I grab the hot pink marker, thinking back to every boy I’ve charmed and bent to my will, and start adding below:
Step one: Learn more about him (his family, interests, dreams).
Step two: Grab his attention.
Step three: Build a connection based on all the information gathered in step one.
Step four: Start dropping hints about prom and including him in prom plans.
Step five: Share photos of him on social media to build buzz for campaign.
Step six: Suddenly ice him out and show interest in another guy to make him jealous.
Step seven: Get invited to his house; hook up there.
Step eight: Give him a gentle push to ask about prom.
When I step back, satisfied with my work, Henry stares at the board for a long time. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s only... nobody has ever written the wordshook upon my whiteboard before. Other than that, I don’t see any glaring problems here. And at risk of sounding severely egotistical—”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t be the first time you did,” Alice puts in sweetly.
Henry offers her an affectionate eye roll. “I only intend topoint out that I won’t be competing for the title of prom king, so that is one less factor to worry about.”
“You won’t be?” I ask.
“No. I won’t be in Beijing at all,” he says. “My father wants me to attend this tech conference in London with him during prom week.”
I hadn’t realized how much I was counting on Henry’s help until my stomach sinks. But I shouldn’t be relying on anyone, even my closest friends. I’m meant to be stronger than that.
“That’s all settled then,” Alice decides. “Now, it just comes down to the execution—but, like, I have full faith in your charms, Chanel. If anyone can pull off this plan, it’s you.”
I have far less faith in my charms than I usually would, but I smile with practiced confidence and lift my glass from the table. It’s left behind a ring of condensation on the red mahogany, like the outline of a target. I can almost picture Ares Yin’s reflection inside it.
5
Ares
He’s lost count of how many people he’s asked tonight.
Always the same question. Always the same blank, unhelpful stares, the same crushing replies.
“Have you seen this boy?”
“No, sorry.”
“Please... have you seen—”
“No.”
Still, he braces himself to try again, taking in a deep breath as he approaches the vendor outside the subway station. The aroma of roasted sweet potatoes billows through the air toward him, and his stomach grumbles, despite himself. He hasn’t had anything to eat since finishing school hours ago.
The vendor glances up from his makeshift furnace, where the sweet potatoes are squeezed around the fire in a circle, their undersides caramelizing to a deep brown, golden sap oozing out. “Want a sweet potato?” the vendor asks gruffly.
Ares shakes his head. “Have you seen this boy before?” He holds up the photo of his brother that he’s been carrying aroundeverywhere with him: a Polaroid taken on the first day of school, Luke’s smile stiffer than it normally was, his curls brushed back and shirt collar buttoned too tight, something Luke had complained about before he left the house that morning.
For years now, he’s presented it to strangers on the street like a salesman trying to hand out flyers, stopping by every spot he’d ever taken Luke: the arcade where he thrashed Luke in basketball, but Luke beat him repeatedly at Mario Kart; the swings where he’d taken Luke as a kid, pushing him high up into the air with one hand until Luke swore he could touch the sky; the aquarium where Luke would memorize the names of all the fish and point them out to him; the grocery store that always stocked Luke’s favorite brand of orange soda and salt-and-vinegar crisps; the astronaut-themed restaurant where Luke had celebrated his tenth birthday.
“No.” The vendor barely even glances at the photo. “Never seen him before.”
