I Hope This Doesn’t Find You

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 whisper whoa in 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. A remarkable achievement, according to the principal, and something I ought to have celebrated, except our averages were exactly the same, all the way to the second deci-mal. 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 lower 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 for you?” 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?”

“You were 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 my face.”

I doubt he would look this incensed if someone had vandalized the Mona 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 who wrote them 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?”

“Seriously, Julius,” I say through clenched teeth, lifting my hand, “if you don’t stop talking, I’ ll—”

“Hit me?” His smile sharpens, as though in challenge. It’s a smile that says you wouldn’t dare. “Choke me, the way you fanta-sized about in your email?”

Immediately, my skin goes so hot I wouldn’t be surprised if you could see steam rising from my body. “Are you ever going to let it go?”

“No,” he says, decisive. “Not until we’re even.”

“What do I have to do, then?” I demand. “For us to be even?”

He stops, his black eyes raking my face. I force myself to meet his gaze, even though everything in me wants to run away. “I’ll let you know how you can make it up to me,” he says, letting the words simmer in the space between us, stretching out the threat.

“But first, I have to see how bad the damage is.”

A spike of pure, cold dread runs through me when I realize we’ve reached the principal’s office. Even though it’s in the same building, it feels like a completely separate space. The paint on the walls is newer, the windows wider, the plaque that reads principal miller polished gold. The single door to his office is made of tinted glass, the kind that serves as a one- sided mirror.

I imagine Principal Miller staring at us from his desk, watching me as I wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt. The thought only makes my palms clammier.

Julius stares down at the doorknob, but makes no movement.

“Why aren’t you going in?” I ask.

“Why can’t you go in first?” He says it coolly, as if I’m the one who’s being ridiculous, but there’s a wariness to his expression.

His eyes keep sliding to the door like it might open up the gates of hell.

He’s nervous, I realize. I would take much greater delight in this discovery if I didn’t feel like throwing up my breakfast all over the white rug at my feet.

“Just go in,” I urge him.

He doesn’t budge. “You go.”

“What are you so scared of?”

“I’m not scared,” he says, actively backing away from the door now. “I just don’t want to be the first to step inside.”

I make a sound halfway between a snort and a sigh. “This is so childish—”

“You’re being childish. I’m being chivalrous.”

“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes back so far I can almost see the back of my skull. “Because you’re such a gentleman.”

“I am.”

“Open the door, Julius.”

“No, you—”

“Come in,” a gravelly voice calls from inside.

I startle, my pulse skyrocketing. It takes me a moment to recover, another moment to shove the door open on my own, cursing Julius silently in my head.

Principal Miller is reclining back in his leather seat, spinning a ballpoint pen with one hand, holding a takeaway coffee cup in the other. The whole office smells like coffee. The reading lamp beside him is a pale, clinical white that reminds me of hospital waiting rooms, the light glancing off his bald head.

“Hi, Principal Miller,” I manage, trying to read his expression. It’s pointless, like trying to find a pattern in a blank wall.

His dark eyes are devoid of emotion, the space between his thick brows smooth. “You . . . You asked for us?”

In response, he merely gestures to the two seats across the desk from him.

The chair is still warm when I sit down, and I can’t help thinking about the last person who was in here. Maybe they were expelled, or given detention, or maybe they were being congratulated on coming in first place in a national equestrian competition or finding a cure for eczema. That’s the thing about being called by the principal— you know it’s either really good news, or really bad news.

Julius takes his place on my left, his spine rigid.

“I know you’re both meant to be in class right now, so I’ll cut to the chase,” Principal Miller begins, setting his pen down. “It has come to my attention that a series of rather . . . aggressively worded emails have been circulating around the school. Is that correct?”

My mouth is too dry for me to speak. I can only nod.

“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 co-captain, and called him, among other things . . .” He glances at his computer monitor and clears his throat. “. . . a spoilt brat, an insufferable thorn, a cold- 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 mean assho—” 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, making open 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 even more time 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. “I wasn’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?”

Happy is hardly the right word for it. Disgusted would be more fitting. Or appalled. Or incensed. 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.”