Page 28 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
Just then, a girl chimes in the background,“Lo-gan.”She stretches the name out into a long whine. “Aren’t you coming back?”
Julius stares down at the phone like it might grow teeth and bite him. For the first time, he looks wildly uncomfortable, a flush spreading up the smooth skin of his neck. “I can . . . call back,” he offers.
“I’m probably going to be, ah, preoccupied for the rest of today,” Logan says. “Sorry, man, I don’t think I’m the right person to ask. Better luck with someone else.”
Then he hangs up.
Julius appears to be frozen with shock. At last, he thaws enough to force out the words “Did he justhang upon me?” Like it’s a supernatural phenomenon, a violation of the laws that govern our universe.
I would be laughing if we weren’t tied down to the same task. Still, I can’t help getting a jibe in while I can. “That was—what was the word you used? Oh, yes. Terrible.”
He scoffs, but I can tell he’s affronted. “That was an exception.”
It quickly becomes apparent though that Clare and Logan aren’t the exception, but the norm. While the other students munch on their toasted sandwiches and relax by the sunlit windows, we run through the rest of the list, crossing off one name after another with increasing frustration. My fingers become stiff from dialing. Some of the phone numbers are no longer active. Some are switched off. Many people simply don’t pick up. The few who do are busy, or foresee that they will soon be very busy, or just can’t be bothered to make any commitments. One personwouldbe available, except they’re about to embark on a thirty-day trek through a jungle and won’t have any signal. One woman cusses me out for bothering her, and I’m so horrified that Julius has to pull the phone from me and end the call.
But before he does, he says pleasantly into the speaker, “Have a horrible rest of your day. Oh, and also . . .” Then he gestures for me to say something.
“I don’t know what to say,” I hiss, panicking.
He lifts a dark brow. “You didn’t have any trouble finding the words when you were insulting me. Go on. You’re not going to let her curse at you for nothing, are you?”
It could be a trick, or a trap. But I have to admit: I’m tempted. And I’m tired of being called names, of absorbing other people’s anger. So I lean closer and clear my throat. “I hope, um, you miss the train home and . . .”
Julius looks at me, expectant. It’s a look that saysIs that the best you can do?
I can’t help rising to the challenge. “I hope you find that you have no clean plates left for dinner,” I continue, my voice strengthening with every word, even as my heartbeat accelerates. “And your neighbors start partying at ten p.m. but their music taste is solely advertising background tracks, and the shower runs out of hot water right after you’ve applied shampoo.”
“I think it’s fairly safe to say we won’t be interviewing her,” Julius remarks as he sets the phone down.
I laugh, which seems to please him, which in turn makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong. Missed something important. And yet—ithadbeen satisfying, speaking aloud the things I would normally reserve for my drafts.
The downside is that we now only have one name left.
“We’ve gone through everything,” Julius says, flipping the paper around. “Maybe we should just interview me instead. I’ll join the list of notable alumni shortly after graduating—might as well do it in advance.”
My brows furrow. “Hang on. There was still one—”
“I don’t think so,” he says. His fingers splay over the list, the movement subtle but deliberate.
“Why are you acting so weird?”
“I’m not.” His chin juts out.
I glance at the clock over Ms. Johnson’s desk. Three minutes left of lunch. Around us, the other committee members are already starting to unplug their chargers, snap their lunch boxes shut, throw away scrap paper and grease-stained wrappers. I have no idea what’s going on with Julius, but I don’t have the time to sit around and argue over nothing. “Whatever,” I say. “I’ve got the name and number memorized. It’s James Luo.”
The line of his shoulders tightens, and for a split second, faster than I can blink, some dark emotion clouds his features. “How did you . . .”
“You’re not the only one with a good memory,” I remind him as I stab in the numbers. I’m bragging a little, but I’m not exaggerating. I’ve never had much trouble recalling dates, facts, names, the places on a map. But sometimes my own memory backfires on me. Because besides cold, hard statistics, I remember every single time I’ve lost to Julius in a test, every time someone’s yelled at me, every embarrassment and failure and disappointment. Everything leaves an indelible mark on me, buries a permanent blade under my skin.
When the line connects, the voice that speaks up sounds oddly familiar. Something about the tone, the inflection of the words, the faint rasp at the edges. “Hello? This is James speaking.”
“Hi,” I say, my mind spinning, struggling to place it. “I’m Sadie Wen, calling from Woodvale—”
To my surprise, he laughs. “Oh, I know you. You’re the other captain, right? My little brother talks about you all the time.”
I falter. Beside me, Julius has gone very still, his complexion pale. “Your . . . little brother?”
“Yeah,” James says breezily. “My brother, Julius Gong.”
