Page 30 of You + Me – Against the World

I hate him.

Arcadius: Yes, I know. And I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next night without you.

My stupid, stupid heart bursts.

Alma_from_paris: Then come to my place. If my parents won’t let me out, you can come here. They’ll be happy to meet my project partner. We can work together in my room. Or do something else…

Arcadius: You can’t ask that of me, Lancaster.

Alma_from_paris: Why?

Arcadius: You know why. They’re going to hate me the second they lay eyes on me. I don’t belong in their world. I have no business being there.

Alma_from_paris: But it’s my world, too… If you won’t be a part of it, what chance does that leave us?

Arcadius: You’re the one I’m interested in, Alma. Not your social status. Not your luxurious house, your expectations, or your manners. And not your servants who are gonna look down on me. And what’s next? Are you gonna ask me to dress like your brother?

I smile, imagining it.

Alma_from_paris: Well, I wore your leather jacket! You’d look oh-so-handsome in a navy-blue blazer.

Arcadius: I don’t even know what that is.

Alma_from_paris: Liar! You’re just scared.

Arcadius: You see, other people get scared too.

Flashes of last night come back to me, and butterflies settle in the pit of my stomach.

Alma_from_paris: Vadim Arcadi, do you have the guts to come to my place or not? Tomorrow, 3 p.m. You know the way. Proper attire required.

Arcadius: You see, you’re already trying to change me. It’s a no.

Alma_from_paris: I take it back. Come wearing nothing!

Arcadius: Only if you do the same.

Alma_from_paris: See you tomorrow, Vadim.

Arcadius: Alma, wait…

Alma_from_paris: If you care about me, you’ll come.

11

I log off without waiting for a reply and sit there facing my computer, practically breathless with excitement. It took a lot of guts to challenge him like that.

I imagine him in his apartment, either laughing or brooding, his fingers lost in his curls. Just the thought of seeing him run his hands through his hair again brings a smile to my lips. The thought that he might not come makes me dizzy. And I suddenly feel completely crazy for setting up such a date.

My mother and father, face to face with Vadim—defiant, disrespectful, and impossible to control. His messy hair. His old jacket, his worn-out Adidas that are never laced up. His beat-up pickup truck. The way he speaks, always provoking you, always playing devil’s advocate. The way he looks at you as if he’s judging you, despite not knowing you—or worse, as if he’s already figured you out. My parents will probably hate that. And the comparison with Timothy will be brutal. Vadim will resent them and will never want to come back here again.

Alma Lancaster, world champion at digging her own grave.

***

Saturday was the longest day of my life, even though I did everything I could to keep busy and stop myself from thinking. I spent hours telling Clémentine everything—well, almost everything. I asked my parents for permission to have my project partner over, and they quickly accepted, pleased to see that I was listening to their advice and doing things by the book. I hid the few stuffed animals lying around my room and took some cringey movie posters down from my wall. I tried on several outfits, including a little dress that would likely raise some eyebrows and comfy jeans and a T-shirt that said Sunday casual.

But this Sunday morning, nothing feels right. I’m drifting around in my oversized sweatshirt. My room is far too tidy, and my bed too perfectly made. It all seems to scream: “Stay away from me!”