Page 36 of He Hate Me

“What do you mean?” Tanisha asks.

“Binge drinking, basically. I’ve heard crazy stories, and he’s still a junior.”

I know that when she said “hard”, she wasn’t talking about alcohol. Two months at Briarwood and I already know Rourke loves his candy and is generous with it. His whole crew of too-rich boys in $100K cars live dangerously close to the edge.

After dinner, I hunker down in my room to do homework and study. I’d initially wanted Deja to take most of this work off me, but I’m glad she refused. While my mission at Briarwood is not to learn, I’d be an idiot to waste the opportunity. I wish I’d come here sooner; I’ll never catch up with these kids academically, but l can still try to get closer to their level.

My phone buzzes with a text notification. It’s Anton telling me to pick something up from the drop spot.

ME: I’ll do it in the morning

ANTON: Do it now. I need this done ASAP!

Fuck me! It’s 10:30 at night and I have to sneak out, make a three-mile round trip through the woods and sneak back in without being detected. I wait another half an hour until everyone’s lights are off, then tiptoe downstairs.

ME: Turn off the alarm and exterior camera.

If I didn’t know Devin was blackmailing a criminal, I’d probably think his security setup was overkill, but as it is I totally get it. Anton responds after a few minutes.

ANTON: Done

I go out the kitchen door, past the trash cans, and through the narrow passage that leads to the alley gate. I’m cold and sweaty by the time I get to the marked tree, and I will tell you that is not a fun combination. I pull what looks like a pencil case out of the usual hiding place. Inside are several small devices.

ME: Got it.

ANTON: Let me know when you get home. You need to install them tonight.

Is this motherfucker kidding? I’m livid all over again. Why can’t he just be patient and let me decide the safest time to do things. I could so easily get caught tonight but he’s really insistent that I get the equipment in place before dawn. I hate being ordered around. I begin to fantasize about Deja, sitting on my lap, all sweet and naked. Then I’m doing things to her that make her writhe in agony. She begs me to stop and pleads for mercy. And she comes.

Thirteen

Deja

That night I toss and turn. It may not seem like a big deal—me not having a boyfriend—but I feel a little uncomfortable. I watched the popular girls when I started high school. They were always athletic and always had a popular boyfriend. I’ve been cheering since middle school, so I knew that would be my sport, and I’m cute and fun enough that I’ve never had trouble finding a boyfriend.

Not that I couldn’t find a boyfriend now. There are plenty of guys at Briarwood who would be happy to be my boyfriend. But I don’t know how Brandon would react. What am I saying? He would react very badly. He hasn’t come right out and said he doesn’t want me to be with anyone else, but I haven’t missed that possessive gleam in his eyes. He told me that I was his. Those don’t sound like the statements of someone who would be okay with me dating other people.

I flip over onto my stomach and grab my phone off the bedside table. It’s 11:34. No wonder my eyes are aching. I scroll through my social media feeds. Shelby’s posted another cute meme about Fall that I think is a little cheesy, but I like it anyway. A couple of the younger cheerleaders have posted selfies of themselves sharing a sno-cone. In my texts, I see messages from Kenz and a few of the other girls. Nothing from Gio, though that’s hardly surprising. I scroll through articles about fashion trends and celebrity gossip before I give up. I’m not feeling any sleepier than I did twenty minutes ago.

Getting out of bed, I slide my feet into my house slippers and trudge downstairs to get some hot tea. The house is eerily quiet. I turn on the lights in the kitchen and put on the kettle. From the back windows, I see the lawn and beyond it the shadowy trees of the park-like jogging trail behind the house. The neighborhood is dark, except for a few lights visible in the distance. Not a surprise. Everyone around here is tucked up in bed like I’m supposed to be. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I’d grabbed a robe before I came down. The air holds a slight chill because the thermostat is set to 65 degrees at night. A whooshing sound comes from the kettle as the water heats up.

“You’re up late.”

I nearly jump out of my skin. Brandon is standing next to the outside door, which opens into a little enclosed area where we keep the trashcans. The gate at the end of it is locked and has a camera outside it, so he can’t have gone any further than that without my parents knowing. What was he doing out there? He’s not wearing a coat or sweatshirt, just a plain white tee and cargo pants. He glances over my outfit—the same as his, except that I’m wearing a camisole.

“Want some tea?” I ask, too tired to think of anything clever to say.

“Why not?” He opens the cupboard and grabs a pair of cups and a peppermint tea-bag. “What kind do you want?”

“Chamomile.”

He emits a low hum and brings the cups and tea bags over to where I’m standing. Now that he’s closer to me I can smell the cold on his skin and the unmistakable traces of tobacco smoke.

“I can’t believe you smoke,” I say, not trying to hide my disapproval. Smoking is bad for anyone, but for an athlete it seems especially dumb.

“You smoke,” he says, resting his hip against the kitchen counter. The slight bend brings his face almost level with mine.

“I don’t.”