Page 43 of If You Could See the Sun
“Hmph. You certainly should be.” She sniffs. “Don’t let me catch you swearing again, Vanessa Liu, or therewillbe consequences.”
I look up at her, stunned. Like Mr. Murphy, she’s been teaching me forfive years—surely she must know who I am? My name, at least? Besides, Vanessa and I don’t even look remotely alike; her face is sharp and long whereas mine is wide, her nose petite while mine is round, and her skin is at least five shades paler thanks to all her Korean skincare products. Anyone with eyes should be able to tell the difference between us.
I wait for Julie to realize her mistake, to correct herself.
She doesn’t.
Just stares me down with those cold blue eyes like she expects me to apologize again.
But instead, all I say is, “It’s Alice.”
Her face goes blank with confusion. “What?”
“Isaid, my name is Alice. Not Vanessa.”
“Huh. Is it now?” she finally says, unconvinced, looking for a second as if she actually believes I might’ve mixed up my own name. When I nod, she gives me a tight-lipped smile that isn’t much friendlier than a glare. “Well, pardon me,Alice.But my earlier point still stands, of course.”
“Of course,” I echo.
Satisfied, she spins around on her noisy heels and leaves. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Henry mutters, “Charming, isn’t she?”
On this, at least, we can agree.
9
Next week, an ominous poster appears over the Year Twelve lockers, with the following words printed out in large, block letters:
15 DAYS LEFT
It takes everyone a while to figure out what the poster’s referring to.
“Maybe it means fifteen days left until my will to live runs out,” Vanessa Liu suggests as she crams a mountain of textbooks into her overhead locker, slamming it shut with a roundhouse kick that makes the walls tremble.
Someone behind me snorts. “Sounds about right.”
“Oh! Oh—I know!” Rainie says, her eyes widening, lips parting in a perfect O. Ever since the whole Jake incident, she’s been a lot more enthusiastic about everything. “Maybe it’s for the Experiencing China trip!”
“But, like, that usually happens in late November,” Chanel points out.
“Then what about—”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I say, louder than I mean to. Almost the entire year level goes quiet and turns to me, expectant. My face burns at the sudden attention. Still, I hold my ground and explain, “There are only fifteen days left until our first midterm exam. The teachers probably put the countdown up to remind us.”
Immediately, faces fall. Smiles fade.
“Well, trust the Study Machine to know,” someone says. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard this sort of joke, but there’s an awkward pause after the familiar words, and I know the people from my history class are still remembering what happened in our last test.
My face grows hotter with embarrassment. Shame.
Who knows how long it’ll take me to build up my reputation again?
As people finish cramming books and laptops into lockers and start heading outside for lunch, most of their conversations turning to revision and how far behind they are and how they haven’t even really readMacbethyet for English, just the SparkNotes summaries, my phone buzzes.
Another Beijing Ghost notification.
I’ve already lost track of the number of requests I’ve gotten, but my heart still stutters in my chest as I find a dark, empty corner in the hall, turn with my back against the wall so that no one can see my screen, and read over the latest message:
Okay to call?
