Page 65 of Hate You, Maybe
“We moved around so much, we usually missed the sign-ups, and I was always landing at a new school in a new town mid-season. So I never felt like I could or should jump on a team that was already established.”
“Some coaches would’ve let you join. The good ones, anyway.”
“Maybe, but I was afraidIwouldn’t be good enough. And being good was expensive. We couldn’t afford club teams or private coaches. And I never wanted to let the team down. So I’d wait for the next season to roll around, thinking maybe if I got in at the beginning of a season, I wouldn’t be too far behind. By then, it was usually time for us to move on again. And again.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t awesome.” I swallow, hoping Dex won’t notice the shift in me. I don’t like accidentally tripping headlong into vulnerability. With anyone, but especially him. And that’s been happening a lot to us lately. “But that’s how I ended up in theater, so I have no regrets.”
“How was being in theater any different, though?” he asks. “If you kept moving around, didn’t you run up against the same problem?”
“I’m only speaking from my own experience, but I felt like there was less competition. Everyone was encouraged. And unlike a club team, there were no cuts in the drama club. No one was paying for private coaches on the side. Theater was free. And yes, there were tryouts for music solos and lead parts in a play, but pretty much everyone could get a role as an extra. As opposed to—let’s say—making the girls’ basketball team.”
Dexter’s eyes crinkle. “You might’ve been a little height challenged for that anyway. Although plenty of people would argue that athletes come in all shapes and sizes.”
“I get that now,” I say. “But when I was fourteen …” I let my voice trail off for a moment, but he waits for me to finish. “Let’s just say I lacked confidence. In all areas.”
“That’s too bad,” he says. “Because I’m guessing you were a phenomenal teenager.”
“Well.” I huff out a tiny snort. “Phenomenal is relative.”
“Come on, Kroft. Based on who you are today, you must’ve been smart,” he says. “Funny and very cute. I can totally picture you with the little ponytail and the freckles and braces, maybe. When I was fourteen, I would’ve thought you were hot.”
His eyes lock with mine, and my insides fizz like I’m full of butterflies or Dr. Pepper or …
Wait.
Slow down, Sayla.
“You can stop trying to make me feel better,” I say, willing my cheeks not to heat.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, “except I’m not in the business of dropping false compliments.” He sinks back in his chair. “You’ve just been too busy hating me these past three years to realize I’m a hopeless truth-teller.”
For a moment, I blink at him, trying to decide what to say. Then I land on, “I don’t.” My throat feels cotton-dry. “Hate you, I mean. It’s just that when I came to Stony Peak, you were just … everywhere.”
“I wasn’t in the women’s locker room.”
“You know what I mean,” I say. “I was brand-new to the school, just trying to make my mark. But everything I tried, you’d already done. Or you ended up doing better. So I never felt like I was good enough. Or just enough, in general. So I ended up tangled in the envy and admiration and frustration and insecurity. All those feelings kept getting tossed into one big pot until there was this … soup of feelings … and I didn’t want to admit how much I cared or how easily I could be hurt. But I didn’t want to be sad anymore, either. In the end, being mad at you was just … easier, I guess.”
His mouth goes crooked. “Feelings soup?”
“Yeah.” A breath puffs out of me. “Pretty much.”
“So what you’re saying is … maybe youdon’tactually hate me now?”
“That’s right.” I let a small smile play on my lips. “I don’t hate you. Maybe.”
“You don’t hate me,maybe.” He laughs. “That’s the best you got?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Definitely take.”
My smile spreads wider. “So. This is us collaborating now, huh?”
“Yep. We’re doing it, Kroft.”
Chapter Eighteen
