Page 20 of I Love to Hate You
“That boy is batting way out of his league,” Simon quips, chuckling. “He got rich parents or something? That’s almost on the same level as the eighty-year-old guy we saw earlier. We must be doing something wrong because these dudes are out here cleaning up. Meanwhile, I’m single, and your fuck buddy is trying to get you to beat up women. We need to step our game up, bro.”
I don’t know why Simon’s statement lights a fire beneath me. What is it about watching Maya and her boyfriend walk into the mall that fills me with bristling hot coals? I don’t know the answer, but I know how it feels. The last time Maya and I were face-to-face it was hostile. The time before that, we were arguing back and forth about some dumb ass pitch she wanted to do—a pitch that I had to save with a freestyle like I’m fucking Eminem or something. She didn’t even thank me for swooping in there and saving her from embarrassing herself in front of all those people. She just sat down and went back to scowling … right next tohim.
The two of them split up. Maya finds an empty table next to Popeye’s while her boyfriend walks to the restaurant and gets in line. I watch him for a moment, looking him up and down, wondering what attracts her before realizing what I’m doing. I don’t know why I care. I just know I don’t like anything about him. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he was the asshole hiding in the back of the class while shouting that idiotic question about Ancestry.com during our pitch, and that’s just more of a reason for me to want to act up.
“Kendrick, where are you going?” Simon asks, but it’s too late. I’m out of my seat and walking toward Popeye’s. “Kendrick.”
“I’m hungry,” I lie, never bothering to turn around.
“You’re not fucking hungry,” Simon yells as I put distance between us.
I think I hear the sound of him getting up to follow me, but I don’t care. I keep my eyes on Maya’s date, walking like a man on a mission until I reach the back of the Popeye’s line and I’m standing directly behind my target.
Fueled by an emotion too strong for me to understand, I step much closer to him than anyone should need to be while standing in a line. It’s common courtesy to give the people around you as much space as possible while still maintaining the integrity of the line. Only someone rude and disrespectful would stand so close that their breath can be felt on your neck. Today, I’m rude and disrespectful.
I breathe on his neck over and over again, until he finally has the balls to spin around and glare at me. His face is filled with annoyance, his brow furrowed into an angry scowl as he tries to use his demeanor to scare away whoever is being so bothersome. But, then we make eye contact. I see the moment he recognizes me, and watching the anger ooze out of his face sends my confidence and competitive drive into the stratosphere. His spirit rinses away easily like soapy bubbles, leaving behind a look of dread that almost puts a smile on my face.
“What the fuck are you looking at, bro? You got a problem?” I ask, every word coated in malice.
He swallows so hard I can hear it. “Wh … I don’t … you were just kind of close.”
“So? I can stand wherever I want. If you don’t like it, move up or get out of the line. What you won’t do is turn around looking at me, because I can tell from that sheepish little face of yours that you don’t want any problems with me.”
“You’re right,” he concedes, disappointing me with how easily he cowers. “I’m just trying to order for me and my girlfriend. I don’t want any issues with you, Kendrick.”
I scoff, because letting it go this easily doesn’t satisfy the feeling in my gut.
“How do you know my name?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
“I go to Temple U,” he says.
I shrug. “No shit. You’ve heard about me, but I’ve never heard about you. What’s your name?”
“Eddie,” he says. “I think everybody there has at least heard about you.”
“Is that right? What have you heard?”
He pinches his lips together, because he and I both know that whatever he has heard isn’t something he can say to me. When you’re as aggressive as I’ve been at college, it causes two reactions. Yes, people will be afraid of you, but they will also hate you, and hate makes people talk a lot of shit when you’re not around.
“Umm, nothing,” he replies, just adding fuel to an inferno.
“Nothing? You just said everybody there has heard about me. Were you lying just now, or are you trying to hide something?”
“I’m not … look, I don’t want to get into this. I just want to order my food.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I snip, just as Eddie is pulled backwards until he takes two steps back to make room for Maya.
“What the … what are you doing here?” she asks, her face twisted in anger and completely devoid of fear.
“I’m getting ready to order some food. You want some?” I answer nonchalantly.
Maya scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Why don’t you leave Eddie alone and go back to your girlfriend Amy?”
“First of all, she’s not my girlfriend,” I say, as people begin to stare at us because Maya can’t keep her voice down. “Second of all, why are you being so loud? Third of all, your little boyfriend has been talking shit about me with his corny little friends while they play Secret Hitler and drink Mike’s Hard Lemonade together.”
“What are you even talking about?” Maya barks loudly again, drawing even more attention.
“Why can’t you stop yelling?” I fire back while still trying to keep my voice down, but it’s of no use. Every table within earshot is now eyeing us with apprehension. We’ve become the loud and raucous youngsters causing problems in the middle of the mall thanks to Maya’s big mouth.
