Page 6 of He Hate Me

“You must think I’m stupid if you think I’m buying that,” he says.

I ignore him and pull up to the mall entrance closest to the theater. I stop the car, and Brandon just sits there at first, his head cocked to one side. I wonder what’s going on in his head. Most likely he’s just trying to be as difficult as possible.

“Get out of the car, loser,” I say, getting tired of it. My phone vibrates with a text coming in. I have nothing to prove to him, but I don’t try to hide the screen, which reads:

Mackenzie: Get over here. Movie starts in 15 and we still need to get snacks.

“Brandon,” a male voice calls from the direction of the mall. I look over and two guys are approaching the car. I guess these are Brandon’s friends, and they are not what I expected. They are both fine—I mean F.I.N.E—brothers. One of them is chocolate and about Brandon’s height. He’s got thick dreadlocks tied back from his gorgeous face. I’d say his eyes are his best feature. They’re big and brown and he has thick lashes to match. The other guy is a little shorter, but still taller than me. He’s just slightly thicker than his friends and a mellow caramel color. He’s got a tight fade and waves on top. He’s wearing a diamond stud in one ear too. He unleashes a sexy smile on me that goes with his look like butter goes with dinner rolls.

Brandon gets out of the car, and they dap. I should peel out of there and tell Brandon “bye sucker” with the squeal of my tires, but instead I get out and stand by the car, twirling one of my braids. I’m not exactly serving looks over here, but the little ruched bodice strapless minidress I’m wearing is cute.

“Hi,” Chocolate Prince says to me. Then to Brandon, “This your girlfriend?”

“Oh, hell nah,” Brandon says. “I don’t date evil.” His friends grin in unison, giving his shade no-nevermind.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” Caramel King asks. His voice is deep and manly. I almost forget Brandon is there until he steps between us.

“Aren’t we late?” he asks, impatiently.

“Come on, man,” CK says, grinning. “Don’t be that guy.”

“Let’s go,” Brandon yells, waving his arms towards the mall entrance, though he says it in a joking tone. He doesn’t wait for the guys to agree, but lopes away on his long legs.

“See you later, Goddess,” CP says and then he winks. Those are the two best looking guys I’ve seen since I ended things with my ex. Either of them would be a perfect way to spend my senior year, but unfortunately, hotness isn’t high on my list of criteria for a new boyfriend. Popularity is what matters. It’s one of the reasons that even though I think I like Gio, I’m still just texting with him. I need a guy who’s on my level socially.

Three hours later, I am sitting on the hood of my girl’s car in the field behind the mall. It’s around 11:00 and I am under the influence. Oh, God. Sometimes I feel like the car is falling away from under me and the stars, all twenty gazillion of them, are rushing towards me like a massive meteor shower. Then it all flips and it’s like I’m flying up and up into the black sky. You might think this would freak me out, but I love rollercoasters and though this is the first time I’ve tried these pot candies that Lorelei got from her cousin, I am not unhappy. Kristie is saying something to me, and I have no idea what. It takes me five minutes to figure out she’s asking me if I want to go hang out by the soccer fields where a bunch of guys are goofing around. Some of them are from our school and some are from “other schools,” which, if you know these kids, means they’re not as rich and therefore have an aura of danger and the forbidden.

I get there and I don’t even have to ask before someone gives me a drink and a folding chair to sit on. There’s a little contest going on between the boys and girls. Some of the guys have the look of basketball players, others are thick like they play football. Most of them are white, but there is a smattering of everything here. I feel like there’s a huge crowd of kids, but as I mentioned, I am high, and so I don’t really have the clearest mind right now. The sound of hip-hop breaks through the fog in my brain and the disparate pieces of input organize themselves into something that actually makes sense. The kids are taking turns dancing, first a boy and then a girl. The boys are breakdancing, and my girls are coming with all kinds of moves, but mostly hip-hop. I know it’s a lame teen movie cliche, but what really are a bunch of suburban teenagers going to do behind a mall other than drink, smoke weed, and act the fool.

“You alright?” CK asks me after I do a couple flips and throw myself down at the side of the soccer pitch. He’s lying next to me on his side, his eyes, going again and again to my bare legs.

“I’m good,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“Carmello,” he says, tickling the inside of my elbow with a blade of grass.

“You lying,” I say. “Caramel Carmello?”

“You not trusting, girl,” he says. “You as high as a kite!”

“And you smell like weed,” I observe, laughing. Soon we’re both laughing, staring up at the sky and howling like we’re watching the funniest movie in history.

He abruptly sits up and presses something into my hand.

“Call me,” he says, winking. Then he stands up. I sit up too, not sure why he’s leaving all of a sudden and then I see Brandon, looming over me and shaking his head.

“We have to go,” he says. “I don’t want to miss curfew.”

“Your friend is cute,” I say in a stage whisper as we walk back to my car.

“Stay away from my friends,” Brandon says, shaking his head.

“Your other friend is cute, too. And I’m single.”

“You cannot date my friends, Deja. Nope.”

“Selfish.”

Four