Chapter 3 Chanel #2
“See what?” I ask, squinting to read the text loaded on her screen.
We would like to congratulate our prom king and queen candidates. . . .
My pulse skips. I’d been so caught up in last night’s events that I’d managed to completely forget about prom nominations.
I don’t have to scroll very far to see the results; my photo is listed first. Copied straight from my Instagram. I’m sitting
in my favorite French restaurant in Shanghai, the one that looks out at the Bund, my hair curled, my crimson dress fitted
snugly around my bare shoulders.
I smile wider than I have all morning. Yes, I’d expected to be nominated, but it’s nice to have the confirmation. It means
I’m on track to being crowned prom queen, the one thing I’ve dreamed of for years. It would be the perfect finale, but more
than that—it would be the ultimate confirmation of my status, tangible proof of how much everyone loves me. I have a whole
vision board ready—spiritually, and literally, smack in the middle of my bedroom wall.
“Congratulations,” Rainie squeals over my shoulder as I keep scrolling.
There are four other candidates for prom queen.
Rainie is one of them, thanks to the star power of her mother, the famous Hong Kong singer Krystal Lam.
But all the girls are gorgeous and influential and lovable in their own way: There’s an actress who’s been popular at school ever since she filmed a variety show with the C-drama star Caz Song, an actual royal who spends her summers riding Friesians around her castle in Europe, and a transfer student with goddess proportions who’s repeatedly gone viral for lip-syncing. The competition will be tight.
“Congratulations to you too,” I tell Rainie sincerely. Even if she’s competition, we’ve been friends since we were kids, and
I know she cares about prom almost as much as I do. “You’re going to look so good.”
Then I pause over the prom king candidates. Henry Li is, unsurprisingly, the first to appear. But right next to him, just
as I feared, is Ares Yin.
“I heard he received one of the highest number of nominations for prom king. Like, ever,” Rainie whispers, following my gaze. “Do you think he even owns a suit?” she asks with a giggle, as if she’s already picturing him wearing one.
I can only picture him setting my house on fire. I suppress a shudder and busy myself with reading.
We’re delighted to share that the theme will be Total Eclipse of the Heart. As you might have heard, this year’s prom is very
special, as it will coincide with the lunar eclipse! If the weather conditions allow, you’ll even be able to see the blood
moon.
Voting opens at 3 p.m. today and will close on prom night. You can vote again a second time at the entrance of Rivera Restaurant.
Your prom king and queen will officially be announced at the event.
Get your dresses ready and your suits ironed—just three weeks to go!
The blood moon. I stare at the words, my throat tightening as the vision resurfaces in my mind. The glass shattering, the red moon hanging high in the sky.
Is the fire destined to happen on prom night?
No.
No, the fire isn’t destined because the vision isn’t real. It can’t be real.
“. . . thinking about getting this ballgown from VCL,” Rainie is saying. “You should know it. It’s like the one your mom wore
for their spring campaign? I loved that photo shoot, by the way—the fact that they got your dad to shoot it with her? It’s so cute. Truly, such a power couple.”
There’s enough noise rattling around my brain without this unwelcome mention of my father, so I just make a soft sound like
hmm, hoping she’ll move on. It’s been getting harder to maintain the facade of the perfect family when my parents haven’t even
stood in the same room together in months. But if anyone found out, it would ruin everything, taint my image irreparably—and
with it, my chances of becoming prom queen.
“Your parents should do more photo shoots together,” Rainie continues. “Oh, speaking of—my mom’s been meaning to ask them
over for a little get-together. She says it’s been ages since she last saw them. What do you think? Are they free next week?”
“That would be amazing, but I’ll have to double-check with them,” I say.
“Their schedules have just been so hectic lately, and my dad’s reserved a cottage in the countryside for the two of them on Thursday or something.
” It’s scary how smoothly the lies slip out, how intuitive it feels to just say whatever sounds good.
“Wait, that’s so sweet of him,” Rainie gushes. “I don’t think my dad’s taken my mom out on a proper date since . . .”
But I barely hear the rest of her sentence, because Ares Yin walks through the classroom door. His gaze locks on mine right
away, like he’s been searching for me, and my chest constricts. Just one look from him is enough to undo all my wishful thinking
this morning. Confirmation that what we experienced last night was real.
My eyes follow Ares as he takes his usual seat in the back corner. Alone.
I don’t get any work done in math.
This isn’t exactly a new problem. For the past few months, I’ve been finding it difficult to concentrate at school—it’s like
everything has been reduced to white noise. But even by my own standards, I’m hopelessly unproductive for the entire fifty-five
minutes. My notebook lies forgotten on my desk as I glance over at Ares again and again, remembering how he’d looked last
night by the lake. Dark-eyed, dangerous, like the fifth horseman of the apocalypse. When the bell rings and everyone scrambles
out of their seats, he takes his time standing up, pausing before he reaches for his bag.
“Chanel, can you stay behind for a second?” Ms. Hoang calls, beckoning me over to her desk. She flips open a binder and points
to what I recognize as my math test. Or a mutilated form of my math test, because more than half the page is marked with red.
“I wanted to talk to you about your . . . somewhat concerning math results.”
I freeze, struck by a horrible sense of déjà vu.
Rainie shoots me a concerned glance, and I force myself to smile like I’m not fussed and motion for her to leave without me,
but the déjà vu only grows. This shouldn’t be possible. I’d seen this exact scene playing out in the vision last night, and
it’s happening now, beat for beat.
“I’ll find you later,” I tell Rainie, my voice holding strong, even though breathing feels difficult. “Won’t be long.”
While everyone starts shuffling out of the classroom, Ms. Hoang glances up and says, “Ares. Can you stay behind too?”
He lets his bag fall back to the ground. Nods, only once, and makes his way forward, stopping beside me. Just like in the
vision. I feel physically ill, lightheaded. I try to breathe in, but all I inhale is his scent—it’s like the aftermath of
a fire, the burnt, barely sweet notes of smoke.
“Thank you,” Ms. Hoang tells Ares, then fixes me with one of her classic stern, over-the-spectacles looks, the one that tends
to precede a lecture or detention. “Look, Chanel,” she says, drawing in a deep breath. “I didn’t want it to have to come to
this. But I am extremely concerned about your math grades. You barely touched the last page in this test—and no, drawing a
sad face and writing ‘Sorry!’ in the working-out space will not help you earn any pity marks.”
I clear my throat, my cheeks burning. I’m carrying so much dread inside my body that I didn’t think there’d be any room for
embarrassment, but it’s still humiliating to have my failures aired like this for Ares to witness. I already know that I’m
not smart, but does he have to know as well?
Ms. Hoang tuts softly, shakes her head, seems unsatisfied by her previous tutting and tuts some more. “Do you know what your current average is?”
Something awful. Something that would probably send Alice into a state of shock if it were to appear on any of her tests.
“It’s fifty-two percent,” Ms. Hoang says, her voice grave. “And that’s me being very, very generous already, Chanel.” She sits down on her leather armchair and heaves a heavy sigh, like this conversation is sapping
her strength. “I don’t want to fail you. I think you’re a bright young woman with lots of potential, and I understand you
have far more social demands than I ever did when I was your age. But you seriously need to get your grades up. You may have
heard about our school’s robust peer tutoring program. The program will officially commence next week, and luckily for you,
Ares here will be available to help you—”
“What?” I actually step back in alarm. “What do you mean—”
“Getting mentored in math by a fellow classmate will be highly beneficial for you, Chanel,” Ms. Hoang says, like this is the
most reasonable suggestion in the world. Like she’s not making me learn algebra with an arsonist. “Although Ares hasn’t been
with us for long, his math grades are perfect.”
Even through my panic, this registers with some surprise. I’ve never even seen Ares answer a question in class, and the only
time I’ve glimpsed one of his scores was the forty percent he got for his English essay. I’d figured he was flunking all his subjects, just like I am.
Out of the corner of my eye, I check Ares’s face for his reaction, but other than the faintest crinkling of his brow, he gives
nothing away.
“Is there a problem, Chanel?” Ms. Hoang asks, her mouth thinning into a hard line.
Yes, many problems, I think. He hates me. He’ll hurt me. He wants my house to burn.
“Can’t I just . . . study by myself?” I ask desperately.
“You need the help,” Ms. Hoang says. “If you can score higher than ninety percent on your next test, then I might reconsider
the arrangement. But for now, I’m going to ask you to please cooperate. This isn’t optional, Chanel.”
“But—”
“I don’t think you’re grasping the severity of the issue,” Ms. Hoang speaks over me, her patience visibly wearing thin. “If