Page 1 of He Hate Me

One

Deja

“You’re hot!” Mackenzie yells out the open window as we whip past three shirtless white skateboarders standing on the curb. One of them raises his arms in a vee and yells something back, but it’s blown away in the wind. Mackenzie’s nearly black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her pale skin pinkening despite the heavy application of sunscreen. It’s a goddamn beautiful summer day, the afternoon sun streaming in through the moon roof of Mackenzie’s five-year-old Lexus as we cruise through the perfectly manicured lawns and sprawling homes of my neighborhood. Stone walls and wrought-iron gates conceal the luxury cars of my neighbors.

We’re driving a bit too fast, and Doja Cat is blasting at full volume. The breeze lifts my braids, whipping them around my head. I have my feet up on the dash, my dark chocolate legs sporting a light layer of salt from dried sweat.

“Can you close the windows?” I yell over the noise, and she rolls her eyes subtly before doing as I ask. To compensate for the closed windows, she flips on the air conditioning. We’re on our way back from cheerleading, not wearing much, but still a bit overheated. Cheer camp is going hard this year. Coach made us run suicides till we saw stars. But the sweat and tears will be worth it when we step onto the field this Fall.

“I cannot wait to wash this grime off from practice,” I say, leaning back against the plush leather seat.

“Me either,” Mackenzie says, grimacing. I think she’s sore. I certainly am, and Kenzie always struggles a bit more than I do. I was hurting during practice, but I didn’t let it show. I was recently made captain of the squad, so I feel like I have to set an example for the younger girls.

“Wanna hang out later?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s just a kick ba—who is that?”

Turning into my driveway we spot a boy carrying a cardboard box. He’s standing in my courtyard, sun glinting off his black hair, toned arms and chest revealed by the tank top he’s wearing. He’s got on basketball shorts that show off a pair of calves sculpted from marble. Honey-gold skin is stretched over taut muscle. He turns to look at us, crystal blue eyes locking with mine, and my breath catches. His face is as perfectly sculpted as his body—a sharp nose, high cheekbones, well-shaped lips. His eyes burn like a flame, for a second admiring, and then his expression hardens. He stalks up the stairs and into my house.

“What a snack,” Mackenzie says, and I nearly agree until my mind connects the dots. I forgot today was the day.

“That ‘snack” is Brandon,” I tell her as we park.

“Brandon Brandon?”

I nod. My stepdad, Devin, exits the garage carrying another box. I remember Brandon from grade school. His crow black hair and cerulean eyes are unforgettable. He looked at me with such hostility that I’m a little surprised. My friends and I used to pick on him, but that was years ago.

“He’s still a snack,” Mackenzie says.

“If you like bad boys.”

Mackenzie taking an interest in Brandon is not a positive development. I get why Kenzie is into him—he’s hot, but I stay away from boys with a bad reputation. However, Mackenzie is all about the wrong decisions. She thinks assholes are sexy, even though they keep screwing her over.

Brandon’s story, from what I understand, is that his mother, Lindsey, can’t take care of him anymore and Devin signed some paper a long time ago saying if anything ever happened to her, he’d be Brandon’s guardian. What happened to her? I get the impression Brandon got into some kind of trouble. Rumor is he got expelled from his old school, though Devin insists it’s because he got recruited to play soccer where I go. Who gets recruited to play senior year after being on a mediocre high school team?

I climb out of the car and Kenzie pops the trunk so I can get my gym bag out. “Wanna come inside?”

Mackenzie sighs in irritation. “I wish, but I have to meet my mom at the club.”

“Okay,” I say, stepping back to give the car room. “I can’t hang out tonight, but I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you.”

Brandon

I hear her soft, off-key singing voice before I see her coming up the stairs. Long, thin braids are pulled into a high ponytail above a stunning face: a high forehead, large brown eyes, high cheekbones, full lips and button nose covered in skin the color of dark chocolate. Not a blemish there, even though her white tank top is stained with sweat. Cheer shorts reveal a pair of the longest, sleekest legs I think I’ve ever seen. There’s a gym bag over her slim shoulder and a half-smile on her expressive face.

I still can’t believe this is Devin’s stepdaughter. The last time I saw her before today she was practically a stick figure with an oversized head. I don’t remember her having a cute face back then, maybe because I was eight, and maybe because she used to steal my lunch and once threw my notebook in the mud just to be spiteful. Why is she smiling right now, looking as radiant as a fitness model returning from a spa trip. I fight the urge to turn my head as we pass each other so I can see if the back matches the front, but when she walks by my room a bit later, I get a good look at the round tits and perfectly shaped ass I tried not to see earlier.

The attraction I feel for her is an unwelcome complication. Where’s the disdain she used to aim at in grade school? That I could deal with, but the warm playful looks she's giving me now make me want to call her over, ask her how she's been, watch her expressions change, sink my teeth into her⁠—.

No! Not going there. I can’t afford to lose focus. I don’t have time for any girls, but this bitch? The one who made fourth grade hell? Nope. Not happening.

And in any case, I’m not here to flirt. I came back to make him pay.

Deja