Page 18 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
I hadn’t thought it possible to taste any new flavors of humiliation, but apparently I can. The skin on my cheeks and the back of my neck is so hot it itches.
“Before coming here, all I’d heard about Woodvale was how it’s one of the top academic institutions in the state. Selective.Prestigious.” She yanks out the cord from her laptop as she speaks. “But this is—well, it’s just beyond disappointing.” Picks up her thermos from the floor. “I’m afraid I simply cannot go on.” Lifts a dramatic hand to her chest like an actress in a tragic play. “I’ll have to end this early.”
With that, she marches out the door, a few seconds of silence following close behind her.
Then Georgina says, hopefully, “Does this mean we get a free period?”
Before anyone can celebrate, the door swings open once more, and Samantha comes marching in again. Her complexion has changed from gray to crimson. “I just remembered that I won’t be paid the speaker’s fee if I don’t stay for the full session.” She sniffs and plugs her laptop back into the projector, continuing to the next slide as though that brief episode never happened. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, your digital footprint . . .”
Two years ago, our final assignment for English was a class debate.
Julius had been placed on the affirmative team, and I’d been placed on the negative, the battle lines drawn early. In the lead-up to it, I’d spent weeks preparing, diving into academic articles, researching everything on our topic: whether human cloning should be legalized. On the day, my head was on fire. I was ready. Most of the time it seemed to me that I was only pretending to be smart, like an actor who has to play a neurosurgeon. What mattered was convincing other people I was intelligent.
But as I stood up to make my points, I felt it too. My mind whirred, as smooth and fast as a machine, and my hands remained perfectly steady over the cue cards. I didn’t even need to look at them. I was so familiar with Julius’s logic that I could predict his arguments and counterarguments in advance, could spot the gaps in his reasoning, prod at the inconsistencies in his evidence. I remember the uncommon quiet of the classroom as I spoke clearly and calmly, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. Nothing could faze me. When I finished, there was a beat of stunned silence, and I’d heard someone whisperwhoain a tone of genuine awe. Then the applause had come, building into a crescendo, cheers rising over the claps. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life.
I’d ended up winning not only the debate, but Best Speaker. When the final results were announced, Julius had glared at me, his jaw locked, his eyes blazing with an intensity that almost startled me. I’d always been confident that I hated him a little more than he hated me—but in that moment, I wasn’t so sure.
It’s the same resentful expression he’s wearing the next morning when I bump into him outside the math classroom.
Literally.
I’m about to head inside the exact second he steps out. My face crashes straight into his shoulder.
I lurch backward, rubbing my nose, certain he’s going to make a jibe about my poor coordination or demand an apology or mock me for the emails again, but instead he fixes me with that awful, sharp look and says: “We’ve been asked to see the principal.”
My heart stops beating.
“What?” I choke out. My first half hope, half instinct is that he’s pulling a prank on me, messing with my head, that this is his perverse means of revenge. He should know this is my worst fear.
But then he moves past me, down the hall in the direction of the principal’s office, and my heartbeat starts up again at twice its normal speed.
“Wait,” I call, running after him. He slows down slightly without turning back. “Wait, you’re being serious? We have to go right now?”
“No, Sadie, we are expected to see him twenty-three years down the line,” he says, his voice so dry and scathing it could cut open bone. “I am only telling you now so that you have sufficient time to prepare.”
I’m too panicked to think of a comeback. “But—did he say why?”
“You are awfully perceptive today. Why do you think? What event has occurred in the past forty-eight hours that is so terrible it warrants an in-person meeting with the principal himself?”
Yet even as he’s talking, the answer has already come to me. The emails. Of course it can only be that. I choke down a hysterical laugh. The last time I’d visited the principal, it had been with Julius as well, but it was because we had both broken the record for having the highest grade-point average in the history of the school. Aremarkable achievement, according to the principal, and something I ought to have celebrated, except our averages wereexactlythe same, all the way to the second decimal. I’d left that meeting promising myself I would boost my average so it was higher than his.
Maybe Julius is remembering the same thing, because his upper lip curls. “This is a first for me, you realize. I’ve never been called to the principal for anything other than good news.”
“A first foryou?” I hiss. Class should have officially started by now, so the hallways are all empty, save for us. It feels strange to walk past the rows and rows of closed classrooms. Through the narrow glass panes in the doors, I can see the teachers marking off the roll, students shuffling through their notes. “I’ve literally never been in trouble before—”
“Before two days ago,” he cuts in, “in which you managed to offend half the faculty and student body in one go. Oh, and yesterday, when you decided to start a petty argument with me in front of the entire class. It’s a pretty impressive feat, if you think about it. You always like to outdo yourself, don’t you?”
“Youwere the one who was arguing with me.”
“Well, we wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place if not for your emails. Thanks to you, the entire school’s talking about us. It’s anarchy. And did you see what they drew over our captains’ photo? There was red marker.” He pauses for emphasis. “On myface.”
I doubt he would look this incensed if someone had vandalized theMona Lisa.
“If I were you,” he continues, “I’d be thinking up a very good explanation right now. Even if you didn’t send the emails, you’re the one whowrotethem and dragged both of us into this mess—”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
He falters briefly, then gives me an odd sort of smile, like he’s caught me doing something I shouldn’t, like he knows me better than I want him to. My skin tingles from the unwelcome attention. “Your language turns cruder by the day. Decided to drop the model student act for good?”
