If You Could See the Sun (9)

As I watch on with a mixture of fascination and disgust, Henry reaches for the jar of White Rabbit milk candy next to his laptop. Peels off the white-and-blue wrapper with his slender fingers. Pops it in his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed for an instant.

Then a small voice in the back of my head reminds me that I did not come all the way here to watch Henry Li chew a piece of candy.

Unsure how else to proceed, I clear my throat and say, “Henry.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look up.

Panic floods through my veins, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe people can’t hear me either—as if being invisible wasn’t already hard enough—when I notice he’s got his AirPods in. I sneak a peek at his Spotify playlist, half certain it’ll be all just white noise or classic orchestral music, only to find Taylor Swift’s latest album playing instead.

I’m about to make a comment on it, but then my eyes fall on the laminated photo taped to his desk, and the significance of Henry Li secretly jamming out to Tay Tay pales in comparison.

It’s a photo of us.

I remember it floating around in a couple of school advertisements; it was taken at the awards ceremony three years ago, back when I still had those ridiculous side bangs that covered half my face. In it, Henry’s wearing his signature expression—that look of polite interest I find so infuriating, as if he has better things to do than stand around and receive more applause and prestigious awards (what makes me angrier is the fact that he probably does). Beside him, I’m staring straight at the camera, shoulders tensed, arms held stiff at my sides. My smile looks so forced it’s a wonder the photographer didn’t make us retake the photo.

I have no idea why Henry would keep this lying around, other than as visible proof of my clear inability to look better than him in photos.

Suddenly Henry tenses. Tugs his AirPods out. Spins around in his seat, eyes sweeping the room. It takes me a second to realize I’ve leaned too far forward, accidentally brushing against his shoulder as a result.

Well, I guess that’s one way to get his attention.

“Okay,” I say, and he starts, swiveling his head at the sound of my voice. “Okay, please don’t freak out or anything but...it’s Alice. You just, um. Can’t see me right now—I promise I’ll explain—but I’m right here.” I pinch the fabric of his left sleeve between two fingers and pull it once, lightly, just to show what I mean.

He goes completely, utterly still.

“Alice?” he repeats, and I hate how much posher my name sounds on his tongue. How elegant. “Is this a joke of some sort?”

In response, I tug at his sleeve harder, and watch the series of emotions flicker over his face like shadows: shock, uncertainty, fear, skepticism, even a hint of annoyance. A muscle spasms in his jaw.

Then, unbelievably, his usual mask of calm falls back into place.

“How...strange,” he says after a long silence.

I roll my eyes at this severe understatement, then remember that of course, he can’t see me.

Great. Now I can’t even spite him properly.

“It’s more than strange,” I say aloud. “It should be—I mean, this should be impossible.”

Henry takes a deep breath. Shakes his head. His eyes search for me again, only to end up falling on some random spot above my collarbone. “But I saw you less than half an hour ago...”

Heat spikes through me at the memory of our last exchange. I will it away. “Well, a lot can change in half an hour.”

“Right,” he says, drawing the word out. Then he shakes his head again. “So how exactly did”—he makes a motion in my general direction—“happen?”

To be honest, I thought he’d give me a much harder time about this—at least demand to know why I came here, out of all places. But he simply snaps his laptop shut, pushing it back so that, whether on purpose or by accident, it’s covering the old photo of us, and waits for me to speak.

So I do.

I go over everything, from the brief cold spell to Andrew She knocking me over, careful not to leave out any detail that might serve as a clue to what the hell is going on. Well, everything except for my little meeting with my parents before the assembly; no one at school really knows about my family’s situation, and I intend to keep it that way.

When I’m done, Henry suddenly leans forward, his hands clasped over his lap, dark eyes thoughtful. “You know what?”

“What?” I say, trying not to sound too hopeful. I’m expecting something profound, scientific, maybe a reference to some recent social phenomenon I haven’t read about yet, but what comes out of his mouth instead is—

“This is an awful lot like The Lord of the Rings.”

“What?”

“The part with the invisibility—”

“Yeah, no, I got that,” I splutter. “But how—why—okay. Wait a second. Since when were you into high fantasy?”

He straightens in his seat. “In a few years,” he begins, which sounds like a very long-winded way of answering a straightforward question, “I’ll be the CEO of the biggest tech start-up in all of China—”

“Second biggest,” I correct automatically. “Don’t lie. The Wall Street Journal said so just a week ago.”

He shoots me an odd look, and it occurs to me a second too late that I definitely should not know this much about his father’s company. “As of now, yes,” he says after a short pause. Then the corner of his mouth lifts up in an expression so smug I have to resist the urge to punch him. “But not once I take over. Anyway,” he continues, as if he hasn’t just made the most arrogant statement in the history of mankind, “considering the role that awaits me, it’s important that I’m well-informed on a range of subjects, including commercially successful media franchises. Also makes it easier to connect with clients.”