Page 43 of He Hate Me

Finally, Christian and I have to dance together. The song they pick is Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran. By mutual unspoken agreement, Christian and I stand as far away from each other as it is possible to do while doing a slow dance. As soon as it’s over, I find Jayden and drag him to get our pictures taken in front of the Homecoming backdrop. I get a few group shots with my girls, too. After that, there’s no reason to stay at the dance, so I round up the crew and head to the coat check.

Sixteen

Deja

The next morning, Brandon and I stare at each other groggily over the breakfast bar. It’s 8:00 am, and we’re both still wearing our pajamas. My face burns from scrubbing off my makeup because I fell asleep with it on last night. I don’t know what industrial-strength setting spray the makeup artist used, but I had a hell of a time getting the stuff off me. Brandon, for his part, is red-eyed and pale, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“You two don’t look like you’re up for church today,” my mother says, sipping her green juice. Devin smiles knowingly, hugging her from behind. We regard them with matching expressions of “screw you.” My head is pounding, and all I want to do is crawl back into bed.

“I could use a few more hours,” I say, propping my head on my hand. “Of sleep, I mean. Sleep.”

Devin should be tired too, but he looks as fresh as a daisy. He was up when I got home at 2:00 am and hung out with me and Jayden for half an hour before we all went to bed. Jayden’s still asleep in the basement guest room, insulated from the noise of my parents stomping all over the second floor.

“How was the dance?” my mother asks.

“Good,” I say, my head lowered over a cup of herbal tea. The warm steam is soothing to my oversensitive skin. “We had a lot of fun.”

“And you, Brandon?”

“It was fine.” His voice sounds gravelly.

“I didn’t see you at the dance,” I say, stifling a yawn. He got home a few minutes after me last night, mumbled something unintelligible at Devin, and went straight upstairs.

“I couldn’t miss you, Homecoming Queen,” he says, derisively. “Saw you bumping and grinding all over Jayden.” I meet his eyes, and they’re full of challenge. Why is he bringing this up now? If he wants to throw down, I’ll throw down.

Forgetting that my parents are there, I sing back at him: “I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind.”

“You would quote a pedo,” Brandon says, and my face goes hot.

I catch Devin’s expression, which is kind of suspicious. But suspicious of what? Hopefully, it’s the bump and grind comment. My mother is doing that thing where she tries to have no expression. She always ends up looking constipated instead.

I fail to stifle a yawn. Brandon, who was looking at me, yawns too.

“Can I go back to bed?” he asks. “I’m just going to fall asleep in church if you make us go.”

Devin accedes with a sharp nod. I slide off my stool and pick up my cup. I’m climbing the stairs before I realize I have company. My mother stops at the door to my bedroom, and I turn to see what she wants.

“Do we need to have a conversation?” she asks.

“About what?” She raises her eyebrows, and I get it. That kind of conversation. “No. Emphatically no.”

The questioning look does not go away. She throws in the flat-lipped “don’t bullshit me” expression, too.

“We’ve had the sex talk, Mom,” I point out, wearily.

“This would be the safe sex talk,” she says.

“They teach us sex ed at school, and I can always go on the internet.” This does not seem to have mollified her. “If I have any questions or something changes, or I need something, I will ask you, okay? Brandon and I were just giving each other a hard time because we can’t stand each other. All Jayden and I did last night was dance.”

This seems to do the job. She sniffs and gives me a little nod. Finally, I can go back to sleep.

I wiggle deeper into the cottony warmth of my bed. I’m halfway between sleep and wakefulness, the remnants of a dream still floating inside my brain. My speaker is on in the background playing champagne problems by Taylor Swift. It may be on repeat or perhaps my perception of time is distorted so that seconds stretch on forever. There’s a velvety octopus’s arm wrapped around my waist, hugging me tightly against the six-foot tall stuffed green dinosaur that I lost when I was five.

“Wake up, baby,” the dinosaur whispers against the back of my head. I moan in denial. I don’t want to wake up; I am feeling too content to wake up. The dinosaur rubs my tummy with a large paw. Don’t dinosaurs have really tiny hands? Relatively small hands? These hands are warm, and shouldn’t the body be softer?

“What is it?” I ask, only half awake. The dinosaur smells really good, like citrus and something herbal. His large hand moves up to lightly collar my throat and I jolt awake, my heart pounding. I don’t have to turn my head to know who’s in bed with me. There’s only one person who would hold me like this.

“Brandon. What are you doing?”