If You Could See the Sun (27)

“I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, you’re always serious, Alice. But what you’re saying—it doesn’t make any sense. Like, at all. If you’d entered the room with my dad, he would’ve called security on you—”

“If he saw me,” I interrupt. “But he didn’t.”

She stares at me, now looking a bit concerned for my sanity. “Again, I’m hearing you, I am. But I honestly don’t understand how that would work, unless you could camouflage or turn invisible or something.”

I know she’s only joking, but I take the opportunity. “Actually, you’re right.”

“About...?”

“I can turn invisible. See”—I quickly zoom in on the photo for proof before she can protest—“that mirror in the background? If someone were standing there to take the photo, you should be able to see their reflection, right? Or at least a shadow. But here—”

“There’s nothing,” she murmurs, finishing the sentence for me. Then her brows crinkle. “You’re sure you didn’t just like, Photoshop this? Because I’ve seen Grace’s Instagram posts, and photos can be very deceiving.”

I wave aside whatever weird beef she has with this Grace girl, and look her straight in the eye. “Chanel, I swear I’m telling the truth. If I’m not...” I pause, trying to come up with the best way to convince her that I mean every word. “If I’m not...then let me get below average on every single test from now on. Let me end up rejected from all the Ivy Leagues I apply to. Let me—” I swallow. Even though this is all hypothetical, it’s still painful to say out loud. “Let me do worse than Henry Li in absolutely everything.”

Chanel’s hand flies to her mouth, and I’ve never been so grateful for my competitive overachiever reputation in my life. “No. No way.”

I nod grimly. “Yes. That’s how serious I am.”

I wait for realization to truly sink in this time. A long silence passes, and then—

“Wocao! I mean—wow. Holy shit. Holy fuck...” As Chanel makes her way through what seems like every single expletive in both the English and Chinese languages—some of which I don’t even recognize—I’m struck by the ridiculousness of this situation. These kind of late-night, bare-all, I-can’t-believe-that-happened conversations were exactly what twelve-year-old me would’ve wanted. Just never in these circumstances.

“When did it—How did it...” Chanel begins once she’s managed to compose herself a little.

“I’m not completely sure,” I admit. “There are still things I’m trying to figure out.”

“Wow,” she says again on a drawn breath, eyes wide. She wraps the blankets tighter around herself and leans all the way back against the wall, as if unsure she can keep her body upright much longer.

“Yeah,” I say awkwardly. “So, um—”

“Is this why you wouldn’t go to the mall with me?”

“Huh?” I glance up at her, certain I’ve heard wrong.

“When we first moved in here. I asked you to go shopping with me a few times and you always turned me down. Is it because of this whole invisibility side gig you’ve got going on?”

“Oh no. Me turning invisible is a pretty recent thing,” I tell her, still not understanding what this has to do with anything.

But then she offers me a brief, awkward sort of smile, sinks lower onto the floor, and it hits me that maybe she’s drawn her own conclusion—the wrong conclusion—about why I never agreed to hang out with her. Maybe this whole time I was worried about the shopping and the expensive clothes, she’s been under the impression that I simply don’t like her very much. Which is wild. Everyone likes Chanel Cao; even the Year Thirteens who always march around the school as if they own the place sometimes invite her to go out clubbing with them.

Then again, now that I really think about it, it’s hard to say if that’s because of her or all those nightclubs her dad owns.

“Hey,” I say. “About that. It’s not that I didn’t want to, you know. I really did—do. I just... Shopping isn’t really my thing.”

She lifts her head, her cheeks still damp with tears. Scans my face for a beat. “Are you being serious?”

I nod.

“Why didn’t you just say so earlier?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t think...” I trail off. I didn’t think it mattered, I finish in my head. I didn’t think anyone would care. But the very thought of saying those words aloud, of allowing myself to be vulnerable like that, makes me nauseated. Still, I force myself to add, “Now’s not too late though, right? If you ever want to talk, or spend more time together... I’m here for you—” I gesture to my bed on the other side of the room. “Literally.”

Somehow, my vague, fumbled explanation and bad joke seems good enough for Chanel, because she smiles. A real smile, this time, despite her puffy eyes and chapped lips.

Then she picks up her phone again and enters the Beijing Ghost home page.

“What are you doing?” I ask, cautious.

“What else?” she says with a small sniff, wiping the wet specks of mascara from her face. “Leaving you a good review.”