I Hope This Doesn't Find You

I’m not planning on being particularly nice,” he whispers. “And I don’t expect you to be either.”

“But—”

“It’s us, Sadie,” he says, like that’s answer enough. “When have we been bad at anything?”

For once I have all the power, and I’d be a fool to let it go without putting up a good fight—no matter how badly I want him to just kiss me

He takes it off, then holds it out toward me.

“Yours.”

I’d thought he was joking. “You . . . But you won it. You should keep it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I have so many of these lying around my house I don’t have any room left.”

“Okay, you’re just openly bragging now—”

“Only speaking the truth.”

“I—”

“Just take it, Sadie.” He closes the distance between us and hangs the medal around my neck. It’s still warm from his touch, smooth against my skin when I turn it over, unable to stop myself from admiring its faint glow, the shine of the gold. The weight of it. It’s prettier than any necklace I’ve ever seen. I open my mouth to thank him, but then he adds, carelessly, “Consider it compensation for all the awards I’ve taken from you.”

My gratitude curdles into a scoff on my tongue, and he laughs at the look on my face.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“For being cocky?”

“That too.”

But I brush my thumb over the medal, and even though I can’t decide what it really means—a gift, a form of compensation, proof of something—it’s somehow one of the best things I’ve ever received.

Because,” he says quietly, a curious expression on his face. I’ve never seen him so serious. So sincere. “You’re the only person worth paying attention to.”

Why would I be jealous?” he demands with a sneer, distaste written all over his face. “I would rather die than kiss you again.”

Forget it,” I mumble. “You won’t understand.”

“I’m trying to.”

Sadie. I don’t care whose party this is; I simply didn’t have anywhere better to go,” he says, his voice bored.

“How sad. You’re not wanted in your own home? You have to come bother me in mine?”

He flinches, then rights himself again with cool poise. The twist of his mouth turns cruel. “Well, if I can make your night a little worse, why not? I’ll at least have accomplished something here.”

The heat inside me flares higher, incinerating all logic and reservation. I want to slap that smug look off his face, but then I think of something even better.

“What about this, then?” I challenge, and before he can reply, I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him to me.

This time, when our lips meet, I don’t back away. I deepen the kiss, letting my fingers slide up his neck, curl into his hair. For one moment, I can feel his shock, the tension running through his frame like a heated wire, and I think: I’ve won. I’ve proven him wrong. Then he kisses me back, presses me closer, and something inside me slides off-balance

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 fantasized about in your email?”

Irritation flares up in my throat.