Read Online This Is Where the World Ends by Amy Zhang - Free Book Online

what bothers me now is that I don’t know if he would do it again. Sometimes at lunch I watch him and Dewey flicking food at each other and I just can’t remember how we got here. We used to know each other to the bone. But now that we’re not talking every single day because I live across town in a house I fucking hate and we can barely look at each other in school, I think he’s starting to realize how differently we grew up, and in different directions.
    Eventually he takes the book of fairy tales. After he reorganizes his notes and opens the textbook to the review pages and writes down the problem numbers and acts like he’s actually going to work, like either of us understands optimization and related rates, like that’s what we’re actually here for. And then he does that thing where he doesn’t sigh, but the air comes out of his nose with a little more force than necessary, and he finally takes the book from between us.
    â€œOkay,” he says. “So, what? Just ovals?”
    â€œHere, I already made the pattern. It’s not that difficult.”
    He glances at me, and then down again. I don’t look at him. I cut a little harder than I have to and snip off the edge of a nail by accident. I chew on the inside of my lip, and Micah sighs, really sighs this time, and his breath makes the feather I’m cutting flutter. He gives in. “Oh, fine. Tell me about the wings.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, and he laughs because it comes out so quickly. “You know Leo da Vinci’s flying machine?”
    â€œThe one that didn’t work?”
    â€œYeah, that one,” I say. I reach across the fairy tales and start sketching on Micah’s calc review. “See,” I say. “I’m using wire and bamboo for the main frame, and these”—I draw the wing fingers—“these here are going to be just wire. You remember the pantyhose and wire sculpture I did? Freshman year? With the spray paint? It’s going to be like that, but bigger, a hundred times, with feathers instead of spray paint. I think I might call it Icarus .”
    â€œWhy?” he asks. “Icarus’s wings didn’t work either. And that’s not really a fairy tale.”
    Why is he stomping all over my dreams?
    â€œThey did work,” I say. Keep calm. “They totally worked. Daedalus made it across the sea fine. You know what Icarus’s problem was? He loved the sun too much. Heloved fire, like me. He saw the light and he loved it more than anyone. There are things worth dying for.”
    Micah leans back against the Metaphor and raises his hand to block the sun from his face. “Oh, come on, Janie. What happened to hating clichés and all that?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œDying for love?” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at the same time, so it just looks like his eyeballs are loose. “You’re such a romantic, Janie. Is that part of your whatever-step plan with Ander? Fall in love, die for him to prove your devotion?”
    â€œYou’re such an asshole, Micah.”
    I didn’t mean to say it. But I don’t take it back.
    I want to take his condescension and shove it up his nose.
    Instead I take a breath. I push the feathers and calculus aside and scoot until I’m sitting in front of him, our legs crossed and knees touching. He doesn’t look up, but it takes effort now. He wants to; I want him to too, and our soul is so tired of straining.
    â€œYou know Mr. Markus’s key to happiness?” I ask him.
    Every year, on the last day of classes, Mr. Markus tells the seniors the key to happiness. That’s it, really—no one knows anything else, because the seniors have never spilled, ever. No one has ever teased the secret out of Mr. Markus before he was willing to tell it, and the suspense has beendriving me crazy since we were freshmen.
    Micah snorts. He’s a disbeliever. He still won’t look