Page 20 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“Ah,” he says. It’s just one syllable, yet it sounds horribly ominous. “And is it also correct that you addressed many of these emails to your cocaptain and called him, among other things . . .” He glances at his computer monitor and clears his throat. “Aspoiled brat, aninsufferable thorn, acold-hearted deceiver, and a certain word that refers to the . . . downward region of the human anatomy?”
I blink. “Sorry?”
Principal Miller shoots me a pointed look.
“Oh, right—you meanassho—” I clamp my mouth shut, but not before I catch Julius laughing into his fist. It’s nice that he can still find it in himself to make fun of me under our present circumstances. Very heartening.
“Now, normally, we do not like to interfere with personal disputes between our students,” the principal says. “But in this specific scenario, I’m afraid I have to. After yesterday’s session, Samantha Howard has expressed her grievances to me regarding your shocking behavior. Disrupting the class, fighting with each other, makingopen threats. Needless to say, she has a terrible impression of our school, and she won’t be coming back here again.”
“I’m sorry, Principal Miller, but she’s exaggerating,” Julius says. I have to admire the fact that he can even find the courage to speak. I’m just about ready to curl into the fetal position. “Yes, Sadie and I were having a somewhat . . . lively conversation, and perhaps we got carried away, but it’s really not as bad as—”
“As this?” Principal Miller holds up his phone.
We both lean in with confusion.
A video is playing on loop over the screen. A fan-edit, to be exact, of Caz Song—that popular actor all my cousins in China have a major crush on. We watch about five seconds of him running his hand through his hair to special flash effects before Principal Miller abruptly retracts the phone and scrolls down.
“Sorry,” he says, turning the screen around again. “Not that one.This.”
The new video is less confusing, but infinitely more concerning. It must have been taken by one of our classmates during the cybersecurity session yesterday. Julius and I are both standing up and—even in the bad lighting of the hall—very clearly arguing. My hands are clenched tighter than they are now, and his chin is lifted at a defiant angle, his jaw taut.
“It seems you learned absolutely nothing from the session, because this is a blatant breach of the school’s IT policy.” Principal Miller shakes his head. “We’ve asked the student to take the video down, of course, but it had already gained fifty-three views.”
Julius lets out a sound that could very well be a scoff. Privately, I agree with the sentiment. “Only? That’s barely anything—”
“Fifty-three is fifty-three too many,” Principal Miller cuts in with a stern look. “As it stands, the video was seen by one of the mothers who attended the tour. She had been planning on sending her daughter to our school, but she’s since changed her mind, and the other mothers are reconsidering too. This has already reached the school board, and needless to say, they’re most displeased. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”
I nod, fast, clenching my teeth to stop them from knocking together. I’m still not entirely sure which direction this is going, but I can already predict it’s going to end with a crash. All I can do is brace myself for the impact.
“Right now, our chief concern is making sure we prevent any further negative impacts to the school’s image and culture.” His eyes land first on Julius, then on me. “As a solution, we ask that you work closely together over the coming month to bridge your differences, until your tensions have dissolved. I don’t just mean in your regular captain duties, but across the school, throughout various activities. Consider it a show of comradery.”
My stomach drops.
I’m already around Julius Gong way too often—I can’t imagine spending evenmoretime with him. I don’t think I’ll be able to without losing my sanity or leaving his body in a ditch.
When I glance over at him, he looks equally horrified, as if the principal has just proposed that he snuggle up with a feral cat. And though the feeling is very much mutual, it still drives a small, blunt nail into my gut. Turns out I always want to be wanted, even by the boy I loathe.
“With all due respect, I didn’t do anything,” Julius says. His voice is level, almost convincingly calm, yet there’s a breathless edge to his sentence. His hands flex over the wooden armrests, like he’s trying to steady himself against them. “Iwasn’t the one who wrote the emails. Why do I—”
“It may seem unfair, but the reality is you’re both involved. If you are unhappy with my proposal or unwilling to take the necessary steps to resolve your conflict, I will have to reconsider your suitability for the role and contact your parents—”
“No,” Julius says sharply, with such force the principal flinches. “Apologies,” he adds, quieter, recomposing himself, though I can still see the muscle working in his jaw. “I only mean . . . I only mean that I agree with your solution.”
“I’m glad you’re being reasonable,” Principal Miller says. Then he turns to me. “And you, Sadie? Are you happy to cooperate?”
Happyis hardly the right word for it.Disgustedwould be more fitting. Orappalled. Orincensed. I’ve never resented anything more. But it’s not like I have much of a choice in this. Without my captaincy on my final transcript, Berkeley could cancel my admission. Forget Julius. I would force myself to work with the devil if it meant I could keep my future plans intact. I’m supposed to be the reliable child in the family, the person most likely to succeed and turn our lives around. My mom and my brother are counting on me.
“Yes,” I get out. “I am.”
“Excellent.” The principal claps his hands together, smiling at both of us. He’s the only one. “In that case, you can start by cleaning the bike shed together after school.”
The bike sheds at Woodvale Academy are a more reliable source of information than the school newsletter.
Instead of vague updates about the rowing regatta or the new netball court or the teacher who’s leaving because of “unforeseen circumstances,” you can find the real news scribbled in bright markers over the walls. Breakups, betrayals, scandals; who’s popular this week and who’s dating someone new. It’s almost artistic in an avant-garde way, the blend of cute, curly fonts with sharp, angry letters and doodled hearts and struck-out names and half poems. By now there’s more writing than blank space on the gray bricks.
And we’re supposed to clean it all up.
I let the bucket and brush I’m carrying thunk to the ground. For a moment, I can only stare with horror, processing the sheer scale of our job. This will take us hours at the very least if we’re quick—and judging from the way Julius is holding the hose like it’s a dead snake, we probably won’t be.
