Page 49 of If You Could See the Sun
I try to stab him to death with my eyes. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
I keep walking.
The corridor is almost completely empty, as it should be. No student wants to stay behind after class, especially when our dorms are only a courtyard away, or when they can take a Didi to the Village or Solana. But for the teachers, it’s a different story. Most of them bike to school, and like to hang back in the classrooms until after dark, when the streets outside aren’t as crowded and the probability of being run over by a car is significantly lower. Mr. Murphy is one of them.
Sure enough, the lights in the history classroom are still on. Through the small window in the door, I can make out his figure hunched over the teacher’s desk, stacks of papers laid out before him. It looks like he’ll be busy marking them for a while.
Perfect.
Now I just need to turn invisible.
“Sometime soon would be good,” Henry murmurs from close behind me, as if reading my mind.
I scowl but don’t reply right away, gesturing for him to follow me into one of the narrow adjoining corridors—far enough so that Mr. Murphy can’t hear us. The place smells like fresh printer ink and whiteboard markers. It smells like integrity, like academic success.
Another wave of nausea rolls over me.
“I’ve alreadytoldyou,” I say as I resume my pacing. “I can’t control when exactly the invisible thing happens. It justdoes.”
Henry doesn’t move, though his eyes follow me as I walk, back and forth, back and forth. Someone once told me my stress was contagious, that it spilled right out of me. But maybe Henry is immune to it, untouchable, like he is with most things.
“In that case,” Henry says, “how can you be certain it’ll even happen tonight?”
“I mean, I’m not.” I sigh. “But it’s happened much more often in the evenings these past few weeks, and I can make a...a reasonable prediction based on the existing patterns. Like menstrual cycles.”
For a brief moment, Henry looks stunned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Menstrual cycles,” I repeat, very clearly, glad to see him squirm for once. “You know, like you can keep track of what time of the month it happens and know roughly when to expect it, but sometimes it still manages to catch you off guard. It’s like that.”
“Ah.” He nods, schooling his expression back into one of calm. “Right.”
And just like that, my momentary rush of satisfaction leaves, and the anxiety returns with double the intensity. I quicken my steps, wring my hands together. It’s a wonder Henry isn’t dizzy looking at me.
This is, without a doubt, the worst part of every mission: not the fear of getting caught, or even the guilt gnawing on my conscience, but theuncertainty.Never knowing when I’ll go invisible or when I’ll go back to normal.
Only a couple weeks ago, I’d spent an entire day standing around the school hall, waiting for my powers to kick in so I could finish what should’ve been a simple Beijing Ghost task. They never did. Henry had been surprisingly understanding about it, even though he’d chosen to wait with me too, but I can still taste the sharp, sour note of failure, still feel the heavy frustration of relying on something completely out of my control.
“Just relax,” Henry tells me, after I’ve paced the length of the corridor at least twenty times. If I were counting my steps, like Chanel does, I’m sure I’d have reached my daily goal by now. “Even if this task doesn’t go as we initially planned... What’s the worst that could happen?”
I make a little noise of disbelief. “Please,pleasetell me you’re joking.”
“I assure you I’m quite serious.”
“Oh my god,” I say. Shake my head. “The worst thing—I mean, there are literallyso manyworst-case scenarios I don’t even know where to—”
“Like what?”
“Um.”I pretend to think hard for an answer. “Like,getting expelled?”
“I highly doubt they would expel us. We’re the best students they have,” Henry says. States it, just like that, as if it’s an indisputable fact.
My heart snags on thewe,the casual compliment in those words, but I push on.
“No? They could also involve the police, throw us into jail—”
“A few of my dad’s friends are lawyers,” he says breezily. “Amongst the best in the country. Even if the evidence was stacked up against us, we’d still win the case.”
I twist around so fast my shoes squeak against the polished floor. “See, this is why I can’t stand people like you,” I seethe, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You think that just because you’re all smart and wealthy and attractive you can just do whatever the hell you want—”
