Page 88 of Hate You, Maybe
Sayla blinks up at me, her lashes impossibly long. “Is this a joke?”
“Not a joke.”
“Wait.” Her blue eyes go so wide, she looks like her irises could explode. “You seriously told Wilford to give the grant to the performing arts department? For real?”
I hitch my shoulders. “For real.”
Next thing I know, Sayla’s lunging at me, wrapping her arms around my body in the world’s biggest chair hug. As she clings to me like a spider monkey, all the air whooshes from my lungs, and I can barely breathe.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushes in between breaths.
When I finally get some oxygen back, I gasp, “You deserve it.”
“But I thought you said we should wait to see what happens.” She falls back into her seat. “We were going to bepatient. Trust the process.” She takes a beat. “I was trusting you. Or at least I was trying to.”
“I know.” I let my eyes go soft, hoping she can see the sincerity there. “I changed my mind.”
She lifts her chin, searching my face like there’s a mystery to solve there. And maybe there is. “Why, though?”
“Because.” I duck my head. “I see you, Sayla Kroft.”
She huffs out a half laugh, looking no less bewildered. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that over the past few days, I’ve had the chance to witness, firsthand and up close, how much you care about other people. How hard you work, and what the effort’s really about. When you’re going after something, the fight isn’t about you. It’s about your department. This school. Your friends. Even your mom. You are so unbelievably dedicated. And loyal.”
By way of response, she pulls in a gust of air, her mouth in a circle.
“To be clear, I always knew you were beautiful. I mean, I do have eyes.” I let out a chuckle. “It’s just that coming around to the rest of it took me a while.” I cock a brow, trying to move this potentially heavy conversation back to light. “In my defense, though, you spent the past three years showing me only one side of you. The I-can’t-stand-Dexter-Michaels side.”
A dimple I’ve never seen before sinks into her cheek. “As it turns out, Icanstand you,” she says. “I can way more than stand you.”
“Umm … I’m not sureway more than standing is a thing.”
“It is now.” She shakes her head, like she’s still a little dazed. Or a lot dazed. Maybe I’m dazed too. “And the same thing is true on my end,” she says. “I’ve seen a completely new side to you, too.”
“With one big difference.” I scratch my beard. “I never hated you.”
“No.” Her eyes shine up at me. “I guess you didn’t.”
“Anyway, now you can add getting the FRIG to your list of reasons to like Dexter Michaels.”
She guffaws. “I’m sorry to tell you, no such list exists.”
“Yet,” I quip.
“Yet,” she agrees. “So what did you say to Mr. Wilford, anyway?”
“I basically borrowed from what you told Bob, Hildy, and Fern. I paraphrased all the stuff about the performing arts being a home for everybody. A place where kids might even get some money for college. I thought a lot about that, and you’re right. Athletes get acceptances and scholarships for sports all the time. Even full rides. And the super high achievers get the academic scholarships. But choir, theater, band, orchestra—all the arts—those offer real opportunities for a lot of other students. And that meant something to me.”
There’s a stretch of silence as Sayla processes my words. “You really told him all that?” Her jaw shifts, and I start to worry I’ve painted myself as some kind of knight who swooped in on a horse to save her. And we all know how I feel about horses.
“I did,” I say. “But Wilford was already planning to give you the money. I’m sure of it. So don’t think of this as a favor. But more like me speeding up the inevitable.”
“Dex.” Her eyes begin to well up. “Your department still needs the grant, too.”
“We do.”
“And when you’re at Harvest High, you’ll have plenty of funding and support to work with. But what about the athletics at Stony Peak?”
