It’s an honor to be waiting outside the school gates for Julius Gong.
Not that I’d ever admit it to him, of course. So I pretend to be busy rifling through my bag, even though I’ve already noticed him walking up the hill in my peripheral vision. Difficultnotto notice him when he looks like that: dark hair falling over his eyes, unfairly pretty face, his tie straight as his grades, his blazer sleeves rolled up halfway. Despite the summer heat rising all around us, he’s still sticking to his winter school uniform, for no reason other than his utter disdain for shorts in any kind of non-beach setting. When I was thoughtful enough to question him about it the other week—I mean, surely you’re hot in that—he stared at me for a deliberate beat, then said slowly, eyes gleaming,Yes, Sadie, I’m glad you think so.
Another reason why I can’t let him know I’ve been standing around waiting for him for the past half hour: His already inflated ego seems to have reached new peaks recently. And I’m probably partly responsible for it.
Still, as he draws closer, my heart does this funny little leap, like I’m seeing him for the first time in months, when I only just said goodbye to him last night on the steps of my family’s bakery.
“Waiting for me?” he asks, easily crossing the remaining distance between us, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
“No,” I say at once. “I was just—looking for something.”
“Looking for what?” His brows rise. “A convincing lie?”
“No,”I repeat, louder. I yank out my daily planner and flip the pastel-pink cover open to a random page. “This.”
“Ah, right.” He hooks one casual finger around the strap of my bag and tugs, pulling me closer to him so he can read the planner over my shoulder. “You need to see what you were planning to do three Wednesdays ago? Wow. You know, I’ve only heard of people planning in advance. I didn’t realize you could also plan in hindsight—”
“Shush. That was just the wrong page,” I insist, trying my best to focus on the planner while his breath tickles my neck. At last, I find my list of tasks for the day. Beneath the vaguely threatening title I’ve written out for myself—To Do, Or Else!!!—I’ve highlighted and underlinedFinal Math Test. I make my way further down—submit chemistry quiz, annotate pages 10–30 of text study, update exam booklet, finish writing mock essay, review speech for valedictory dinner, buy thank-you gifts for all teachers and principal, check bakery admin email—before landing on a new task in someone else’s sharp, neat handwriting.
It says:take a break (and go on a date with Julius).
I hold the planner up higher and whirl around. “Wait. When did you write this?”
Julius gazes innocently over at me. “What are you talking about?”
“I recognize your handwriting, Julius,” I point out, biting my cheek to stop from smiling too wide. “I’m pretty sure I’ve spent, like, a combined total of eighty hours staring at it.”
“That seems like an underestimation,” he says. “You have, by your own admission, spent longer than that just staring at my hands—”
I wriggle free from him and march through the gates with as much false indignation as I can muster, knowing he’ll follow right behind. And he does, his footsteps falling quickly after mine. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to bring up the emails again—”
“Sorry,” he says, without sounding remotely apologetic. “Though I think you should rearrange the order of your tasks. Make the last task your first priority.”
“I’ll take a proper break after I beat you in the test today,” I tell him.
“Kind of cocky, aren’t you?”
“I must’ve learned it from you.”
Without glancing at him, I can tell he’s smiling. I hadn’t thought it was possible to know Julius Gong better than I already knew him, not when I’ve spent ten years doing everything within my power to outsmart him, becoming attuned to his quirks and routines and habits. But there’s so much more—with him, there’s always more. More to do, more to hope for, more to say, more to learn. New spaces carved into our routines for each other, new habits we’ve created together. Like how, when we reach the math building, he pushes the heavy glass door open and holds it for me. Or how, when all the other students start streaming indoors with their backpacks and tennis rackets, he naturally puts his arm around my shoulders, careful not to let anyone bump into me. And isn’t it strange, I find myself marveling, how the safest I’ve ever felt is beside the boy I once considered the bane of my existence.
“I can’t believe you already have a list of tasks for the holidays,” Julius says, nodding to my planner as I wrestle it back into my bag.
“Well, of course,” I huff out. “I need to be productive.” And I fully intend to be. During the half-year gap between when school finishes here in Melbourne and when college starts in the US, I’m going to complete an internship, learn a new language, get a part-time job as a tutor, hire and train two more employees to help out at the bakery, run a marathon, and read the forty books I’ve been meaning to get to all year.
“Rest assured that you’re on track to have the most productive holiday ever,” Julius remarks. “I hope that makes you happy.”
“It does,” I say cheerily, which earns me an affectionate shake of his head.
“I suppose it’s just as well,” he says, “since you won’t have to set aside time to plan out our trip—”
“Oh, I’ve already set aside time for that,” I cut in.
He arches a brow. “So the bet’s still on?”
“Of course it is.” It’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since we made the deal two months ago. Whoever scores higher in this final math test will get to plan out the entirety of our upcoming US trip before he starts college at Stanford and I start at Berkeley, and the other person will have to go along with absolutely everything. Even if my pride weren’t on the line, the idea of not being able to control every single factor while traveling around another country is horrifying. And with only six months to go before we leave for the US, we’re already seriously pushing my limits when it comes to planning ahead. If I don’t start booking tickets and finalizing details soon, I might actually break out into stress hives. It’s not like I don’ttrustJulius to organize our itinerary, but I’m used to doing these things by myself; from family vacations to girls’ trips with Abigail, I’m always the one people turn to for the check-in time and reservation code and restaurant recommendations.
Plus, Julius and I clearly don’t have the same idea of what makes for a pleasant trip. While I was leaning more toward a cute, cozy, conveniently located Airbnb, Julius has been eyeing a five-star boutique hotel with Pegasus statues and fountains inside the lobby.
