I Am Not Jessica Chen(58)

She isn’t known to be very subtle, either. As soon as we’re back home, she makes a vague excuse about needing to buy something from the supermarket and all but ushers my uncle out the door with her.

“Jessica, make sure Aaron feels right at home,” she instructs. “And call if you need anything.”

Then she winks—actually, blatantly winks—before leaving us alone together.

I feel somewhat violent.

“You can sneak out now,” I tell Aaron. “I’ll make up a convincing excuse about why you had to go back early. Don’t worry,” I can’t help adding, my tone sharpening on its own. “I’ll let her know how much we bonded.”

But he doesn’t leave. “What will you do?” he asks, suddenly serious. “After I send you the card, and you’ve confirmed who the sender is? You’re not planning on confronting them alone, are you?”

I stare at him. “What else am I supposed to do? If I get anyone else involved, then they’ll find out whatever it is Jessica’s hiding—not to mention that I’d have to explain the slight complication with the me-being-in-her-body thing.”

“But it could be dangerous,” he protests. “You don’t know what they’ll do.”

Don’t say anything you’ll regret, I warn myself. This is not the time for that. Just don’t say anything—

“Is it really me you’re concerned about?” I blurt out. My muscles are sore from the hike, and my clothes feel sticky on my skin. Maybe that’s why it’s more difficult than usual to control my tongue. “Or is it only because I’m in Jessica’s body?”

He goes completely still.

“It’s because of her, isn’t it?” I guess, heat flooding my cheeks. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll do everything I can to protect her, so that when Jessica returns to her own body, you two can have your happy reunion and life will go on as it should. My aunt will be absolutely ecstatic, and I’ll be sure to get out of your way—”

“I don’t like Jessica,” he cuts in.

The words don’t register at first. I’m still talking. “I’ll be nothing but supportive. Everyone at school thinks you’re perfect for each other. Leela and Celine do as well. It makes so much sense; Jessica’s the best. She’s gorgeous and talented and smart, and so are you, and there’s no reason why . . . what did you say?”

“I don’t like Jessica,” he says, enunciating each syllable. “I already like someone else.”

My heart stops beating. “Who? Is it . . . is it someone you met in Paris? Or someone from our school? Or—”

“Are you pretending you don’t know?” he asks, the sharpness to his tone matching mine now. “Because I fear I’ve already made it painfully obvious. I mean, I left the country because of you.”

Wait.

Pause.

Hold on.

“That makes no sense,” I tell him. I think I’m laughing, or shaking my head, or stepping backward. I don’t really know anymore. I don’t know anything. “You . . . you left because you hated me. Because you rejected me. Because you didn’t care—”

His eyes flash. “I left because I couldn’t bear it.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, and the air escapes my lungs. He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “What I . . . felt for you. How much I needed you. I thought I would lose my mind if I stayed any longer, if I . . . if we—” He cuts himself off, breathing hard.

“What?” I repeat, but this time there’s no anger in my voice, only shock. I blink at him, uncomprehending. I’m scared to speak again, to make even the slightest sound, scared he’ll take the words back and tell me I imagined it.

“Surely you must have sensed it,” he says, coming to an abrupt stop, his expression distressed, almost desperate. “Even just a little. I know . . . I know it took me too long to start looking at you the way you wanted. But near the end—once I did . . .”

“All I know,” I say very slowly, to make sure we’re speaking the same language, “is that you pulled away from me. Don’t you remember?” Because I do, I want to add, though it’s hard to summon that old, humiliating rage when he’s looking at me this way. I remember every detail, even now. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since you left.

“Because I was scared,” Aaron says, gazing across the space at me like he can feel all those years burning between us. All those nights after he left, when I would wait until the house was quiet before crying into my pillow, my knees hugged to my chest, trying to dull the ache there. “I thought . . . if we ever became something more, I was sure I was going to disappoint you.”

“That’s—how would that even be possible?” I demand. “You’re perfect, and I’m me, and I—I fell for you first. I’ve liked you for almost half my life, and you basically just admitted that you only saw me as a friend for most of that time—”

“No, you think I’m perfect. You think everyone’s so much better than they really are, and you think you’re so much worse than you really are. I was only a goal to you,” he tells me, swallowing. “I was a dream, someone unattainable, something you built up inside your head. You forget how well I know you, Jenna. There’s nothing you want more than to want—you’ll obsess over something, and convince yourself that so long as you get it, you’ll be happy, but then once you do, you’re immediately dissatisfied and want something else.”