Page 2 of Hate You, Maybe
“Why does that matter?”
I stifle a smirk. “He’s just buttering you up because he has a crush on you.”
“No.” Loren waves my comment away. “There’s zero butter going on between me and Bridger. He’s fully aware I’m engaged, and anyway, his opinion doesn’t matter. I already have all the faith in you.”
I fiddle with my sleeves. “Really?”
“You’ve got this, Say. Now go on. Practice your closing argument on me one more time.”
For the rest of our drive, she listens to my speech to seal the deal with Mr. Wilford. I finish just as we reach the red light at the four-way intersection with Stony Peak’s electronic marquee. The wait at this corner is always long, but at least people can keep up-to-date on school news scrolling the screen twenty-four hours a day.
Across the intersection, the student parking lot is on the left. Off to the right is our faculty lot. Looks like only the football coaches and players are here for practice. But no other cars are in the lot yet. In particular, no midnight-blue Ford F-150.
I let out a breath of relief.
“What’s with the sigh?" Loren quirks a brow. “Afraid of running into Dexter all alone in the workroom?”
“What? No!” I lie.
“You sure?”
“That man wouldn’t be here this early, for one thing. He doesnotwork that hard. And anyway, I told you I’m done stressing over him. In fact, I hardly think about him at all.”
Also lies.
You see, Dexter Michaels is our athletic department director, and also my chief nemesis. He’s beaten me out of every leadership position, accolade, and award I’ve ever gone after in my three years at Stony Peak High.
I find it hard not to think about that.
“Okay, good.” Loren eyes me sideways. “For a moment there, I thought you might be gearing up to make a list about why you hate the guy.”
I force a laugh because my list of Reasons Why Dexter Michaels is the Actual Worst is on the yellow clipboard in my bag. Right underneath my list of things I love about fall. In my defense, though, I was following through with a journaling exercise I heard about on a podcast. According to the hosts, putting all your thoughts on paper in sort of a brain-dump, without judgment or even proper punctuation, is supposed to be freeing.
Spoiler alert: I am not free.
But seeing everything he’s won in a single list did make me more determined than ever to steer clear of him.
“Dexter Michaels has no impact on me,” I say. “I am totally neutral. Completely disinterested. Flat-lined, even.”
Loren fights a laugh. “Then how come you just said his name like you’re smelling bad cheese?”
“How dare you? There’s no such thing as bad cheese.”
“Fair enough.”
“The truth is, I’ve decided to be the bigger person, Loren. I can rise above his petty competition.”
“I don’t know, Say. I’m still not convinced Dex has actually been competing with you.”
“So how come he’s always winning, then?”
“That is a question I can’t answer.” Her shoulders hitch. “But I’m a fan of your whole ‘be the bigger person’ idea, either way.”
“It is truly liberating.”
“You must’ve done a complete one-eighty since last spring, when you were ready to make a Dexter voodoo doll to poke.” She huffs a laugh, and the list inside my bag pulses at me like Edgar Allan Poe’s “Tell-Tale Heart.”
Guilty. As. Charged.
