Page 3 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
Except for the boy sitting down beside me.
Cyrus Sui.
***
Ever since I was a child, I’ve had abnormally vivid nightmares. They’re so believable that in those moments when I wake up in a cold sweat, I’m convinced that my life is what I experienced when I was asleep, and everything else is an illusion. I have nightmares about everything: About doing a shoot in the middle of Grand Park only to discover halfway through that I wasn’t dressed. About the sky falling, about my parents turning into flesh-eating aliens, about my parents growing old, which was even more terrifying. And without fail, starting from the day of the Incident, I’ve had nightmares about Cyrus Sui.
Nightmares where he joined the other kids at my previous schools in making my life miserable, shrinking away dramatically every time I walked close in the corridors, flinging the ball across the court a little too hard in gym so it would hit me. Where he kept spreading rumors about the Incident, following me from school to school and shouting about it through a speaker before I could even introduce myself. Where he openly gloated about ruining my life when I was fifteen, an arsonist grinning up at the flames while I choked on the smoke.
Even though it’s been two years since the Incident itself, my grudge hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s only festered. Strengthened like wine, grown so potent that one small taste of it is enough to cloud your head.
My part-time friend and full-time classmate, Cate Addison, accused me once of holding grudges too easily. I’ve been holding a grudge against her for that as well.
“Remember me?” Cyrus asks, tipping his chin up a few degrees, as if he isn’t the reason my school records are permanently stained. The reason I went through hell.
My throat closes. My fists clench. How I wish this were another nightmare. “I—”
“I’m sure you do,” he says. He picks up one of the chocolates using two fingers but doesn’t unwrap it. Just tosses it in the air. Catches it without looking. “I rememberyouvery well, Leah. Nobody else has left such a strong impression.”
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, my initial shock wearing off.
“There’s someone here I need to see,” he says, tossing the chocolate again, then cuts me a look I can’t quite parse. “Believe me, I had no idea you’d be here.”
To be fair, right up until I quit modeling last month, I had no idea I’d be here either. If I hadn’t quit, the chances are that I would have had to cancel last minute, and one of my parents would’ve also had to miss out on the wedding just to drive me to some shoot on the other side of LA. But now I have no reason to miss out on any family functions, not when my current summer schedule mostly involves me crawling out of bed at noon, making myself spicy ramen for breakfast at lunchtime, and watching celebrity documentaries to avoid my looming college application deadlines.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I mutter.
“What is life if not disappointing?” he says, just dryly enough that I can’t tell if he’s joking or making a genuine, depressing statement.
“Well,” I say, crossing my ankles together under the table to keep from fidgeting or kicking something, “don’t let me ruin your enjoyment of one of the greatest joys in the world.”
“Free drinks?”
“I meant the wedding.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t enjoy it much anyway.” He makes a general gesture toward the overhanging red tassels and fake, gold-foil trees and confetti balloons floating around the ballroom. “I find these overt displays of love to be somewhat nauseating.”
I must be staring, because he lifts his brows.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“You’ve changed,” I can’t help observing aloud.
His expression flickers, but he merely tosses the chocolate again. “How so?”
I study him. It’s hard for me to pinpoint myself—whether it’s the alertness in his eyes, despite the insouciance of his posture; the slight pause after each sentence, as if he’s assessing my immediate reaction; or even the way he’s dressed, his simple button-down so crisp it must be freshly ironed.
But I remember him as the boy who would smile all the time, though it was always a crooked smile, the type that assured you he was up to no good. He was also the one who’d make sure he was sitting behind me in every class, just so he could tap my seat and annoy me. Who’d pester me during quiet reading sessions and pretend to be busy working when the teacher glared in our direction. Who’d steal my pencils. My homemade snacks. My scrunchies. Myscience homework, which is how I confirmed that he was stealing for the sole pleasure of stealing from me, because my grades were far worse than his.
He was the monster who left a real, live, buzzing bee inside my locker on Valentine’s Day when all the other girls were opening theirs up to find flowers.
Not to mention that he was the culprit who got me kicked out of my old school.
He was evil. He is still evil, I’m certain, but more somber, and—if we’re doing an honest evaluation—even more appallingly, unnervingly beautiful.
“Never mind,” he says, setting the chocolate down flat on the crimson tablecloth, the heart pressed beneath his palm. “I can already predict the answer.”
Like a fool, I rise to the bait. “How could you—”
