Page 42 of If You Could See the Sun
“It’s been ages since I last had one of these,” I say, more to break the awkward silence than anything. “They were my favorite childhood treat.”
He turns to face me, his expression impassive. “Mine too.” He says this almost reluctantly, with great caution, like he’s disclosing some kind of confidential business information. “My mother used to give me one whenever I had a bad day at school.”
“Really?” Surprise leaks into my voice, and not just because I can’t imagine him ever having a bad day at school. Not even a subpar day. “I thought you’d have grown up eating all that fancy, expensive stuff.”
His eyebrows arch. “Fancy, expensive stuff?”
“You know what I mean,” I say, annoyed. I recall the lavish feast spread out before Chanel’s father and the young woman, the delicacies arranged in their clay bowls and tiny crystal plates. The food of emperors, of kings. “Like bird’s nest soup or sea cucumber or something.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize how ignorant I must sound. How painfully obvious it must be to Henry that we were raised in two separate worlds, that I’ve only witnessed but never experienced the casual luxuries he must take for granted in his life.
I wonder if he feels sorry for me, and anticipatory anger rattles in my stomach like a snake as I imagine him tiptoeing around the subject, trying to play down the obvious discrepancies between our childhoods:They weren’tthatexpensive, orWe only had those once a week.
But in reality, he just shrugs one shoulder and says, “I never really liked sea cucumber, actually. They used to creep me out when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, well, they do look a bit like slugs,” I mutter, and he laughs.
I stare at him, taken aback by how his entire demeanour seems to change: the sharp, regal lines of his face softening, white teeth flashing, his shoulders slipping forward from their usual stiff posture. He’s so closed off all the time that I didn’t even think Henry wascapableof laughing. For a moment I wonder what we might look like from an outsider’s perspective: just two teenagers joking around and sharing candy and chatting together after class. Friends, maybe. The thought startles me.
Then Henry catches me staring, registers the visible shock on my face, and sobers up at once, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. The curve of his ears turn pink slightly.
“Well, anyway.” He slides his hands into his blazer pockets. “I should probably go. Study. Our midterms are soon.”
“Oh. Okay.”
But he makes no immediate move to leave. “Will you be all right? After...” He trails off, once again leaving it to me to fill out the rest of his sentence. “Either way, it’s not as if a bad grade would bring your average down so much, right? So long as you do well in the midterms, you could still be ranked second in the class.”
I bristle, the remnants of that brief, tender moment we shared earlier vanishing like smoke.We’re not friends, I remind myself. We’re competitors. Enemies. Only one of us can win in the end.
“I don’twantto be ranked second.” I surge forward until I’m standing right in front of him, hating that I have to crane my neck just so we’re at eye level. “If I’m not first, I’m nothing.”
He merely looks amused. “Is there really such a substantial difference? I doubt your report card—”
“It’s not just about how my report card looks,” I interrupt. “It’s about losing my winning streak with the Academic Award next year. It’s about what people will think of me.”
“It doesn’t matter what people think—”
“Bullshit,” I say hotly. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Perception iseverything.Money would just be colored paper if we didn’t all think it was important.”
“Cotton, actually.”
“What?”
“Contrary to popular belief, money is mostly made out of cotton,” he says, as if this is life-changing information. “Just thought you’d want to know. But do go on.”
The idea of murdering him flits through my mind.
“My point is,”I say through gritted teeth,“when a large enough number of people collectively care enough about something—no matter how superficial or arbitrary or inherently worthless it is—it starts to carry value. It’s like when people say it doesn’t matter where you get your education, but watch how fast they change their attitude, their tone when you tell them you go to Airington.” I suck in a breath, curl my trembling hands into fists. “Even just now. Mr. Murphy was already looking at me differently because I—” I swallow. “Because I fucked up on that one test.”
Surprise flashes across Henry’s face. I don’t think anyone at Airington has ever heard me swear out loud before. It’s kind of liberating, really. Cathartic. It even makes me feel a little better—
Until one of the classroom doors down the hall swings open, and Julie Walsh steps out.
Her narrowed eyes instantly land on me, and she comes marching straight over, thin heels clacking, sleek blond hair bobbing with every step, her lips pressed into a tight line. As she draws closer, the strong, sickly sweet scent of her perfume hits my nose. I try not to choke.
“Such foul language,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Honestly, after everything we’ve taught you here at Airington, isthisreally how you wish to conduct yourself?”
A mixture of embarrassment and annoyance snake under my skin. I’m tempted to tell her about the number of Chinese and Korean swear words students have used right in front of her face in the past week alone, but because I still have somewhat of a will to live—and because I’d never throw the other kids under the bus like that—I decide against it.
“Sorry, Ju—” I catch myself just in time. “Dr. Walsh.”
