How We Fall Apart

by Katie Zhao

  “No.” Her voice was stiff. “You’re right. Maybe Alexander can’t buy his way out of this. But money isn’t everything. He’s still got his charm and brains.”

  I said nothing.

  “What? What’s wrong, Nancy?” Krystal’s words came out like a challenge, as though she were daring me to tell her what was wrong.

  “You wouldn’t get it.”

  “No, I do get it. You think I haven’t noticed that every time the topic of money comes up, you get a thorn in your side?”

  “Why wouldn’t I ‘get a thorn in my side’?” I put the words in air quotes. “You think I don’t know what people say behind my back?” Those whispers, I heard them all the time, knew what they were saying even out of sight. “That I’m a charity case scholarship student who—”

  “Most of us aren’t saying that behind your back, Nancy. And the ones who are, aren’t worth a second of your time. I thought you knew I was better than that, at least.”

  I was stunned to see hurt tears swimming in her eyes. Instantly, regret filled me. “I do know that.”

  “You’ve gotta hold your head up high. Trust me, a lot of students are impressed by you, by how ambitious and capable you are. This is the top private school in the country. And you won a scholarship. You don’t ever have to feel inferior to anyone. If anything, they should feel inferior to you.”

  “Inferior to me? As if.”

  “I know for a fact that Jamie at least was worried you’d surpass her.”

  It didn’t seem possible that Jamie could have been worried. That Jamie could have felt even an ounce of the inferiority I’d always felt toward her. “What? No way. There’s no way.”

  Krystal shrugged. “And I mean, you surpassed Alexander too. And Akil. And me.”

  My eyes widened. For the first time, I considered the possibility that Krystal and my friends might have been envious—of me. Come-from-nothing, scholarship kid Nancy.

  Maybe I’d been too harsh. “I . . . sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  Krystal slumped against the wall. “No, I’m sorry too. I think we’re all kind of stressed with everything that’s been happening.”

  For a moment, both of us were silent. Thousands of unspoken words hung suspended in the air between us.

  “Did I ever tell you the reason I broke up with Jamie?” Krystal asked quietly.

  I thought back to the winter. “You said you couldn’t see a future with her . . . right?”

  A long, sad sigh. “Yes, but that was only part of the reason. The main reason was because . . . ​I could tell Jamie wasn’t in love. Not with me. Not with anyone. Jamie was in love with power. She was in love with this . . . ​this imaginary version of herself, perfect in every way. I realized that Jamie could never love me, not the way I deserved to be.” She pinned me with a long, hard look. “I’m telling you this because you remind me so much of Jamie sometimes. You and Jamie are more alike than you think.”

  I swallowed. Krystal’s piercing gaze, her sharp words, made me uncomfortable. Made me uncomfortable because some part of me knew they were true. Sometimes when I looked in the mirror, it was like Jamie had come back to life. Jamie in my smile. Jamie under my skin.

  “And Alexander—well, I hope you’re not going to break his heart one day. Like Jamie broke mine.”

  “I . . .” I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t repeat Jamie’s mistakes. Alexander and I weren’t even together.

  Before I could say that, though, Krystal’s eyes widened as they gazed at something—or someone—above my shoulder. She straightened. “Alexander! There you are.”

  I whirled around. Looking disheveled, but alive and with no NYPD officers on his tail, was Alexander. The blank, white shock on his face told me he hadn’t expected us to be waiting for him. “What’re you guys doing here?”

  Krystal ran up to Alexander, threw her arms around him, and then pulled back and punched him on the shoulder. “We’re here to make sure you didn’t get arrested, punk!”

  “Where did the police go?” I asked.

  “Told them it was a false tip-off. Eric isn’t there.”

  “You lied to the police?” Krystal gasped. She stepped back and regarded Alexander with new respect in her eyes. “Broooooo. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “It’s not . . . ​not a lie,” Alexander said in a hoarse voice. “My brother isn’t there.”

  “But the picture on Tip Tap showed him—” I started.

  “He’s not there anymore,” Alexander clarified. “Eric was staying with that man and woman up until last night. He—he left.” Alexander’s voice broke.

  “What do you mean, left?” Krystal whispered.

  “I mean he’s gone. Vanished. The man and woman who live there said he left a message for me. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong. Take care of yourself.’ That’s . . . that’s it.”

  Alexander’s expression crumpled. Without thinking, I moved forward and enveloped him in a hug. He leaned his head against my shoulder, as if he’d been carrying a weight that had grown far too heavy for one boy to bear on his own.

  “I told him about the Proctor. I shouldn’t have. Eric must’ve realized that—that he was my biggest secret, and the Proctor would come after us. I’m such an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not, Alexander,” Krystal said, voice tight with emotion. “It’s not like you could’ve predicted Eric running away. And—at least this way, you didn’t get in trouble for hiding him. Your record is still totally clean. You’re still a shoo-in for Harvard.”

  “I don’t even know if I’ll see my brother ever again.” Each word came out of Alexander’s mouth like he was sentencing himself. “And did you know—today’s Eric’s birthday? Today my brother turned twenty. And he’s spending the day completely alone.” The tears burst forward, streaming down Alexander’s cheeks. He cupped his hands around his face and screamed up into the sky, “Who gives a damn about Harvard or my stupid record?”

  Krystal stayed silent, and so did I. There was nothing any of us could say or do to make up for what Alexander had lost. Nothing was worth it. Not even Harvard.

  Even though the rumors and speculations about Eric followed him everywhere, Alexander held his head up high the next day. By lunchtime, the news of Eric Lin’s reappearance, then disappearance, was in full swing. The students loved that they got to revisit old gossip. Loved to dig up these skeletons, crush them to dust.

  Three secrets had been revealed. There was only one left. Mine. And I couldn’t let that secret come out. I couldn’t. It would ruin me.

  Worse, once that secret was out—well, the Proctor had warned me nice and early, during honors night. My vengeful note to Jamie was going to come out to the whole school. I would be blamed for a crime I didn’t commit.

  I had to stop the Proctor before that happened. But we’d exhausted all our options. We’d tried to track down the Proctor, only to discover they were one step ahead. We’d tried getting the Proctor to come to us, but whoever it was wasn’t interested in money or making any kind of deal with us. No—this person had one goal, and one goal only: to ruin the four of us.

  During AP Chem, while pretending to work on our problem set, I dug through my memory for anyone who might have a grudge against my friends and me. Well, aside from students who wanted to knock us out of our top rankings . . . ​which included pretty much everyone. There was Richard Li, too, who’d been furious to see me at Jamie’s funeral. Was it a stretch to think he and David Kim could have a hand in this—maybe even the whole Golden Trio, including Peter?

  “Miss Luo.”

  It was almost as though by thinking of Peter, I’d conjured him from the front of the room toward me. I glanced up at the sound of his soft voice. Ignored the way my heart rate sped up at the sight of him. “Yes?”

  Peter gestured toward the door. “Can I speak with you in private?”

  “Okay.” I didn’t let my surprise show on my face. Peter and I had barely exchanged three words since he’d cut things off abrupt
ly. What did he want now?

  Alexander was giving Peter a death look, which it seemed Peter was choosing to ignore. I flashed Alexander a soft smile, reassuring him it was okay. He didn’t return it.

  I followed Peter into the empty hall. When the classroom door swung shut behind me, Peter turned and pinned me with a smoldering stare. “How have you been?”

  “Um, good.” No way had Peter pulled me into the hall to ask about my day. Maybe he’d changed his mind about us keeping our distance. The thought allowed hope to bloom briefly in my chest, even though I didn’t want it to. “You?”

  “I’ve been better.” Another pause.

  “You pulled me out of class for this? Couldn’t you have texted?”

  Peter shook his head. “It’s not just that. I wanted to speak to you in person to make sure that—that you’ve never told anyone about—about, uh . . .” Casting a nervous look around the empty hall, Peter pointed at me and then himself.

  The balloon of hope in my chest deflated. Peter didn’t want things to go back to the way they’d been before. He wanted to know his own cowardly skin was safe. “I never told anyone, no.”

  “Not a single soul? Never?”

  “Of course not. I’m not an idiot,” I said firmly. “Is that all?”

  “I—I’m worried. The Proctor is going around exposing all these secrets about your friends. I don’t want to be . . .”

  “You don’t want to be implicated,” I finished dully.

  Peter nodded, his eyes wide with relief. “It’s that . . . ​well, I have a job and a . . . ​a reputation to keep. You get it. Don’t you?”

  I did get it now. Peter’s message was loud and clear. It struck me hard enough to make me lose my breath for a moment. To Peter Shui, I could never be more than the girl he was secretly seeing. Even though, once upon a time, he’d made me believe otherwise.

  That was what they’d all done to me, wasn’t it? Peter, Jamie, my parents. Everyone, everyone making me believe I could escape this soul-crushing system, could fly as high as I wanted.

  None of them were around when the truth sent me crashing down.

  SEPTEMBER, FRESHMAN YEAR

  It was the second week of school at Sinclair Prep. I’d made a few friends, mostly thanks to Jamie, who had all the connections and had become the most popular girl in the class by the end of the first day. Jamie was good at that, making friends. Talking to people. Getting them to like her—or if she couldn’t, getting them to fear her.

  I wasn’t Jamie. I wasn’t a people person. Hanging back and observing, absorbing and learning—that was more my speed.

  Here were the things I’d learned from my first official week as a freshman at the Richard Sinclair Preparatory School:

  •Coursework was as intense as the brochures had promised, and even some freshmen were put into advanced placement courses. (I was in AP Chinese, which was harder than I’d thought it would be.)

  •Freshmen were at the bottom of the social ladder, but most of the upperclassmen were too exhausted from schoolwork to bully us, like what happened in movies. (I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved about this, or apprehensive for my future. Probably both.)

  •There was some group of senior boys called the Golden Trio, who were the hottest, richest, smartest guys, and pretty much ruled the school. (I’d glimpsed them from afar, and they looked like they’d walked off the set of an Asian drama. Major Boys Over Flowers vibes.)

  Instead of spending my lunch breaks in the cafeteria with everyone else, which felt too overwhelming, I took my lunches to different places in the school. To the library. To the small courtyard behind the school, a rare spot of greenery in Manhattan.

  September in the air. Not too warm, not too cold. Brilliant colors painting the autumn leaves. Many fewer people out here to distract me. Perfect conditions for writing.

  I was here to get good grades, as I’d promised Mama, but I was determined to write even better poetry. Maybe win a few writing contests.

  The flat marble surface in front of the Richard Sinclair statue was empty. Apparently, there was some story behind the statue that students had made up a long time ago. That at midnight, anyone who touched the statue of Richard Sinclair would see the ghosts that haunted this school.

  I didn’t believe in a tale like that, and I sure wasn’t ever coming to the school grounds at midnight to find out if it was true. What was important was there were few students around.

  Sitting down on the bench in front of the statue, I took out my notebook to keep working on my poem. I crossed out a few words and added a few words. Then, I was interrupted by a rustling noise, followed by the sound of music. A sweet, gentle melody. A violin, nearby.

  As though in a trance, I turned around toward the source of the music. It was coming from the other side of the statue. Quietly as I could, trying not to disturb whoever was playing the music, I crept closer and found myself looking at a moving painting.

  There was an Asian boy who had to be a few years older than me. Loose black hair fell into his eyes. Hands, sweeping a bow across violin strings. Long, slim fingers, caressing the instrument.

  I didn’t realize the melody had stopped until a voice said, “Can I help you?”

  The boy was staring right at me, setting his violin down.

  My cheeks burned. I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d intruded on something very private. “Oh, sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

  “Is that poetry?” He was peeking at my new pink notebook, his head tilted sideways.

  “Um . . . yeah, I guess.”

  “Are you a poet?”

  “No,” I said quickly. Then, with a sheepish smile, “Well, hopefully one day.”

  “I’ve been wanting to team up with a poet. I’ll compose the song, and you’ll write the lyrics.”

  “Excuse me?” He’d spoken with such familiarity that I thought maybe I’d met him last week and forgot. No, I definitely didn’t think I would’ve forgotten meeting a guy this handsome. “Do I . . . ​Do I know you?”

  The boy blinked, long eyelashes fluttering, as though I’d spoken in a foreign language. As though no one hadn’t not known him before.

  Then it registered. I’d only seen him from afar last week, when he’d had two other tall, imposing senior boys flanking either side of him, but now I was almost certain who he was.

  “David . . . Kim?”

  He snorted. “Close. David Kim’s my friend. I’m Peter Shui.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

  My cheeks burned again. Well, I’d had a one in three shot of getting the name right. “I’m Nancy. Nancy Luo.” I reached for his hand, and a shock jolted between our skin.

  Peter’s smile, glimmering. Peter’s eyes, hungry, like Jamie’s. Like mine.

  “Nice to meet you, Nancy Luo.”

  CONFESSION SEVENTEEN

  Asian don’t raisin. That’s it. That’s the whole post. —Anon

  *****

  Peter’s eyes, empty. He suddenly didn’t look as handsome to me as before. Had that mole always been under his lip? It looked like he’d shrunk maybe an inch or two as well. I did my best to ignore the burning feeling in my throat, and the stinging of tears in my eyes.

  “You’re disappointing,” I said.

  Peter blinked, taken aback. He clearly hadn’t expected that. Neither had I. Probably, no girl had ever found Peter Shui, golden boy extraordinaire, disappointing.

  But as soon as I spoke the words aloud, I realized that was the only way to describe how I was feeling: disappointed.

  What had happened to the boy with the violin behind the statue, the boy with those hungry eyes?

  “Well, if that’s all,” I said, turning around on my heel and heading back into the classroom. Even though I was so tempted, I ignored the urge to turn back and catch sight of Peter’s expression.

  Alexander glanced up from our list of names as soon as I sat next to him again. His black hair fell across his eyes. I caught Isabel Lim giving him an admiring glance
from across the room.

  And when I looked at Alexander, really looked at him, it struck me, at that moment, that he really was handsome. I’d known it all along, but maybe with Peter in the way, I hadn’t truly registered it until now.

  “What did Peter want?” Alexander muttered, his eyes following Peter’s movements as he sat back down at his desk. He glowered at our teacher. Now that I knew the full story behind Eric Lin and what had happened with the Golden Trio, I understood why Alexander had never seemed to like Peter.

  “Something related to the homework. Nothing important.”

  “You and Peter are pretty close, huh?”

  I kept my gaze fixed on my desk, but I could still feel Alexander’s eyes boring into the back of my head. Forced my shoulders up and down in a casual shrug. “Not really. We talk about the class here and there. He’s kind of a dick, though.”

  At my words, Alexander’s lips curled up into a small smile. I returned it, though it was impossible to summon the energy to feel really happy.

  Time was ticking down to catch the Proctor before I paid the ultimate price. And here I was, spinning my wheels, still with no clear leads on their identity. Pathetic. That was what Jamie would have called me. Jamie would have known what to do to beat the Proctor at this twisted game.

  What had happened to the boy with those hungry eyes? I had no right to criticize Peter. What had happened to the girl with those hungry eyes?

  What would Jamie do, if she were in my shoes?

  Jamie never backed down to anyone. She was the aggressor, if anything. Jamie would find a way to lure out the Proctor. Offer them something besides money, something they couldn’t pass up. I didn’t know anything about the Proctor besides that they knew everything about my friends and me, but one thing was obvious—the Proctor loved getting dirt on people in high places.

  “You can’t get your mind off it either, can you?” Alexander asked. I blinked. I hadn’t realized that, lost in my thoughts, I’d been staring at him. “The Proctor.”