Page 76 of He Hate Me

“Say that louder so everyone can hear.”

“I don’t really care anymore,” he says. “I keep it a secret so I wouldn’t get kicked out, but I’m already kicked out, so who cares? There is nothing wrong with us being together. You can’t honestly tell me anyone else makes you feel the way I do.”

“What is that? Used? Manipulated? Betrayed? You’re right; no one else makes me feel that.”

I slam my locker and make tracks for homeroom.

I have a free period before lunch, and I go outside to sit under an oak tree. It’s cold, so I have the courtyard to myself. The leaves have just started to fall from the trees, a sparse layer of orange, red and gold littering the ground at my feet. I’m glad I wore a hoodie today, because I can look down at my feet and no one will see my tears. Some of you might say, oh, he didn’t do anything to you, but after he shared his mom’s illness and his sexual history, I figured if there was anything else big to tell me, he would have done it. It’s not even that I have a problem with drugs per se, but it’s this feeling like I’ve been taken for a fool. And the way he threatened Devin. That was scary. What else did he do in his old life besides deal drugs? Was he in a gang? Has he beat down or even killed someone before?

Impulsively I get my phone out and text Mello.

Can I treat you to lunch? I need to ask you something.

Sure. I love lunch.

Meet me in the courtyard.

I stay under the tree and try to pull myself together. By the time Mello finds me, the only signs of my tears are my red eyes and a slight sniffle. We don’t have a lot of time for lunch, so we hurry to the parking lot, and I drive us to a nearby fast-food place. We find a seat and wait for our orders.

“How’s your ankle?”

“As good as can be expected,” he says. He’s still wearing a walking boot and moves well, but I know ankles are tricky.

“Did they say when you’ll be able to play again?”

He shrugs. “I can’t speak to that. I try not to think about it too much. I just focus on healing. So what’d you want to talk about?”

I blow a noisy puff of air through my lips. Now that he’s sitting across from me, his piercing amber eyes seeing too much, I feel awkward.

“You’ve known Brandon a long time, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Since sixth grade, I think. Maybe seventh? I met him playing soccer.”

“Yeah, Lisa told me.”

“I’m not going to help you get back at him or whatever. Y’all need to work your shit out.” His tone is friendly.

“That’s not it. Keep it on the DL, but Brandon got kicked out last night. Devin found his stash.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You knew?”

“That he was back doing that? No. But I saw him hanging out with RVH, so…”

“RVH?”

“Rourke. I did kinda wonder how he got in with that guy so fast. This makes it make sense.”

“I was wondering what happened before. What did he do.”

“He was just selling weed, nothing too hardcore. He mainly would go over to Merrill, hang out with the white kids over there and sell to them. You know about his mom, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I met her.”

“For real?” He looks at me like I’m a puzzle. “He doesn’t really ever introduce people to his mom. But yeah, he was tryna help out.”

A restaurant employee drops our tray on the table. I pick up my soda and take a sip. The smell of the greasy food isn’t appealing, but I put a fry in my mouth and chew. I barely ate anything this morning and I have practice after school.