I Hope This Doesn’t Find You

by Ann Liang

“The perfect student who never says no to anything, who goes out of her way to cater to everyone’s needs, who would dance on flames just to keep everybody entertained. You just have to be seen as undeniably good; you have to do the right thing all the time, or at least appear to. That’s your whole personality—I get it. All I’m asking is for you to spare me.”

“Are you okay?” she worries. “Do you want me to punch him for you?” “No, no, I’m okay.” My mouth strains into a smile. “Really.” I am okay. Completely okay. I’m okay when I stomp up to the cabin bathrooms and stand under the hot spray of the shower, letting the heat melt the ice from my bones, scraping the mud from my skin with such force it leaves behind angry red nail marks. I’m okay when I slather my hair with too much shampoo and close my eyes against the water like it’s pouring rain; when I sob into the palm of my hand, alone where nobody can hear me. And I’m definitely okay when I towel myself dry, change into a faded knit cardigan and skirt, and head back to the lake. Julius Gong is dead to me, I vow silently. If I think about him again— If I so much as look at him, then I deserve to be pelted with ice. •

“I’ll miss you when we graduate, you know,” she adds. “I can’t believe this will all be over soon.” “Yeah,” I repeat softly, gazing around the campfire, at all the familiar, laughing faces. “I can’t believe it either.”

“It’s horrible,” I continue furiously. “It’s revolting how much I care about him. Even now. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him.” Her jaw drops farther, her gaze catching on something behind me. “Um, Sadie—” But I’m too angry to stop. “Out of all the people in this school, it somehow has to be the one person who called me up just to taunt me when I had a fever and missed out on practice—” “Sadie,” Abigail says again, louder. “It’s like I’ve been poisoned,” I go on, my palms itching. “It’s like a sickness, and somehow, the cause and cure of it is him. I hate it so much, but I can’t even control my own brain—” “Sadie.” I freeze. Because this time, it’s not coming from Abigail. It’s a low, male voice, coming from behind me.

can’t even believe the words coming out of my own mouth, but it feels good. I’m so tired of playing nice, of smiling as people walk over me. What I’m realizing is that if you’re quiet about the things that hurt you, people are only going to mistake your tolerance for permission. And they’re going to hurt you again and again.

The wind shrieks through the trees, and it sounds eerily like the wail of a child.

scarlet...

“Scared?” The last of my frustration vanishes like smoke in a breeze. It’s almost funny; nobody else infuriates me like he does, but nobody else makes it this difficult to stay mad. “Of what?” “Losing,” he whispers. I stare. “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.”

Because I’m willing to lose everything,” he says, his eyes blacker than the surrounding darkness, than the sky outside, “so long as I don’t lose you.”

“Of course, if you . . . if you don’t want to,” he says into the silence, sliding his gaze away from me, “I can accept that. I won’t bring it up again. I know I’m not . . . I know what I’m like. That I’m infuriating. And selfish. And cruel. I know I’m not perfect the way my brother is, and I manage to disappoint my parents every time. 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.” He doesn’t seem to hear me at first. He’s still talking, rambling really, the words flowing out like rainwater. “I can’t always say pretty things, and sometimes I tease you when really I just want you to look my way, and— Wait.” He stops. Even his breath freezes in his throat. “What . . . did you just say? Say it again.”

“You’ll always be my first choice, Julius Gong.” “Really?” “Really.” His eyes widen, and he leans in, lips parted, his fingers trembling like moth wings over my cheeks. It’s clear what he wants, and I almost let him. But I’m not going to make it that easy. I twist my head away. “I recall you saying you would rather die than kiss me again.” He lets out a soft, half-stifled groan, and the sound shoots straight through my bloodstream. Makes my pulse quicken. “God, you really know how to hold a grudge.” “They’re your words, not mine,” I tell him, refusing to sway. “You’re killing me now,” he murmurs against my neck. His

his heart hammering against my rib cage, the involuntary sound he makes when I adjust my posture, slide my hand farther down his neck to the hollow of his collarbones. He says my name, whispers it like it’s sacred. And just when I’m wondering how we could ever stop this, how I could ever do anything except listen to his sharp intakes of breath, let him kiss me until my head goes fuzzy— The lights come back on. I blink, half-blinded, and jerk away from him. It takes a second before my eyes stop watering and my vision clears. An immediate flush races up my neck when I see Julius. His lips are swollen, his black hair rumpled from where I ran my fingers through it. It feels like that surreal moment in the cinemas, when the credits start rolling and the doors open and the strangers around you rise from their seats, gathering their popcorn buckets and switching on their phones. And part of you is still reeling, still immersed in another world, your heart caught in your throat, struggling to tell which part is real life.

“And I assure you that I’m not going to drop you,” I tell her, giving her a light shove. “Even if I were mad at you, you can be mad at someone and still love them.”

And I have to wonder when things changed. Or if it’s been like this for years, but I was buried too deep in my own guilt to look up and see for myself that everything is really, truly fine.

I’m sorry. The words rise instinctively to my lips, but I push them down, seal them shut with the part of me that believes everyone else’s happiness should come at the expense of my own. Try something different for once. “Thank you,” I say quietly. It feels foreign. Strange. Yet it tastes sweet on my tongue, like forgiveness, like the rising spring air, like the lingering scent of strawberry shortcakes. Like a beginning.

thas my girl

I want you to hold me like a grudge, keep me like a promise, haunt me like a ghost. You’re so beautiful it enrages me.

When I was fourteen, I would stare up at my bedroom walls and wonder what it was like to fall in love. Most of my inspiration came from songs and the movies. But still, I imagined it. What it would be like to be someone who had somebody else. I would imagine tenderness. The concept of infinity. Of endless patience. Imagine them chasing after me even when I run. Cradling my sorrows in the palm of their hands. Imagine them caring, trying to understand. And now there’s you. This whole time, it’s been you, and I didn’t even realize. In retrospect, it makes sense, doesn’t it? In order to beat the enemy, you have to understand them intimately. You have to observe them, learn their weaknesses, memorize their every word, track their progress, predict their next move. For ten years I thought I was preparing to destroy you, when really I was preparing to love you. All of which is to say I really hope this finds you. And I hope you find me too. Sadie I

You were right, Sadie Wen. I am completely, helplessly obsessed with you. Love, Julius