Girlfriend.

The word hangs in the cool evening air between us, and if I had the energy and resources and brainpower to invent a time machine just so I could go back and retract that one sentence, I would without hesitation.

Henry and I have spoken about plenty of things over the past few months. Exams. Criminal activity. Bribery. The Boxer Rebellion. How we both achieved the same perfect English test score in Year Ten but I received more praise.

But we’ve never touched upon the topic of relationships. Of romance.

It’s not as if I haven’t thought about it in his presence, haven’t occasionally wondered about things I shouldn’t, dwelled a little too long on the shape of his lips, but to speak it aloud and acknowledge it feels like a kind of surrender.

It doesn’t help that Zhang Jie’s hit ballad “This Is Love” is now blasting at top volume from the speakers.

Or that Henry’s gazing intently down at me.

“Anyway,” I say, raising my voice over the music, praying he can’t distinguish the reddish glow of the screen from the heated redness of my cheeks. “I’m happy for the couple and all, but we should really, uh, focus on finding Vanessa...”

To both my disappointment and relief, Henry doesn’t say anything else as he follows me down toward the crowd. The girl must’ve accepted the proposal, because people are clapping wildly and wolf whistling, and off to the side of all the commotion is—

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, grabbing Henry by the sleeve and dragging him behind a nearby pillar with me.

“What—” he starts to say, but I clamp my hand over his mouth, forcing him farther back against the stone, out of view, my own body pressed up to his. Close enough to feel the heat of his skin. The warm tickle of his breath on my cheek.

My heart thuds louder in my ears.

Vanessa was there. Is there.

Carefully, one hand still pinning Henry in place, I sneak a quick glance out at the crowd again. Vanessa doesn’t seem to have spotted me. She’s standing next to a tall wiry guy maybe a few years older than she is; someone I’ve never seen before. The university student.

It must be him.

The two of them linger a few beats longer before turning in to the French-style bakery café on their left, their figures soon obscured by the colorful display windows.

I release a small sigh.

All I have to do now is turn invisible and follow them inside. I’ll need close-up evidence; photos of the exchange taking place, pictures of the university student’s face, and the artwork involved.

“Er... Alice?”

Henry’s voice comes out muffled through my palm, and only then do I realize how close we still are. How easy it would be, in our current position, to stand on tiptoe and tilt my head just so and—

I lurch back. “Sorry,” I apologize hastily, bringing my hand back down. “I was scared she’d see us.”