I Hope This Doesn't Find You

He takes it off, then holds it out toward me.

“Yours.”

I’d thought he was joking. “You . . . But you won it. You should keep it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I have so many of these lying around my house I don’t have any room left.”

“Okay, you’re just openly bragging now—”

“Only speaking the truth.”

“I—”

“Just take it, Sadie.” He closes the distance between us and hangs the medal around my neck. It’s still warm from his touch, smooth against my skin when I turn it over, unable to stop myself from admiring its faint glow, the shine of the gold. The weight of it. It’s prettier than any necklace I’ve ever seen. I open my mouth to thank him, but then he adds, carelessly, “Consider it compensation for all the awards I’ve taken from you.”

My gratitude curdles into a scoff on my tongue, and he laughs at the look on my face.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“For being cocky?”

“That too.”

But I brush my thumb over the medal, and even though I can’t decide what it really means—a gift, a form of compensation, proof of something—it’s somehow one of the best things I’ve ever received.

Because,” he says quietly, a curious expression on his face. I’ve never seen him so serious. So sincere. “You’re the only person worth paying attention to.”

Why would I be jealous?” he demands with a sneer, distaste written all over his face. “I would rather die than kiss you again.”