Page 30 of Hate You, Maybe
“Hey, Kroft,” I quip. “Got a clipboard I can borrow?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” she answers as if my question were serious. “I need all of these.”
“Ah, come on.” A guffaw slips out of me, but I catch a spark of something in her eyes that gives me pause.
“If you must know,” she says, “the blue clipboard is for work. It’s got agendas and lists of things for school I have to check in on while we’re here.” She points to the yellow clipboard. “This one’s for my personal life, so I can put it away for now.” She tucks that one back in her bag, then picks up the pink clipboard. On top is at least one blank sheet of paper. “This one’s for the retreat. I’m planning to take notes on everything we do in case there’s some kind of test at the end.”
“A test?”
“Uh-huh. Remember, Mr. Wilford said Bob and Hildy will be reporting back to him on our performance, and I want to be prepared for anything.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Remind me to find you in a zombie apocalypse.”
“I would put that on a to-do list for my personal life, but sadly, that clipboard is packed.” She shrugs. “Anyway, we should probably start with setting some cabin rules first.”
“Lead on, McDuff.”
This draws a little snort out of her. “You know, the correct quotation is actually ‘lay on, Macduff.’”
My mouth twitches. “I did not know that.”
“Either way, you’ll need to do a whole lot more than quoteMacbethto get on my good side.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I kick back on the bed. “Is that a cabin rule?”
“No.” Across the top sheet of her pink clipboard, Sayla writes CABIN RULES in all caps. Then she says, “Rule number one …”
“Don’t call you Sailor,” I say.
She bobs her head. “Yes. Thanks for the reminder.” She begins a list, dictating what she’s writing out loud. “Rule number one: No nicknames. We’ll only refer to each other as Sayla or Dexter.” She looks up. “Kroft is acceptable to me since it’s my actual last name. Are you okay with Dex?” A furrow forms between her brows like she’s legitimately concerned about my feelings.
Huh.
Either Sayla doesn’t hate me as much as I thought she did, or she’s just naturally considerate of everyone, no matter how much she can’t stand them.
“Dex works,” I tell her. “Thanks for asking.”
“No problem,” she nods, returning to her list. “Rule number two: Always knock before entering the cabin. Just to be sure no one’s changing.”
I shrug. “Honestly, I’ll probably just change in the bathroom.”
She glances at the door, then back at me. “But it’s pretty small in there, and our bags are out here.”
“Good point,” I say.
So she writes down the knocking rule, then adds, “On the cabin doorandthe bathroom.”
“Got it.”
“Rule number three.” She taps the pen to her chin, thinking. “No snoring. Or talking in our sleep. We’ll need our rest while we’re here, and that’s just annoying.”
I huff out a laugh. “But we won’t be awake. There’s no way to control that.”
“Do you usually snore? Or sleep-talk?”
“I don’t know. I mean … I never had any complaints.”
She takes a beat, processes what I said, then frowns. “Gross.”
