If You Could See the Sun (10)

“Right,” I mutter. “Forget I asked.”

“But back to your new power—”

“It’s not a power,” I cut him off. “It’s an—an affliction—a difficulty, a very major inconvenience—”

“Everything’s a form of power,” he says simply.

“Yeah, well, power implies some level of control,” I protest, even though a small part of my brain—the part not clouded by panic and my four-year grudge against him—agrees with the statement. In theory. “And I can’t control anything about my current situation.”

“Really?” He rests his cheek on one hand. Cocks his head to the side, just as another lazy breeze flutters in and ruffles his hair. “Have you tried?”

“Of course I’ve—”

“Have you tried harder?”

There’s something so patronizing about the question or the way he says it that the last thread of composure inside me—already pulled taut in his presence—snaps.

I grab the back of his chair and pull him closer toward me in one abrupt movement, an all-too-familiar rage bubbling under my skin. To my immense satisfaction, his eyes widen slightly. “Henry Li, if you’re suggesting this is about a lack of willpower, I swear to god—”

“I was only asking—”

“As if you could handle this shit any better—”

“That’s not what I’m saying—just calm down—”

“Do not tell me to calm—”

Two sharp raps on the half-open door make the rest of my sentence freeze in my throat. Henry goes even quieter, his entire body motionless beside me, as if carved out of ice.

Someone snorts on the other side of the door, and a second later, a lightly accented male voice drifts in through the gap—

“Dude, you got a girl in there or something?”

It takes me a moment to identify it as Jake Nguyen’s: star athlete, Harvard-bound, and, if the rumors are true, the cousin of a famous male porn star. I remember seeing his name a few doors down on my way here.

“Not at all,” Henry says smoothly, despite the brief delay in his response. “I’m on the phone with someone.”

“With your girlfriend?” Jake persists, and I can almost imagine the smirk on his broad-jawed face as he says it.

“No.” Henry pauses. “It’s just my grandma.”

I snap my head around and shoot him a withering glare—then, realizing the effort is wasted in my current state, hiss loud enough for only him to hear, “Seriously? Your grandma?”

The asshole doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic about it.

And as if everything isn’t terrible enough, Jake says, “Dude. No offense or anything, but why does your grandma sound like Alice Sun? Like all shrill and aggressive and shit?”

“You think?” Henry replies, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I never noticed.”

Jake laughs his usual hyena laugh, taps the door once more, then says, “All right my man. I’ll leave you to it then—Oh, and if you ever do get a girl or two in your room—”

“I assure you the probability is quite low,” Henry interrupts.

But Jake doesn’t even falter. “Just feel free to invite me in, yeah?”

Henry frowns, looking for a moment as if he’s fighting himself on whether or not to answer. Then, with a sigh, he says, “What about your girlfriend?”

“What?” Jake sounds genuinely confused.

“You know. Rainie Lam?”

“Oh, her.” Another loud laugh. “Dude, where’ve you been? We broke up ages ago—like, almost a whole ass month ago. I’m super available now.”

“Right,” Henry mutters. “Good to know.”

Please just go, I beg Jake in my head. But the universe must really not be in a cooperative mood today, because Jake continues—

“Wait a second. You’re not asking because you’re interested in Rainie, are you? I mean, I’d be totally cool with that. Hell, I’d even set you two up if you—”

“No,” Henry interrupts, with surprising force. His gaze darts to some spot near my chin, as if he’s looking for me. As if I’m suddenly an important part of this conversation. “I have no interest whatsoever.”

“Okay, okay,” Jake says hastily. “Just putting it out there. But if you ever are—”

“I’m not.”

“But if you ever are, we can do, like, a trade. You know what I’m saying?”

Henry makes a noncommittal sound with the back of his throat, and finally, Jake seems to take the cue to leave. I listen to the heavy thumps of Jake’s footsteps echoing down the corridor—it’s a humiliating testament to how loud I was talking that I didn’t hear them before—and count to ten in my head to calm myself.

Or try to, at least; I haven’t even reached seven when Henry turns to me.

“Er,” he says, in a very un-Henry-like way. His eyes lift up to meet mine, and with the sun hitting them at just the right angle, I can almost make out the curve of every individual eyelash. It’s ridiculous. “I—I can see you again.”

I can see you again.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard such beautiful words in my life.