I Hope This Doesn't Find You

“We’ve decided. We dare you . . . to kiss Julius.”

My mind shuts down on itself.

I can only gape at him, unsure if this is their idea of a joke, if I’ve misheard. I must have. There’s absolutely no way they would ask it of me. They know our history by now, they’ve read the emails, they know we’ve hated each other for the past ten years—

But of course, that’s exactly why they’re asking.

My gaze cuts to Julius again. I just need to see his reaction. I expect him to look disgusted by the idea, or enraged, or perhaps delighted at my imminent humiliation. But his expression is unreadable. He shows no outward emotion, and somehow that’s worse. Maybe that’s how little it affects him, how little it means. Maybe that’s how little I matter.

It’s like there’s a stone lodged in my chest, blocking the blood from rushing to my heart.

“Well?” Ray challenges.

I swallow. Force myself to mimic Julius’s nonchalance. “Sure, why not?”

Surprised murmurs rise from the circle. Even Ray looks stunned, like he’d been waiting for me to protest.

And Julius is staring at me, his brows faintly creased. I’ve managed to catch him off guard as well. I feel a flush of victory, not so dissimilar to the thrill of finishing ahead of him in a race.

I accepted long ago that my definition of fun tends to differ from the general teen demographic. Fun is baking a new batch of egg tarts, or beating my previous record for the two-hundred-meter dash, or adding my grades to my academic spreadsheet. It’s not roller coasters or getting wasted on a beach or participating in a game that requires you either embarrass yourself or expose yourself to a number of people.

“Do they . . . really look bad? My clothes, I mean.”

I’m dumbfounded—as much by the question as the fact that he’s asking me. “You look how you always look, Julius,” I manage.

His eyes are wary. “And how is that?”

“Completely pretentious,” I say. I shouldn’t elaborate any further, but something about the stiffness of his posture, the rare vulnerability in his face, makes me add: “In a nice way though.”

Then I bite down on my tongue and make a quick exit before I can say anything else I’ll regret.