Page 31 of If You Could See the Sun
“Never mind. Nothing,” he repeats. Looks away. “Anyway, what were you saying earlier?”
“Oh, right. About the next task—”
“Wait.” He opens up to a blank Pages document on his laptop, and motions for me to write what I want to say on there.
I type:srsly? we’re passing notes like we’re in year six now?
To which he immediately responds:Yes. Unless you want everyone eavesdropping on us right now to know you’re Beijing Ghost.
I look up just in time to catch four people staring our way with great interest. Point taken.
So I spend the rest of class filling Henry in on Rainie’s request and planning how to proceed via laptop, occasionally looking up at the board to pretend I’m taking class notes. It’s not like I’m missing much anyway; Mr. Chen’s handing back papers and going over the answers to our latest test, and most of the “model answers” he uses are either Henry’s or mine.See,I’m almost tempted to tell Henry as my classmates copy down my answers word for word.Here’s another source of joy.But when I play the sentence over in my head, I’m not sure if it makes me sound less pathetic or more.
The period flies by with surprising speed. And when the bell rings, sending everyone else scrambling out of their seats, Henry and I are the last to leave.
In theory, it shouldn’t be difficult to delete a few photos from Jake Nguyen’s phone, especially when I have the element of surprise on my side.
In theory.
But after observing Jake over the next few days and tailing him whenever I turn invisible, it becomes clear that the guy basically carries his phoneeverywherewith him—in class, on the basketball court, even on his way to the bathroom—as if it’s his firstborn child or something. He’s like a parody of the tech-obsessed, easily distracted Gen Z kid; always scrolling through memes on Twitter or Moments on WeChat or photos of his friends’ new customized Nikes on Instagram. On numerous occasions, I’m tempted to just slap the phone right out of his hands and be done with it.
Soon, five whole days have passed and all I’ve gotten out of my invisible spying sessions is his iPhone passcode (which is literally just1234) and the knowledge that Jake Nguyen secretly watchesSailor Moonin his spare time. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what to make of the latter.
What I do know, however, is that the longer this drags on, the greater the chances of Jake sending the photos out. And according to Rainie’s increasingly desperate messages, he’s threatening to do it very soon.
Then, early on Wednesday morning, as I’m getting ready for school, Henry calls me.
My hands freeze over my skirt zipper. I don’t know what’s weirder—the fact that he’scallingme, as if we’re still in the early 2000s, or the fact that it’shim.
“Hello?” I say, tentative, lifting the phone to my ear with my free hand. Part of me is convinced his number has been stolen.
Then his voice comes through the line, crisp and smooth as ever. “Alice. You busy?”
“No—well, I mean, I’m just getting dressed,” I say without thinking.
“Oh.” There’s an awkward pause. “Right.”
I quickly yank my zipper all the way up and sit down on the edge of my bed, my cheeks heating. “Wait, never mind. Forget I said that.” Across the room from me, Chanel is snoring softly. I press the phone closer to my ear. “So, um. What’s up? Why are you calling?”
“It’s about the latest task.”
For some reason, the first feeling that pools into my stomach is...disappointment. Butof courseit’s about the latest task. Why else would he be calling? “Go on.”
“Given how slow business has been, I’ve taken it upon myself to observe Jake’s movements around Mencius Hall these past few days—truly one of the lowest points in my life so far, I might add—and it seems there might be a small window of opportunity for you to delete those photos of his...”
I swallow my surprise. Out of courtesy, I’ve been keeping Henry updated on my progress—or, well, the lack thereof—ever since our first English class together, but I never expected him to go out of his way and gather information on his own. Part of me is grateful, obviously. Another part of me hates the fact that he’s spotted an opportunity before I did. It makes it feel like he’s winning, which is ridiculous.
This isn’t meant to be a competition.
Still, I can’t help the hot stab of irritation in my chest—nor the strange chill that follows it, like a winter draft blowing over me, except all the windows are closed...
Oh.
Henry continues talking, completely oblivious to what’s happening. What’s about to happen. “See, the only time Jake leaves his phone in his dorm is when he’s showering. So I was thinking, if I could wait in the halls near his room and pretend to accidentally spill something on him—something you’d have to wash off, like orange juice—you’d have around eight or nine minutes to—”
“That sounds great,” I cut in, suppressing a shiver as I push myself off the bed. My hands feel like ice. No,everythingfeels wrong, somehow, the walls of the dorm room swelling up around me like an open sore, and my heart speeding up with it. Just because I’ve experienced this shit before doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Any less unnatural. “You think you’d be able to do that in like, ten minutes? I’m heading over.”
“Er...right now?”
