Victor: Her Ruthless Crush Theodora Taylor (fantasy books to read TXT) 📖

I could only assume meant Victor whatever his last name was.

“My father has decided one time will not be enough. See you on Thursday.”

I swallowed. Hard. So I would be seeing Victor again. Like, a lot of agains.

Despite what happened with his girlfriend, a firework of thrill went up in the most secret space inside my heart. The same place where I kept my unapproved dreams of making my art more than a hobby.

“Be careful with that,” my father said, breaking into my secretly thrilled thoughts.

His expression was grim. Like I was holding a stick of dynamite, not a cutting-edge phone.

And I wasn't sure if he was talking about the expensive piece of technology in my hand.

Or the mysterious Chinese boy I would be tutoring on the regular, starting next Thursday.

4

DAWN

Byron was supposed to walk with me to the other southbound station every Thursday after his basketball practice. But this Thursday, he was late. Standing outside the door to the boys’ locker room, I checked my watch. Again.

It was nearly 1700 or 5 PM, as I used to call it when we lived in the States. If Byron didn’t show up soon, there was no way I would be able to make it to Victor’s by 1730. Dad had told Byron he should walk me to the other station after practice, like a gentleman. Especially now that it was winter and dark by the time we both left school on Thursdays after his basketball practice.

But if I didn’t leave soon, I was going to be late.

And I didn't want to be late. This was my last tutoring session with Victor before he went home to Hong Kong. I didn’t know when or if he’d be back, and even more importantly, he’d promised to treat me to some of his favorite snacks the next time I came over. When I asked him what his favorite snacks were, he'd answered in ASL that it would be a surprise.

His ASL had really come along. My CSL was still a total struggle bus, but he was already pulling out whole sentences to tell me about surprise snacks. I had a feeling being awesome at everything he tried was kind of his MO—though I couldn’t say for sure.

I’d been tutoring him for months, but I still didn’t know much more than surface details about him. He was an only child. His mom died when he was little. And he’d been living off and on in Japan ever since he was a kid.

Asking him follow-up questions never got me any satisfying answers.

“Do you wish you had siblings?”

“No, Han is a better brother to me than a blood one ever could be.”

“How did your mom die?”

“It is a sad story. I do not talk about it.”

“Why do you keep moving to Japan?”

“It is my father’s decision.”

“It is my father’s decision” had been the answer to at least half the personal questions I’d asked him, including “Why don’t you go to school with other kids?” and “Why are you so ripped?”

I couldn’t tell if his father truly did control every aspect of his life or if he just didn’t want to answer all my nosy questions.

But the main point was, I lurved snacks. Like, more than Japanese girls loved taking pictures of themselves. And I was going to be totally late if Byron didn’t get here soon.

Maybe I should just go. I didn’t really need a gentleman to escort me to the station. I mean, it was only a five-minute walk, and Japan was super safe, especially compared to New Jersey.

Plus, surprise snacks were a totally valid excuse for going against my dad’s orders.

I pulled my phone out of my backpack to let Byron know I would be going to the station without him—my parents had caved and got him a cheapie phone of his own after all his whining about me having one. But just as I was about to push send on the message, the locker room doors crashed open.

A bunch of basketball players from the school’s team came loping into the hallway. Most of them spoke in Japanese, but there were a few black, white, and Indian kids in the mix, using English to communicate.

However, Byron wasn't one of them, and the door to the locker room swung closed in what felt like an “all done” way.

“Hey, have you seen my brother?” I asked one of the white guys. An English kid who I often saw sitting next to Byron at lunch before what happened at the end of the first term.

“I don't know,” the British guy answered with his super posh accent. But then he averted his eyes. Like he couldn’t quite commit to looking at me after saying that.

I scrunched my face, instantly suspicious. “What do you mean, you don't know? Was he at practice or not?”

I didn’t like how shifty this guy was acting. And the “Where’s Byron” mini-mystery exploded into a full-on suspense scene inside my head.

“I don't know?” the British guy said again, this time with a question mark. “I really must go now. I’ve a car waiting.”

It was true he was one of those Richie Rich kids on the team who had a limo waiting for them after basketball practice. But a bad feeling came over me as I watched him rush away.

Byron and I weren’t twins. We didn’t have ESP or anything like that. But siblings who start school in a foreign country together have a different kind of bond. And I turned back to the closed locker room door, knowing in my gut, something wasn’t right.

Byron was in trouble. So I pushed into the guys’ locker room, even though it's was super against the rules for girls to go in there.

I heard the laughter as soon as I entered the forbidden space. Snickering and mean, like hyenas in human clothing.

“Hit him again,” a voice with an American accent said in Japanese. “Show that homo!”

I rushed toward the sound of the voices and