firm but warm around my wrists after the race. The shine of the medal, the light in his eyes, the curve of his lips. So beautiful and infuriating and confusing. So ready to split me open with a single word, stitch me up again with a fleeting touch.

Evidence like: He ran the race for me when I felt like I was dying. Like: He stayed behind with me after the party, and he’s never shown any particular interest in sweeping floors before, so there must have been another reason. Like: Max said so when he came into the bakery after school, and didn’t his brother say that he’d been searching for our bakery? Like: There was a very brief moment four and a half weeks ago when he gazed over at me so tenderly I felt my breath catch.

The corners of my lips to lift. A high-pitched, strangled sound escapes my mouth. His brows furrow. “Sorry?” “I was just—saying hi,” I say brightly. “In greeting. Hello.” He shoots me a weird look and walks right past me without another word. And I’ve decided I would like to stop existing.

“So you’re blushing and stuttering over Julius Gong, while Ray Suzuki is being sincerely appreciative of you,” Abigail remarks, her brows raised. “Bizarre. Truly, absolutely bizarre. Next thing you know, Ms. Hedge is going to start advocating for underage drinking and Rosie is going to declare that her lifelong dream is to become a nun.”

The others quickly join in, grabbing loose dresses and oversized sweaters, and soon we’re running from room to room, giggling, lending one another our clothes to block every single painting from view. The hysteria fizzes on my tongue like alcohol, and when I turn around at one point, I catch Rosie’s eye. There’s no malice in her expression. We’re both doubled over, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation, and for the first time in a while, I don’t feel like the year level’s number one villain. I don’t feel like the perfect student either; I’m just one of them.

Humiliation stings my throat. I’m no longer planning to confess to him; I’m planning to choke him.

The only problem is that our combined weight pulls me over the side too fast; I crash gracelessly against him inside the canoe, his body pressed to the seat, mine pressed to his.

“You know what? I hate you,” I breathe, because it’s easier to say I hate you than you hurt me. Because both options might shatter my heart, but at least one of them leaves my pride intact. And maybe because I simply crave the sharp, perverse pleasure of hurting him back. His gaze snaps up to me. Something flashes across his face, and he leans in abruptly, his eyes fierce and dangerous and on fire. I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips when he says, “I hate you more.”

For a shameful second, I think he’s going to grab my face and kiss me, the kind of kiss you feel down to your toes, all heat and hunger and wild intentions. And for a split second, I need him to, I’m dying to, if only for a chance to sink my nails into his skin, to find a spot of vulnerability somewhere in his body.

“Stop acting like you’re better than us,” Danny snaps. “You’re the type to write shady emails about people behind their backs.” “And you’re the type to write Sadie Wen is a bitch on a bike shed,” I shoot back. There’s a collective, sharp inhalation from the crowd. “Damn,” somebody mutters.

Now it’s my turn to stare. “Julius punched you?” “Julius punched him?” someone else whispers in the background. “But I thought he and Sadie hated each other.” “But they kissed each other,” someone says. “At that party, remember?” “Wait, Julius and Sadie kissed each other?” someone asks. “Why am I so behind on the gossip? How did I miss this?” “Yeah, well, seeing as she sent him a bunch of emails—” “Technically, Abigail sent it.” “Abigail sent it? Sadie’s best friend, Abigail?” “Sorry, I was walking past their dorm room and kind of overheard a bit of their conversation—I left just as Julius showed up to her room though. So I’m guessing he likes her.” “Whose room?” “Abigail’s room.” “Wait, Julius likes Abigail?” “No, Julius likes Sadie. They just share the same room.” “Him and Sadie?” “No— Oh my god, this is why you’re so behind on gossip.”

I love the gossip

Then the long fingers around my wrist tighten. He grabs my other wrist. Locks both of them together with one hand, pins them to the wall behind me, high above my head.

Oh my god????!!!

“You have to understand . . . If you knew the effect you had on me, how often I think about you, the things I would do for you . . . I wouldn’t stand a chance against you ever again. You would have taken everything from me,” he goes on in a rush, like the words are burning him from within, like he has to get it out before the pain becomes overwhelming. “Not just a debating championship or some points for a test or a fancy award or a spot in a competition—but my whole heart. My pride. God, my sanity. It would be all over. You would annihilate me.”

“I mean, nothing has even really happened between us,” he says hoarsely, “and already it’s hard for me to concentrate whenever you’re around. My brother was right, in a sense, about you being a distraction, except you’re so much more than that. I can’t pretend to care about the things that once interested me. I can’t fall asleep. I play through every look you’ve ever cast in my direction. I read through your emails over and over until they’re carved into my memory. You did this to me,”

It’s okay if you don’t choose me, really—I never expected to be the first choice. I wouldn’t blame you—” “I do choose you.”

HQNJFOWOSFJBDJWDKIDIWKSKFJ HES FUCKING BEGGINGGGGHH

“It just doesn’t feel real.” He shifts back, and the sudden absence almost feels like physical pain—until he kisses the curve of my neck. Murmurs, “I know. Even when I was imagining it—” “You imagined this?” He pauses, which feels like unfair punishment. Then he brings his lips firmly up to mine again. “Do you always pay such close attention to everything people say?” he demands between short, uneven breaths. “No. Only what you say.”