Page 32 of If You Could See the Sun
The cold has spread all the way down to my toes. I need to move. And quickly.
“Yeah,” I manage.
“Right, well, there’s a slight issue I was about to get to—you know Jake’s roommate, Peter? He’s still in the dorm, and from the sounds of it...” He pauses. A door creaks, and somewhere in the background, I swear I hearbeatboxing, of all things. “...he’s currently busy recording a new mixtape. Or perhaps it’s another one of his political rants. If I’m honest, it can be quite hard to tell the difference—”
“What do we do then?” I cut in, urgency leaking into my every word. “I mean—crap, I forgot about the roommate situation—”
“I can probably help with that,” someone says from behind me.
I almost drop my phone.
When I whirl around, Chanel is standing there in her silk pajamas, still a little bleary-eyed from sleep but smiling.
“Chanel, I...” I say, too stunned to form a complete sentence.
“This is for your Beijing Ghost thing, right?” she clarifies. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing just now.”
Henry’s voice cuts through the phone line. “Wait.Chanel?”
“Yes, hi, Henry,” Chanel says into the phone, her grin widening. “How do you feel about us working together again?”
“Since when did you two work together?” I demand, the same time Henry says, a trace of incredulity in his tone, “You told her about Beijing Ghost?”
“Yeah, yeah, Henry and I’ve known each other since we were kids,” Chanel explains quickly, like it’s not really worth mentioning. “SYS collaborated with my father”—for a second, the corners of her lips turn down—“on a few promotional campaigns for his night clubs.”
“Oh.” I shouldn’t be surprised. Sometimes it feels like all the Airington students and their families belong to a single intricate, complex web of power, one I can see but can never enter. Not without getting trapped inside it like some pesky fly.
“And Alice told me about your app last week,” Chanel goes on, speaking to Henry now. “But it’s kind of a long story, and we’re apparently very short on time.” She turns back to me. “So. Can I help out or not? God knows I need the distraction.”
I’m aware that this kind of decision should warrant careful evaluation, a comprehensive risk assessment andat leasttwo long lists detailing all the pros and cons of getting a third person involved. But I’m also acutely aware of the cold spreading fast over my body.
“Okay,” I say. “You’re in.”
7
“This feels soweird,” Chanel mutters for at least the tenth time as we creep down Mencius Hall. She keeps glancing back in my direction, as if checking to see if I’m still there. “I mean, I really can’tseeyou. Like, at all.”
“Well, what did you expect?” I whisper. My eyes scan the mostly empty corridor. It’s early enough in the morning that most students haven’t woken up yet—I guess they don’t share my need to be productive before 6:00 a.m.—and the ones who have are already off to breakfast. The good news is there won’t be too many witnesses around in case things go wrong.
The bad news is Chanel and Henry will look a lot more suspicious standing around here.
“To be honest, part of me thought... I don’t even know what I thought,” Chanel continues under her breath. “But things like this don’t just happen to—”
“Shh,”I hiss. A boy I’ve seen around campus a few times walks past us, but not before he shoots Chanel an odd look. He must think she’s talking to herself.
“Sorry,” Chanel tells me once he’s gone, barely moving her lips this time.
“It’s fine.” I try and fail to slow my rapidly pounding heart; my nerves have been going into overdrive ever since we left our dorm. “Let’s just get this over with.”
To my immense relief, Henry is already standing in position outside Jake’s dorm just as we agreed earlier, a full cup of coffee in one hand and a history textbook in the other. As Chanel and I slow to a stop behind one of the many large decorative pot plants lining the corridor, Henry knocks on Jake’s door, then takes a few steps backward.
A long moment passes. Nothing happens.
The knots in my stomach tighten. What if Jake’s already left his room? Or what if he sensed something was wrong, that Henry’s been acting weird and spying on him from afar? No. That couldn’t be possible. Right?
But then the door swings open, the low, rhythmic thump of a bass emptying into the corridor, and Jake shuffles out in plastic slippers. He’s wearing only a loose white tank and boxers, his spiky black hair sticking up everywhere. He stifles a yawn. Blinks around in confusion.
“Who was that just now?” he grumbles.
