“Yeah, Wang Laoshi never said we had to get up here by foot, did he?” Oliver says, his smile sly. “You can’t blame me for using the resources at my disposal. And you can’t even accuse us of not challenging ourselves—you see these marks?” He rolls down his sleeve with a dramatic sigh, revealing four red, nail-sized crescents on the underside of his wrist. “Courtesy of Daisy. For a second back there, I thought she was secretly a werewolf.”

“I’m sorry!” Daisy says in a small voice, her eyes still closed, though her complexion is more red than ashen now. “But you wouldn’t stop moving around on the cable car—”

“She means I was breathing,” Oliver tells us, deadpan. “I inhaled, and she told me to stay still because it was making her nervous. See? It was a huge challenge getting here.” He pulls a puppy-dog face at me that’s so ridiculous and aware of its own ridiculousness that it kind of works. “You’re not going to report us to the teacher for being a bit creative, are you?”

“I guess not,” I say. “I’m more annoyed we didn’t think of it first.”

“We should report you,” Cyrus adds, his voice dead serious, yet I can tell he’s not actually considering it. It’s odd, because I’m used to people who are fake nice—or at least pretending to be nicer than they really are—in order to win you over. I don’t trust most of Cate’s friends for exactly that reason.

Yet Cyrus is fake mean, almost as if he wants to lower your expectations of him, to make sure you stay away.

More footsteps thud onto the platform behind us. The other teams drag themselves up one at a time; some are panting, rubbing the sweat from their foreheads despite the chilly air. Others clearly accepted defeat ages ago, and stopped for snacks on their way up. Sean is sharing a packet of prawn crackers with his teammate, both of them munching noisily and wiping their greasy fingers on their jackets.

While we wait for everyone to arrive, I spot a small, weathered fountain nestled just behind the pine trees. Fresh water trickles out from two stone statues of dragons, flowing through their open mouths and gathering in a clear pool underneath. The bottom is filled with shiny bronze and silver coins. As I watch, a young woman around my cousin’s age pulls her boyfriend over to the fountain, smiling wide. He fishes a coin out from his pocket, clearly prepared for this very moment, and she clasps her fingers around it, eyes closed and head bent the way you do in prayer, then flings it into the water, where it lands with a faint splash.

“You think that’s the same sacred fountain my cousin visited to bless her marriage?” I ask Cyrus.