“Hang on. Isthatwhat you’ve been carrying around the whole day?” Sadie asks, eyeing his bag. “You planned an entire picnic for us too?”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“I just—” She shakes her head and says, in a tone of disbelief, “What the hell, Julius? I feel … spoiled.”
“Well, good. You should be spoiled,” he says, trying not to look ridiculously pleased with himself. He used to think that there was no feeling better than beating Sadie Wen in a test, but that was before he experienced the euphoria of earning Sadie Wen’s approval.
They pick their way up the hill, the grass tickling their ankles. He dumps his bag down first, then starts to unpack. The plaid picnic rug he bought. The chocolate chip cookies Margaret dropped outside their door this morning, after they devoured the first batch. Croissants from that beloved bakery down the street, with thick slices of ham and cheese he added inside. Sushi he made himself, though they’re a little squashed from the long car ride. An entire container of cherries. Hand sanitizer, because Sadie refuses to eat anything without washing her hands first. Black coffee for himself, and a bottle of water for her, which he twists open first.
He was concerned that he brought too much food, but soon, they finish everything. They lie there in happy silence for a while, stomachs full, a light breeze ruffling their hair, rippling the collar of his shirt.
“Not going to lie, I was a little scared of the future,” Sadie admits to him in a soft voice. “There’s just so much change, you know? With the new school, and leaving Australia, and my mom and my brother, and just, like, starting over again … I keep imagining worst-case scenarios. Like, what if I don’t make any friends here? Or what if I have a meltdown during exam season? Or what if I’m stranded here for some reason and all the flights home get canceled? Or what if my brain simply refuses to convert to the Fahrenheit system? Or what if my professor is a major asshole, and then I try to switch classes, but my next professor is a major asshole too and I’m stuck with him? Or what if I get homesick, or I come down with a fever and I can’t just call my mom like I used to?”
“I know,” he says quietly. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too.”
She rolls over to gaze at him, and she looks so beautiful—her glossy hair let down over her shoulders, light freckles scattered like constellations on her cheeks, her lips stained red from the cherry juice, bare legs stretched across the grass—he actually feels his heart seize. “You are?”
“Yes, but if you ask again, I’m going to adamantly deny it. Can’t let it damage my reputation,” he says.
She lets out a snort of laughter. “I’m sure your reputation will survive.”
“Well, reputations are fragile things.”
“Is that a quote?”
“Probably. Anything could be a quote, if you think about it.”
“Yeah, literally the other day, I saw someone selling a poster with the quote,Water your cactus with laughter.Like, what does that even mean? Anyway,” she says, rolling onto her back again, and he mirrors her movement, gazing up at the treetops, the cerulean sky expanding above them. A leaf breaks away from a twig and flutters down almost in slow motion, in no hurry to fall. “Not to say that I’m, like, no longer scared of the future, but if this is what the future looks like …” She makes a vague gesture to them, the picnic, the distant sound of laughter from students lower on the hill. “It really can’t be that bad, right? It’s scary, but it’s exciting too.”
“I’m glad,” he says. He doesn’t say thathisfuture has always been exciting because of her. Not just now, but before too. The thrill that would race through him at the prospect of seeing her again in the halls, of being near her, not even doing anything in particular. She made the very idea of tomorrow exhilarating, as long as tomorrow involved her.
He lets himself lie in the moment for a while longer, simply enjoying her closeness. Then he drags himself up, dusting off his shirt, cleans up all the plastic wrap and empty containers, and heads back down the hill to throw their trash away.
When he returns, Sadie is … preoccupied.
A guy around their age is in his spot, talking to her. A tall guy with thick brown hair and unnaturally white teeth and the sort of defined features that align with the general population’s standards for attractiveness—fine, a good-looking guy. A good-looking guy who’s hitting on her. Even before Julius comes within earshot of their conversation, this is obvious to him. The guy is leaning way too far forward, smiling too wide.
“… should definitely come and check it out,” he’s telling Sadie. “We’re a newer club, but I promise it’ll be super fun—you can meet some really great people. Like me,” he says with a wink that makes Julius’s insides clench.
Of course, Sadie doesn’t seem to realize she’s being hit on. She’s always underestimated her own power. Her effect on other people. “What do you guys do, exactly?” she asks, so polite, so friendly, so oblivious.
“It’s essentially like a big brainstorming session. Whether you’re seeking out opinions for your start-up or you’re working on a film script or you’re developing an app, we all get together—with free pizza, by the way, pineappletotallyoptional, we don’t judge around here—”
Good god. This guy is flirting with Sadie Wen by making the most disgustingly bland, unskilled jokes aboutpineapple on pizza. Julius bets he has that written as one of his prompts on his dating apps, under equally unoriginal prompts about letting his future girlfriend steal his hoodie or wanting travel tips for Japan. He’s almost insulted. Pineapple Guy means to win over someone as impressive as Sadie Wen withthat?
“… and we just throw ideas around and help each other. That’s how the magic happens, you feel?” Pineapple Guy is saying.
“Yeah, that sounds kind of cool,” Sadie says, and Julius can tell that she means it, because she’s not using her super strained, high-pitched voice to conceal a lack of real enthusiasm. And so while he wants nothing more than to march straight over and break the conversation up, he clenches his jaw. Stays put. This could be an opportunity for Sadie, and he doesn’t want to ruin her relations with other people on campus before she’s even officially started class here.
“So you’ll come to our meeting?” Pineapple Guy asks, sounding way more excited than anyone should ever be about any kind of meeting.
“Uh, why not?” Sadie says. “I can—”
“If you give me your Instagram handle, I’ll message you the details,” Pineapple Guy says. “I can even bring you to the meeting myself, if you want; it’s a big campus, and I know how easy it is to get lost around here.”
Sadie blinks up at him for a delayed beat, and Julius can see it slowly dawning on her that Pineapple Guy isn’t simply interested in her participation in his club. “Oh, um, I don’t really use Instagram,” she says with an apologetic grimace. “Do you have, like, an official website or something? You’ll post updates there, right?”
“Yeah … Yeah, sure.” Pineapple Guy falters for a beat, then recovers just as fast. “Here, I’ll write it down for you—” He retrieves a pen and crumpled receipt from his pocket and scribbles something down on it. “The website is right here, and I’ve added my number below.”
