“Why would you be carrying them by yourself?” he asks, like he’s genuinely confused about why this would be a concern. “Just leave it to me.”
I must spend hours browsing. There are five sprawling levels in the bookstore, each with their own towering tables of new releases and displays of shiny hardcovers and special editions. Julius follows me through the aisles, letting me take my time, listening with quiet amusement while I read the blurbs, the author bios, point out every title I recognize or already own. He carries the tote bag for me exactly as promised, filling it up with book after book after book until the straps appear in danger of breaking.
“Okay, that’smorethan enough for me,” I decide. “What about you? Is there anything you need from here?”
He blinks, like he hadn’t even considered getting anything for himself. “I suppose there are a few texts I could buy now. Better prepare for when classes start.”
When classes start.My stomach tenses as the reality rushes in around me. It’s not as if this is news, as if I’d forgotten the commencement date for the fall semester, but I’ve been trying to block it out the whole trip. Worry about it later. And it was almost too easy to. During those early days, when we first landed in San Francisco, it felt like we had a luxurious amount of time stretched out ahead of us. An endless number of cafés to try and rate on a scale of to-die-for to overhyped, sunlit parks to stroll through, nights to waste kissing in the kitchen, mornings to wake up with my fingers laced through his. Two entire weeks. Practically a life.
But now, I realize, itislater. The hourglass I’ve been ignoring has already tipped over, leaking out faster and faster. By this time next week, we’ll be moving into our dorms, heading off to orientation with the other incoming freshmen …
“… should be downstairs, in the nonfiction section,” Julius is saying. “I’ll just grab them really quick.”
“Okay, go for it,” I tell him, keeping my voice as light and level as I can, my face turned away from him so he can’t see my expression. He’s too good at detecting when I’m anxious. Knows me too well. Like when I was bitten by a mysterious insect the week before we left for the US, and my brain was considerate enough to float the possibility that the insect might be venomous or carrying a deadly disease. And while I fell silent, picturing my tragic demise and wondering if we’d be able to get our plane tickets fully refunded, Julius had lifted my bare ankle onto his lap to rub some insect bite gel in, his fingers gentle and pleasantly cool.You’re not going to die from this, by the way, he said dryly, as if I’d spoken my thoughts aloud.
But I don’t want him to have to reassure me now. I don’t want to ruin the perfect ending to a perfect day.
I watch him take the escalator down, the familiar back of his silhouette, the bulky bag weighing on his shoulder. It’s only once he’s gone that I start walking without any particular direction or purpose, just to keep myself moving, to quiet the hundred different awful scenarios playing out in my mind.
When classes start …
What if everything changes then? What if school gets too busy and he forgets to text me back one day, and then two days, and the distance between us grows until I can’t reach him anymore? What if he meets someone new? A brilliant, beautiful Stanford girl who’ll invite him to parties and save a seat for him in class and won’t throw a fit if she loses to him in Scrabble? What if he wakes up and changes his mind about me?
Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? According to Abigail’s daily gossip updates, almost every couple from our high school has already broken up. Many of them weren’t even that sad about it; there was a mutual acknowledgment that things wouldn’t work out once they headed off to college.
But if I were ever to lose Julius—
I swallow, an ache in my throat, the mere idea physically unbearable.
My phone buzzes, the sudden vibration against my pocket jolting me back to the present. I hadn’t even noticed how far I’ve walked, but when I glance up, I find myself on the other side of the bookstore.
I quickly read over the new text from Julius.
where are you?women’s fiction section, I text back.near the café.stay there, he replies at once.I’ll come find you.
I stare at the words on the screen until my fears feel small. Surmountable. The knot in my stomach untangles itself, and I let myself breathe in fully, inhaling the scent of new books and fresh blueberry muffins from the café.
“There you are,” Julius says.
I spin around, and as he smiles at me, the last of my worries fade into the background. This isJulius Gong, after all.My Julius. The boy who’d run all my races for me, who’s memorized everything I’ve ever said, who’s carrying a bag full of my books, and who’s studying my face closely right now—
“You seemed a bit quiet earlier,” he says, and the ache in my throat moves deeper, swelling inside my chest. Even with my attempts to hide it, he still noticed. “Are you okay?”
“Better than okay,” I tell him.
“You sure?”
I nod, because despite the uncertainties, despite the changing seasons, the risk of new beginnings, I’m sure about him. About us. Because I know without a doubt that as long as I tell Julius Gong where I am, he’ll say,Stay there, I’ll come find you, and he will find me, in any crowd, any room, any city. He always has.
When I wroteI Hope This Doesn’t Find You, I didn’t really expect anyone to read it. I didn’t expect anything at all, because there’s only so much we can control as authors. But somehow—almost magically, it seems—that book found you, and you shared the book with your friends and talked about it online and showed so much love for Julius and Sadie that now, over a year later, I’m able to continue their story. I doubt I can ever adequately express how grateful I am for you, my readers, but you’ve truly changed my life in more ways than I could’ve dreamed of.
The fact that any of this is possible is also due to the incredible, talented, dedicated team I’ve been lucky enough to work with throughout this journey. Thank you, forever and always, to my agent, Kathleen Rushall. All my love and thanks to Maya Marlette—I Hope This Doesn’t Find Youand this novella quite literally wouldn’t exist without you. Thank you to Maeve Norton and Robin Har for the absolutely gorgeous cover. And thank you to everyone at Scholastic for being such a wonderful, welcoming home for my books: Elizabeth Whiting, Caroline Noll, Melanie Wann, Dan Moser, Jarad Waxman, Jody Stigliano, Nikki Mutch, Savannah D’Amico, Lori Benton, John Pels, Rachel Feld, Erin Berger, Mandy Earles, Greyson Corley, Seale Ballenger, Janell Harris, Melissa Schirmer, Michael Strouse, Emily Heddleson, Lizette Serrano, Sabrina Montenigro, David Levithan, Ellie Berger, and Leslie Garych.
Keep reading for a peek at another unforgettable love story from Ann Liang,This Time It’s Real!
I’m about to change into my school uniform when I notice the man floating outside my bedroom window.
No,floatingisn’t the right word,I realize as I step closer, my plaid skirt still crumpled in one hand, my pulse racing in my ears. He’sdangling.His whole body is suspended by two metal wires that look dangerously thin, considering how we’re on the twenty-eighth floor and the summer wind’s been blowing extra hard since noon, kicking up dust and leaves like a mini tornado.
