Page 17 of Hate You, Maybe
And I’m the someone she hates.
“Anyway, I’ll see you Monday,” she mumbles, maneuvering her cart around me.
“Seven o’clock,” I say.
As she shuffles down the aisle on her way to the register, I realize for the first time she’s wearing fuzzy slippers and pajama bottoms. She must’ve really needed those monthly supplies in a hurry. Kind of like Kendal needed diapers. A pang of sympathy tugs at my heart, and my protective instincts kick in, transferring from Kendal over to Sayla. Not that my feelings for Sayla are sisterly. Or sibling-related at all.
Still, the worst thing that could happen is for me to get weak when it comes to Sayla Kroft. Her vulnerabilities—or any kind of softness—can’t factor into my emotions. Not when the athletic department is counting on me. I need to land this grant money more than I need to be anyone’s hero. So I can’t focus on rescuing my program and Sayla at the same time.
Only one of us can win.
And it’s gotta be me.
Chapter Six
Sayla
On Monday morning, bright and early, Loren bursts into my bedroom without knocking. “I can’t believe you’re not up yet!”
I groan at her from under my pillow. “Go awaaaaaaay.”
“Dex is gonna be here in fifteen minutes, so you better get a move on.” She chirps this at me like a bird, a beautiful, red-headed, relentlessly cheerful bird.
Another groan from me. “Noooooo.”
“Come on, Say. Remember your plan to be the bigger person?”
“I don’t want to be the bigger person anymore,” I mumble. “I want to be small. I want to be … minuscule.”
She plucks the pillow off my head, then drags the comforter from me, too. I flip over and peer up at her through blonde hair that’s wild with static. Her eyes skim the cargo pants and sweatshirt I’m wearing, becauseof courseIwoke up early. I’m already showered and prepped for the retreat.
“You’re already dressed?” she squawks. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe that surprises you.”
I’ve been packed since Friday night, before my run-in with Dex, and I spent the weekend memorizing the brochure Wilford gave us, along with the entire Camp Reboot website. I told myself I was ready to earn the best report the directors have ever given any guest of their program.
But this morning, when I was brushing my teeth, I imagined Dexter’s fake-charming grin aimed at me from across some ugly district car for the hour-long drive to the retreat, and I climbed back into bed.
“I can’t do it, Loren,” I groan. “He saw me in my pajamas. With tampons. And chocolate.”
“Regrettable, for sure.” She sighs. “But the performing arts department is depending on you, Say. That’s more important than Dex knowing you’re on your period.”
“Still.” I sniffle weakly. “I think maybe I’m sick.”
“Really?” She presses a palm to my forehead. “What are your symptoms?”
I reach for the Kleenex box on my nightstand even though my nose isn’t running at all. “I’m pretty sure I have scurvy.”
“Okay. So I’ll put some extra orange juice in our breakfast smoothies.”
“I’m talking aboutbadscurvy, Loren.Deadlyscurvy. Way beyond the reach of extra vitamin C.”
She guffaws. “What are you? A pirate in the 1700s?”
“Being a pirate definitely sounds preferable to spending the next three days at a camp with Dexter Michaels.” I pat the static frizz of my hair. “So would you please be my best friend in the whole wide world, and call the school? TellHelen to tell Mr. Wilford I can’t go to the retreat on account of all this raging scurvy.”
Loren plops on the bed next to me. “I love you, but you’re being ridiculous.”
