Chapter 3 Chanel #3
you fail this class, you won’t be able to graduate. Maybe you’re under the impression that your parents’ wealth will insulate
you from failure your whole life, Chanel, but this isn’t something that money can fix. You have to fix it yourself.”
Her words land like a punch. I swallow, my face prickling, my protests drying in my throat. Is that what she thinks of me?
Just another spoiled girl who relies on her parents for everything?
I dart another look at Ares, who shifts for the first time, betraying the slightest reaction, but I can’t tell if it’s because
he agrees with the teacher. If that’s what he thinks of me too.
“Thanks again for all your help, Ares,” Ms. Hoang says in a much friendlier tone. “If you have any questions, feel free to
shoot me an email.”
Ares shrugs and makes a noncommittal sound.
And with that, the teacher gathers her papers and heads out of the classroom, leaving me alone with the very last person I
want to be near.
“Since when were you involved in peer mentoring?” I can’t help asking. Can’t help hoping that this might be a gross misunderstanding I can wriggle my way out of.
Ares turns slowly to face me. “Since I had five unexplained absences in a row, the school threatened to kick me out if I didn’t
make some kind of contribution.” He cocks his head. “What, you don’t want me to tutor you?”
“I . . . it’s not that,” I lie. “I just—”
“Then why are you so jumpy?” he asks, his brows furrowed as he studies me, like he’s trying to understand a book written in
his third language. “Is it because of last night? Are you scared or something?”
Yes. I’m scared of you. More terrified than I’ve ever been of anyone. But I can’t let him know that, so I dodge his question with one of my own. Media Training 101. “How long has the lake been . . .
doing that?” I ask.
“Not sure,” he says. “I first saw the vision three months ago. A coincidence—I was just walking around the lake at night when
I noticed something in the water. I assumed I was hallucinating. Especially because it disappeared after just a minute, and
when I returned to the lake the next morning, it was gone. Must’ve visited the lake twenty, thirty times before I figured
out there was a pattern to it.”
“The moon,” I murmur, remembering.
He nods. “Once the moon reaches its highest point, the vision starts—and it always ends on the same scene. The same house burning down.”
My heart skips with a new realization: He doesn’t know the house is mine, or else he wouldn’t be talking about it like this.
And if he has no idea where the house is, he can’t set it ablaze just yet—that gives me an advantage. Or at least more time.
“The thing is, other people have passed by that lake, but nobody else has reacted. I thought I was the only one who could
see the vision . . . until you,” he says, his gaze fixed on me with the pressure and precision of a knife. He’s staring at
me like I have all his prized possessions locked in my basement and the key dangling from my pinkie finger, and he’s calculating
when to lunge for it.
“And what does that mean?” I ask. My voice sounds breathless to my own ears.
“You tell me,” he says, his eyes narrowing as if I’d implanted myself in the vision on purpose. “For some reason . . . for
better or worse, you’re part of my future, Chanel.”
A violent shiver courses through my body. He’s leaning in close, too close, the darkness of his gaze inescapable, and I’m
scared that if he were to touch me, he’d feel just how hard I’m trembling, how fast my heart is beating. I can’t remember
the last time someone had such an overpowering effect on me. I’m transfixed. Too terrified to stay, too terrified to move.
Even his beauty is terrifying.
Then the classroom door creaks open somewhere behind us, and I startle, lurching away from him like I’ve been shoved.
Two girls from the lower-year level are standing in the entrance, openly ogling us, their expressions scandalized.
I can feel the flush in my cheeks, and I can only imagine what it seems like we were doing alone in here.
“Um, we’re so sorry to interrupt,” one of the girls says with a giggle.
“It’s fine. I was just leaving,” I tell her, smoothing my hair with a quick smile, careful not to look over at Ares again.
“Remember our session,” Ares says from behind me, which sets off another round of giggling. No doubt our uninvited viewers
are thinking hook-up session rather than math tutoring.
“Yeah, got it,” I say briskly, and hurry out of the classroom—but not before I overhear the girls whispering to each other.
“Oh my god, do you think they’re running for prom queen and king together?”
“I feel like they’d definitely win.”
“No, don’t sound so sure. There’s also Henry Li.”
Henry. Of course. I make up my mind on the spot and change course midstep, turning down the corridor. He’s exactly who I need to
find right now. He should know what to do.
After all, who better to turn to for advice about the supernatural than the creators of Beijing Ghost?