Ann Liang

When seventeen-year-old Eliza Lin’s essay about meeting the love of her life unexpectedly goes viral, her entire life changes overnight. Now she has the approval of her classmates at her new international school in Beijing, a career-launching internship opportunity at her favorite magazine…and a massive secret to keep.

Eliza made her essay up. She’s never been in a relationship before, let alone in love. All good writing is lying, right?

Desperate to hide the truth, Eliza strikes a deal with the famous actor in her class, the charming but aloof Caz Song. She’ll help him write his college applications if he poses as her boyfriend. Caz is a dream boyfriend -- he passes handwritten notes to her in class, makes her little sister laugh, and takes her out on motorcycle rides to the best snack stalls around the city.

But when her relationship with Caz starts feeling a little too convincing, all of Eliza’s carefully laid plans are threatened. Can she still follow her dreams if it means breaking her own heart?

This Time It's Real

Words move me. A beautiful sentence will sneak under my skin and crack me open the way a phrase of music might, or a climatic scene from a movie. A well-crafted story can make me laugh and gasp for breath and weep.

This is not how an actual conversation will go in the average Asian household, I assure you.

 to be inconvenienced-- you wouldn't mind being inconvenienced by them every day for the rest of your life. That's what love is. That's all love really is."

fc ♡

 He nods at the laptop. “S.M.B.R.O.A.H.F.O.R.C. Though I really think we could come up with a better name.”

He pauses. Leans closer, until there is nothing between us but the dark, thin air, the green-apple scent of his shampoo. I instinctively take a step backward.

“Yes, Eliza,” he says, his voice somber. “I really do think we need a better name.”

I do at once, wrapping my arms in a viselike grip around his stomach and pressing my face between the sharp blades of his shoulders. This close, I can feel the heat of his skin through his T-shirt, the way his muscles contract beneath my fingertips. 

He makes a choking sound. “Holy sh—not that tight—” 

“I don’t want to fall off,” I protest, but I loosen my hold just a little, enough to let him breathe.

 “You won’t fall,” he says, like the notion itself is ridiculous. “I won’t let you.”

Caz hesitates a second, opens his mouth and closes it again, then reaches out and brushes the tear aside with one gentle thumb.

When I turn around to check if Caz has fallen asleep, he’s watching me, his black gaze inexpressibly soft. Serious. It makes me nervous.

 “What are you staring at?” I ask, trying to sound casual despite the heat rushing to my cheeks. 

He tilts his head, but the intensity of his gaze doesn’t waver. “Nothing.”

“To, um.” My voice is failing. “To clean up—”

 “Stay,” he whispers, the word falling so fast from his lips it could be instinct, a slip of the tongue, a mistake. He looks almost surprised himself, almost shy, though he doesn’t take it back

"… I just want—” He sucks in a breath, and he might have once claimed to never beg anyone for anything, but his voice is painfully close to pleading when he says, “I want this to be real.”

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