by Ana Huang
Blake looked away.
“Why? Why did you pretend you cared? Was it some sick joke? You wanted to see whether I’d be gullible enough to fall for you? Well, congratu-fucking-lations.” Tears burned her eyes. “You won. Blake Ryan, the champion. Your father was right. You shouldn’t have quit. No one plays the game better than you.”
A tear slipped out and scalded her cheek. Farrah wiped it away angrily. She’d already given him too much. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry too.
Blake may as well be carved from marble for all the emotion he showed. “I’m sor—”
Her blood bubbled with rage. “If you say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time,” she hissed. “I’ll go to the kitchen, come back, and cut your balls off with a rusty knife. In fact, I may do that anyway. You’re a fucking asshole. I’m sorry I wasted all this time on you, and I’m sorrier for your girlfriend. She deserves better.”
Farrah summoned the strength to stand. She walked to the door, praying her legs wouldn’t give out before she reached the hallway. She gripped the doorknob and turned around for a last look at Blake.
Other than the slight tremble in his shoulders, he sat there unmoving, face blank.
Blake Ryan. Her first love. Her first lover. Her first heartbreak.
Farrah closed the door with a soft “click.” Her feet moved. One step, two steps, and so on until she reached her room. The ringing in her ears pounded in sync with her steps.
She prayed Janice wasn’t there. She was.
Lady Luck hated her today.
Janice glanced up when Farrah entered before she dove back into her book. A second later, her head popped up again. Her brow furrowed with worry. “Are you ok?”
“Yes.” Farrah smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. “I’m fine. I’m great. I’m—I’m—”
The alarm mounted on Janice’s face.
“I—” Farrah’s anger faded like a flame losing oxygen.
No. Don’t you dare fucking leave.
She grabbed at the remaining tendrils of fury with desperate hands. They were the only things left holding her together, but she may as well have tried to grab sand. They slipped through her fingers until there was nothing left.
“I’m—” Pain rushed in to fill the void. Incredible, soul-crushing pain, the kind that forced her to double over it hurt so much. The dam she’d erected to keep her tears at bay collapsed, sending streams of liquid grief down her cheeks.
That was it.
Farrah curled up into a ball on the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed—huge, wracking sobs that shook her body but made nary a noise. Her stomach ached. Her sides ached. Her heart ached so much she was sure she was dying.
All the while, her brain tortured her with memories.
“Whatever happens, we can get through it together.”
“I love you.”
“Never forget how much I love you.”
It seemed so real, so sincere. Farrah didn’t just love Blake; she trusted him. She trusted him enough not only to give him her virginity but her heart. Turns out he’d been playing her this entire time.
I am such an idiot.
Farrah buried her face in her knees, struggling to breathe between sobs. Her mouth dried and her eyes burned, but she couldn’t stop. It was too much.
Everything—the pain, the embarrassment, the shock—it was too much.
Janice sat next to her on the floor and, even though the two girls hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to each other since the year began, she placed her arm around Farrah’s shoulders and stayed with her until Farrah ran out of tears to cry.
Chapter Thirty-Two
1 month later
The day had come. FEA graduation. Their last night in Shanghai.
Blake didn’t shed a tear at his high school graduation, but a lump formed in his throat as Wang laoshi ended his speech and the ceremony segued into the retrospective portion of the evening. The lights dimmed, a giant projector screen slid down the wall, and the opening strains of Emil Chau’s classic song “Peng You (Friends)” filled the auditorium.
Images from the past year flashed across the screen. There were Blake and Luke, sweaty, grinning, and flashing cheesy thumbs-ups after their orientation week scavenger hunt. Then a semi-candid shot of FEA’s first night at 808—Sammy and Olivia dancing together, Farrah sticking her tongue out at the camera, and Courtney on stage, clutching a drink in each hand with her face screwed up in laughter.
The lump in Blake’s throat grew at the joy on Farrah’s face.
His gaze drifted to where she sat two rows down and three seats to his right. Was she laughing? Crying? She sat so still he couldn’t tell.
The slideshow continued. The guys playing basketball. Farrah and Olivia on a beach in Thailand. The group on the Great Wall pre-hike. Courtney and Leo holding scorpions on sticks at the Beijing night market.
There were countless other photos of Blake and his friends in restaurants, taxicabs, rickshaws, bars and clubs; posing in dressing rooms and dorm rooms and VIP rooms; hosting a mock singing competition in the student lounge; on the street with random people whose names they forgot or never knew to begin with.
Blake couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the photo of Farrah passed out on the couch of a karaoke lounge. They’d hiked the Sheshan trail that day, and by the time evening rolled around, they were too tired to go clubbing. They settled for KTV instead. Farrah fell asleep after the second song.
Sammy had ducked his head into the picture frame. He’d had a few drinks, and his face matched the color of his red shirt. Courtney pretended to lick Farrah’s cheek while Olivia grabbed a handful of the sleeping girl’s hair and did an exaggerated sexy pose behind the couch, her lips pursed into a model pout.
Blake’s laugh died when the next picture came up. Blake and Farrah, kissing on a rooftop bar by the Bund, their fingers intertwined by their sides. The skyline glittered behind them, bright and full of promise. He could only see their profiles, but the love radiating from the photo hit him like a punch to the gut.
Blake looked away. The pain had stabilized into a dull ache over the past month, but now the sharp pangs of his heart breaking returned with a vengeance.
Thankfully, the slideshow ended, and Wang laoshi started calling students onstage to receive their ceremonial graduation certificates.
“Congratulations.” Wang laoshi shook Blake’s hand. “Good luck with your future endeavors.”
“Thanks.” He was going to need it.
Between school, the bar, and preparing for life as a father, Blake barely slept these days. He ran on pure adrenaline and fear of what might happen if he slowed down.
So he didn’t.
Blake looked out at the crowd before he exited the stage. The lights made it hard to see any details, but he could just make out Farrah in the crowd. She sat stone-faced, like she was watching a comedy that wasn’t particularly funny.
They hadn’t spoken since their breakup. They’d barely seen each other, even though they lived in the same dorm. That was probably a good thing, because every time Blake so much as thought about Farrah, pain scissored his insides and shredded his heart all over again.
He heard from Luke—the only one of his friends who spoke to him anymore—that Farrah won the design competition. Blake wished he could say something. He knew what the competition meant to her. He remembered the nights they spent together in the library—him working on his business plan, her working on her designs—taking breaks to laugh and kiss in between.
Blake’s jaw tightened at the memories.
Get it together, man.
He returned to his seat and examined the certificate in his hands. It wasn’t his official college diploma, but it may as well be. It signaled the end of the carefree student chapter of his life. The next chapter as an actual adult and father loomed in front of him like a storm cloud. Beautiful, inescapable, somewhat exciting but mostly terrifying.
It didn’t matter th
at he wasn’t ready.
The future was coming, whether Blake liked it or not, and that meant he had to leave the past behind.
Onstage, Wang laoshi passed out the last certificate and gazed around the auditorium. “It’s been a pleasure. Class, you’re dismissed.”
The room erupted into cheers, although Blake saw more than one person wipe tears from their eyes.
The chatter intensified as everyone stood up and filed out the door. They had an hour before the official end-of-semester dance.
Outside, the scent of an impending storm hung warm and heavy in the air. The humidity clung to Blake’s skin like Saran Wrap. He needed to shower before the dance.
A part of him wanted to skip the dance altogether, but FEA deserved a proper goodbye.
“You’re in for hell later,” Blake said when Luke fell into step with him. “Courtney was already glaring daggers at you for sitting with me.”
Luke shrugged. “Tonight’s our last night. What’s she gonna do, kick me out?”
Blake cracked a smile. “That’s brave of you.”
“Hey, I’m pissed you didn’t tell me about your girl back home but…” Luke clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re my best friend here. I got your back.”
Another lump formed in Blake’s throat. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”
Awkward silence.
“So—” They spoke at the same time.
“This moment never happened,” Blake said.
“Never.”
“Cool.”
“Yep.”
When they reached the dorm, they found their friends—or in Blake’s case, ex-friends—huddled in the courtyard. Farrah stood in the middle of the group, her hand resting at the base of her throat. Her necklace, the one from her father, was missing.
“Are you sure you didn’t leave it in your room?” Olivia asked.
“I had it in the auditorium, but it must’ve fallen off. I don’t know where.” Farrah’s voice tightened with stress.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crack of thunder that made them all jump.
“We’ll find it. It has to be around here somewhere, and the auditorium isn’t too far from the dorm.” Sammy placed a hand on Farrah’s shoulder. “For now, let’s go inside. It’s going to pour.”
Courtney noticed Blake watching. “Can I help you?” she snapped.
“Be nice, Court.” It was the first time Blake heard Luke admonish Courtney.
Shock flitted across her face.
“I hope you find your necklace,” Blake said to Farrah.
The group fell silent. Seven pairs of eyes darted between the ex-lovers.
Farrah’s fingers curled into a fist. Like Courtney, she remained silent.
Another boom of thunder rocked the air.
Huge droplets of water splashed onto the ground and blurred Blake’s vision. What started as a drizzle turned into a downpour. Panicked shouts filled the air as everyone ran inside to avoid getting drenched.
“My new Gucci!” Kris wailed.
Blake wiped the water from his eyes and followed the others into the lobby.
“Hey, you mind if I borrow your hair dryer? No way I’m going to make it to my homestay and back for the dance.” Luke raked his fingers through his wet locks.
“Yeah. It’s in my bottom drawer.” Blake tossed his friend his key card. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Cool. See ya.”
No one else spoke to Blake on their way to the stairs, though Sammy did throw him an odd look. He hadn’t been as hostile as the girls. He even said hi on a few occasions. But he’d clearly chosen a side in the breakup.
Farrah brushed by Blake. The air between them crackled with electricity for a moment, and then she was gone.
Blake waited until the lobby emptied before he placed his soggy certificate on a nearby table and returned outside.
“You are an idiot,” Sammy muttered under his breath. He dodged a puddle only to step in another one. Water splashed all over his shoes and pant legs. “Dammit!”
He had to leave his phone in the auditorium tonight of all nights, when the biggest storm of the year rolled into town. He didn’t realize he didn’t have his trusty electronic sidekick until after he changed for the dance.
Sammy checked his watch. He had half an hour to get to the auditorium, find his phone, return to his room, and change before the buses left for the dance.
FEA paid good money to reserve a hotel ballroom for the semester sendoff, and the money-minded Wang laoshi made it clear: anyone who missed the bus would have to find their own way to the hotel. On a normal night, he could take a taxi but trying to find an empty cab on a night like this? Good luck.
Olivia’s going to kill me.
Sammy had the auditorium in his sights when he noticed a figure lurking in the bushes nearby.
His pace slowed; his heart rate quickened. No one in their right mind would linger outside in this weather. The figure was either a crazed murderer or just plain crazed. Either way, Sammy had no interest in being that evening’s homicide news item.
Lightning streaked the sky and illuminated the figure, who wore a familiar gray T-shirt and jeans. They rifled through the foliage like they were looking for something.
Sammy’s pulse returned to normal. “Blake?”
Blake’s head snapped up. He didn’t have an umbrella or raincoat on, and his shirt was so soaked it looked black. “What are you doing out here?”
“I left my phone in the auditorium.” Sammy stepped closer and raised his umbrella so that it covered both of them. “What are you doing out here?”
This was their first real conversation since Blake and Farrah’s breakup. Sammy nearly fell over when he heard about their split. It didn’t make sense. He’d seen the way Blake looked at Farrah. There was no faking that kind of emotion.
There had to be more to the story than Blake was telling them. But it didn’t matter. If Blake wanted to tell them the truth, he would. Otherwise, it was best to let Farrah grieve and move on instead of trying to fix things and making them worse.
“I’m looking for my contacts.”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Sammy was sure Blake didn’t wear glasses. The guy could read a menu posted outside a restaurant from twenty feet away.
Blake shrugged.
A sad smile crossed Sammy’s face. If only Farrah knew how much Blake still loved her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thunder crashed outside, followed by the loud pitter-patter of raindrops splattering against the windows. Flashes of lightning illuminated the skies with an eerie light. It was the worst storm they’d experienced in Shanghai, and it matched Farrah’s mood to a tee.
She reached for her necklace before she remembered she didn’t have it. Hope of finding it before her flight tomorrow morning dwindled by the second.
Farrah should be looking forward to this summer. She won the design competition—the one she’d dreamed of winning since she found out about it years ago. She received the email while waiting to board her flight after FEA’s spring semester trip to Chengdu, and her resulting scream nearly got her arrested by airport security.
Yes, she was excited about potentially interning in New York with Kelly Burke (final internship placement pending). But she also mourned what had to end for the next chapter of her life to begin.
Farrah curled her hand into a fist and rested it at the base of her throat as she meandered down the fourth-floor hallway. Group photos of every class since FEA Shanghai’s inception in the 80s lined the walls. The groups started small—there’d only been a dozen students in the first class—before expanding to the current size of seventy-plus undergrads.
It was surreal, looking at the photographs and realizing how many people had walked these halls before them. Members of the first class would be in their fifties by now. Yet there they were in their photo, immortalized behind glass, forever nineteen and twenty and twenty-one. Farrah detected a shado
w of her friends in all of them—a hint of Sammy’s good-natured grin, a trace of Kris’s regal haughtiness, a mischievous twinkle in the eye that would make Courtney proud.
The superficial resemblances were there, but she wondered if they laughed as hard and loved as deep, if they had their hearts broken and if they found family here, or if they were just ships passing in the night. Did they keep in touch decades later? Did Shanghai change them, or was it a mere footnote in the stories of their lives?
Inexplicably, her heart ached for these strangers. She would never know their stories and secrets, but she knew them. She was, after all, walking in their footsteps.
Farrah skimmed her hands over the glass-encased images until she reached the end of the series. This year’s class photo, taken yesterday and already mounted on the wall like the dozens before them. They’d arranged the students by height. Farrah stood in the middle row with Olivia and Nardo, while Kris and Courtney sat cross-legged in front of them. Luke, Sammy, and Leo towered in the back.
Farrah’s gaze strayed to the blond next to Luke. Blake’s dimples were out in full force, but there were shadows beneath his eyes and a furrow in his brow.
She fought the urge to over-analyze the minutiae of his expression. Instead, Farrah tore her eyes away from the photo and focused on the stretch of blank wall following it. Next year, there’d be another picture. Then another, and another, until Farrah’s class was just one of FEA’s many memories.
The sound of heels clacking against linoleum echoed in the stairwell. Only one person in FEA who wore heels that made that noise.
“Hey.” Kris stopped beside Farrah.
“Hey.”
The two friends examined the wall in silence. Kris smelled like her usual mix of Chanel perfume and expensive shampoo. Farrah breathed it in, letting the familiar scent comfort her.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Kris touched their class photo before pulling back like it burned her. “This year flew by.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe it.”
“It won’t be the same.” Kris looked at Farrah. There were no tears, no overt emotion except for the wistfulness in her voice. “Even if we all come back to Shanghai, it won’t be the same.”
