Page 38 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
“You—” My mouth drops open as I exchange an incredulous look with Cyrus. “You did what?”
“Yeah, Wang Laoshi never said we had to get up hereby foot, did he?” Oliver says, his smile sly. “You can’t blame me for using the resources at my disposal. And you can’t even accuse us of not challenging ourselves—you see these marks?” He rolls down his sleeve with a dramatic sigh, revealing four red, nail-sized crescents on the underside of his wrist. “Courtesy of Daisy. For a second back there, I thought she was secretly a werewolf.”
“I’m sorry!” Daisy says in a small voice, her eyes still closed, though her complexion is more red than ashen now. “But you wouldn’t stop moving around on the cable car—”
“She means I was breathing,” Oliver tells us, deadpan. “I inhaled, and she told me to stay still because it was making her nervous. See? It was ahugechallenge getting here.” He pulls a puppy-dog face at me that’s so ridiculous and aware of its own ridiculousness that it kind of works. “You’re not going to report us to the teacher for being a bit creative, are you?”
“I guess not,” I say. “I’m more annoyed we didn’t think of it first.”
“Weshouldreport you,” Cyrus adds, his voice dead serious, yet I can tell he’s not actually considering it. It’s odd, because I’m used to people who are fake nice—or at least pretending to be nicer than they really are—in order to win you over. I don’t trust most of Cate’s friends for exactly that reason.
Yet Cyrus is fake mean, almost as if he wants to lower your expectations of him, to make sure you stay away.
More footsteps thud onto the platform behind us. The other teams drag themselves up one at a time; some are panting, rubbing the sweat from their foreheads despite the chilly air. Others clearly accepted defeat ages ago, and stopped for snacks on their way up. Sean is sharing a packet of prawn crackers with his teammate, both of them munching noisily and wiping their greasy fingers on their jackets.
While we wait for everyone to arrive, I spot a small, weathered fountain nestled just behind the pine trees. Fresh water trickles out from two stone statues of dragons, flowing through their open mouths and gathering in a clear pool underneath. The bottom is filled with shiny bronze and silver coins. As I watch, a young woman around my cousin’s age pulls her boyfriend over to the fountain, smiling wide. He fishes a coin out from his pocket, clearly prepared for this very moment, and she clasps her fingers around it, eyes closed and head bent the way you do in prayer, then flings it into the water, where it lands with a faint splash.
“You think that’s the same sacred fountain my cousin visited to bless her marriage?” I ask Cyrus.
He scans the area. “Well, it doesn’t look like there’s asecondsacred fountain up here.”
“Okay, give me a second.” I pat my pockets for spare change. I only have one coin, but it’s enough. Once the couple has left, I take their place by the edge of the fountain, feeling the smooth, cool surface of the coin against my palm. I’ve never really been the kind of person to visit temples or even to meditate, and as I force my eyes to close, mimicking the girl from earlier, I feel a spasm of self-consciousness, certain that I’m doing it wrong, that I look stupid, that I’m about to be made fun of. Sometimes it feels like there’s an invisible comment section floating around in my brain, and with every mistake I make, every wrong thing I say, these imaginary spectators who vaguely resemble my classmates from my old schools flock forward to pass judgment …
Who does she think she is?
Why is she holding the coin like that? She’s so weird.
She’s closing her eyes? Who closes their eyes, except to sleep? I’m just embarrassed for her at this point.
Does she actually believe that praying to a fountain will do anything for her cousin’s marriage?
Oh my god, look at her—she’s so out of place. She literally has no idea what she’s doing …
But then the seconds pass, and the rising wind drowns out the voices, and a strange sense of peace envelops me. It’s like I’m suddenly aware of everything that exists outside my face and body: There’s the air moving soft around me, pressing the silk of my shirt closer to my skin, and the steady trickle of water, and the patter of claws on stone, an animal slinking into the wilderness, the damp touch of dew, and when I breathe in it feels like I’m breathing for the first time in years.
Please, bless my cousin’s marriage again, I pray, the Mandarin words coming slowly to me.Undo whatever bad luck I might’ve accidentally cursed her with at the wedding.
I’m still not wholeheartedly convinced that the fountain could help me with anything, or that the Mandarin words I chose were exactly the right ones, but I feel lighter as I let my coin sink into the water.
When I open my eyes, Cyrus is waiting behind me.
“I want to make a wish too,” he explains, holding up a coin of his own.
“What are you wishing for? A glowing letter of recommendation from my aunt?”
He scoffs. “I don’t need towishfor that. I’m going to make it happen.”
“What’s your wish, then?” I ask, more curious than taunting. What could Cyrus Sui possibly want in life? But he doesn’t answer me, and I don’t have a chance to pester him for more details. By the time he finishes with his wish, everyone’s already gathered around on the platform.
“We’re doing a team-building activity,” Wang Laoshi announces, passing pens and paper around the group. “It’s a tradition on this trip. You write an anonymous compliment to every person—”
“I’ve done this before,” Lydia says excitedly.
I’ve done something like this before too at school, and I’ve never known how to react to the results. I’m sure the teachers mean to boost our self-esteem, but I could never stop myself from feeling along the edges of each compliment, like how you’d feel a dress to test for fake silk or frayed threads. And for every compliment I received, I could think of a way to discredit it.
You’re so pretty—except they’d rescind it in seconds if they had any idea what I looked like before. Except so much of my beauty is an illusion produced by the right outfit and makeup. Except I’m never as pretty in motion.
You’re so mysterious—except there’s nothing really mysterious about me. It’s just that I’m not very loud and open about the things I love, or I can’t be sure of what I love in the first place.
