If You Could See the Sun

by Ann Liang

Less than ten minutes ago, she’d been commenting on how my cheeks had grown rounder over the summer holidays; only by her logic is it possible to be too chubby and dangerously undernourished at the same time.

God, I hate him. I hate him and his flawless, porcelain skin and immaculate uniform and his composure, as untouchable and unfailing as his ever-growing list of achievements. I hate the way people look at him and see him, even if he’s completely silent, head down and working at his desk.

Then again, I guess it’s easy to be strategic when you have the time and money.

Everything but me.

I’m friendly with everybody...but I’m friends with nobody.

sneak a peek at his Spotify playlist, half certain it’ll be all just white noise or classic orchestral music, only to find Taylor Swift’s latest album playing instead.

Sometimes the universe offers us the things we think we want, but which turn out to be a curse,”

Clearly, this boy has overestimated my ability to read minds.

If it was something intentional, or if perhaps we work like magnets, with some kind of invisible field automatically pushing us apart wherever we go.

“Well?” Henry leans forward. His dark eyes are alight, his chin angled up a few degrees, the sure, sharp lines of his body tense with something like anticipation. I realize he’s waiting for me to give my opinion—no, for me to compliment him, like some kid proudly holding up his artwork for a class show-and-tell. My lips twitch. “I didn’t know you had such a praise kink.”

“You know,” I muse out loud, “if it weren’t for the fact that we hated each other’s guts, we’d probably make an impressive power duo.”

expect Henry to raise his eyebrows at me as usual or make a cutting remark, but his footsteps suddenly slow beside me. “Wait. We hate each other?”

Yes, is the obvious answer. I do hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate you so much that whenever I’m around you, I can barely think straight. I can barely even breathe.

I don’t need someone to recommend meditation apps and listen to all my problems. I need to get my shit together. Pull my grades back up. Make more money. I need to get out of here.

“Not in like a special snowflake sort of way but... I don’t know. I guess grades are the only thing I have power over. The only thing I have.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” For some reason, he sounds weirdly excited.

I’ve spent my whole life longing to be seen, but I’ve also come to realize that when people look too closely, they inevitably notice the ugly parts too, like how the tiny cracks on a polished vase only become visible under scrutiny.