“You can make plants grow?”
“It’s not that impressive either, I guess.”
I shook my head. “I think it’s pretty cool,” I told him honestly. “So why didn’t you want to be a demon?”
“The secrecy. I hate that I can only apply to colleges within driving distance from my house. That I’ll never get to spend New Year’s Eve with my friends.” He sighed. “I wanted to be a doctor, you know? All my friends think my parents are so cool for not forcing the whole stereotypical South Asiango to med schoolthing. I can’t tell them it’s because I wouldn’t be able to work the overnight shifts.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I hadn’t thought that far about what Ihad to lose beyond friendships and school dances. “It’s like having super-strict parents but for the rest of your life.”
“Yup.” He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he seemed to think better of it, the serious look on his face replaced with that teasing humor again. “So not to judge or anything, but when the ritual asked you to pick two things you value the most in the world, you chosecookiesandseltzer?”
“I like what I like, okay?” I said, and he laughed. “Wow, I can’t believe I actually gave you my last cookie.”
The clouds shifted, and a shard of moonlight hit his face. My stomach flipped unexpectedly at the sight. I’d never liked my demonic features because they were garish and monstrous. But looking at him, I couldn’t help but think that maybe I’d judged a little harshly.
I’d stared at him a moment too long, because he looked at me inquisitively. “What?”
I shook my head quickly.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. “Are you here for the speech and debate tournament?” he asked finally.
The abrupt shift in conversation threw me. “Yes,” I admitted—then wondered if I shouldn’t have. But it was too late—and I kind of wanted to see him again.
“Me too,” he said. He looked up at the moon, a regretful expression on his face. “I should go. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
I felt a twinge of disappointment. I wanted to stay on the roof all night, trading questions, learning mundane factsabout each other that revealed nothing and everything at the same time. But the one thing I really wanted to ask him about was the one thing I couldn’t: his human identity. I wanted to know what he looked like, what he talked like, what he liked.
“That’s probably smart,” I agreed.
“Good luck tomorrow,” he said. “Unless you’re competing against me. Then I hope you do very poorly.” When I didn’t laugh, he immediately turned serious. “Hey, that was a joke. I only—”
“Will you meet me back here next year?” I asked.
He tensed up for a moment, and I thought I’d overstepped, that I’d misread the connection between us. But then a moment later, he smiled. “Okay,” he agreed. “Next year.”
“Next year,” I echoed.
NOW
Sahana has her own friends who saved her a seat, so I’m stuck in the back of the bus with the other seniors. The only open seat is in the very last row beside two boys I recognize.
Krish sees me first and moves over. “Late as always, I see.” He grins at me. “Sagar.” He shoves his friend aside so I can slip into the corner.
“I was on time... last year?” It comes out as a question because I’m not entirely sure.
Sagar snorts. “If you have to ask, it doesn’t count.” His eyes linger on me. “Did you read my email?”
“All eight of them,” I respond cheerily.
Sagar’s eyes narrow. “I only sent five.”
Krish laughs—and then immediately stops when he’s on the receiving end of Sagar’s glare. “You send a lot of emails,” he points out with a shrug.
Sagar scowls, and I feel momentarily bad. “I did read them,” I promise, wanting to smooth over the tension. “I even took notes and everything.” I gesture vaguely toward my backpack, where I did in fact jot down some key points in a brand-new notebook—brand new because I left my old one somewhere during last year’s competition and never found it. But I keep that to myself. I don’t need Sagar to lecture me on responsibility again.
He watches me for a long moment, as if trying to decide how serious I am before he turns away, looking out the window at the buildings rushing by.
Sagar has always been a little... prickly. It’s odd sometimes that he and Krish are friends, considering that they’re opposites in so many ways. Krish is the popular kid. He knows everyone, and better yet, he’slikedby everyone. Sagar, on the other hand, has exactly one friend: Krish. Unlike talkative and charming Krish, Sagar is quiet. Intense. Infuriatingly good at debate.
