Page 30 of I Love to Hate You
Leaving behind the shocked expressions and loud whispers, I make my way inside through the front door, where I’m greeted by thunderous music, followed by the wide-eyed stares of every person close to the door. I watch as two people notice me, and the two of them tap the people next to them. The signal of my presence spreads through the house like fire, consuming people before my eyes. My good feelings about tonight quickly become miffed and leave me feeling heavier. Every step I take feels like it shakes the house and everyone has to hold onto something just to survive, but I push past the entrance and quietly slide through crowds as I hunt for a familiar face. It’s not absolutely everyone who notices me, but it feels like it. Temple isn’t that small of a college, but I suddenly feel like its most popular person.
“What’s she doing here?” a girl says to her boyfriend right in front of me, but I ignore the question and the look of disgust in her eyes when I walk by.
“Who invitedher?” another girl says to her group of friends, who wait for me to pass before answering.
By the time I reach the back of the house, I have no more good feelings about being here, and have half a mind to turn around and leave. However, that would require a return trip through the living room, and I’d rather hurl myself down a flight of stairs than do that again.
“Is that … Maya Valentina?” an unfamiliar voice says when I enter the den and try to walk through it to get to the backyard. When I follow the voice, I recognize the face it belongs to.
“Oh, hey Amber. Nice party,” I say, and I know it sounds ridiculous the second the words leave my lips.
I’ve never thought of myself as socially awkward or believed that I wasn’t one of the cool kids, but now that I’m here, I’m beginning to feel like there was a memo about me that I haven’t read. I feel so uncomfortably out of place in this setting that I don’t know what to do with my hands. How do I stand again? I’ve never been more aware of the position of my body than this very moment.
“Uhh, yeah,” Amber responds, frowning. “And who invitedyouto it?”
A gasp rips through the silence like a lighter flicking on before a blaze of oohs and ahhs spreads through the packed den. I look around and see all eyes on me, my last thread of hope for the evening burning away.
“Who invitedme?” I say, a familiar growl growing in my throat. “I thought it was a graduation party for everyone.”
“It is, but I never expectedyouto show up,” she fires back, clearly fueled by the drink in her hand and the support of the friends at her back. Plus, this is her house. All it would take is one phone call and the police would drag me out of here in front of everyone, and I suddenly realize that this isn’t the Temple U campus. I’m in the real world now, and it feels drastically different.
I scoff, trying to buy myself more time before my anger gets the best of me. “Seriously, Amber. You want to start shit with me as soon as I walk inside?”
Amber turns to her left, grabbing the attention of a few girls next to her. “Does everybody remember the time I missed the start of volleyball season during our sophomore year?” she says, addressing the crowd now instead of me. “I bet only a few of you knew it was because Maya Valentina smashed my hand with a fucking textbook in the bathroom, because I accidentally splashed water on her shirt while washing my hands. I ended up missing the first two games of the season.”
“Damn, that was because ofher?” one of the girls next to Amber asks.
It’s clear Amber didn’t tell that story to her friends, probably out of embarrassment. What’s worse is that I barely remember the incident, and that’s the problem with snapping on people all the time. To me, it wasn’t a big enough deal to remember, but to Amber, it was a traumatic event that seared itself into her brain, and she’ll probably never forget it.
“That was, uhh, regrettable,” I say. Guilt begins to swirl in me, but it’s watered down by how irritated I feel about being put on the spot in front of everyone in the den. I barely remember the encounter with Amber, but the memory of my father tossing a beer bottle down the stairs that morning to wake me up is quite vivid.
“Regrettable?” Amber snips, scoffing. “Yeah, I’d say it was regrettable. You were terrible to me … to a lot of people, and you knew all along that no one would want you here.”
“She smashed my face against the wall two weeks ago,” another girl says, who I also barely remember. “I bumped into her as I came around a corner, and she literally slammed my face against the wall.”
“Wow,” Amber says, taking up the mantle as ringleader of the I Hate Maya Circus. “You’ve been despicable, and we’re trying to celebrate leaving Temple for good without memories of you bullying us ruining the moment.”
“Bullying? You all think I bullied you? I never wanted to be the school bu—”
“Of course it was bullying,” a new voice says, cutting me off. I recognize it in an instant, and it makes my blood boil. I turn my head just in time to see Amy stepping into the den with Eddie following closely behind her. “I told you a long time ago that you’re an angry bully who has to use violence to beat people into submission. It’s sad that you’re just now realizing it.”
I glare at Amy, ready to reach out and snatch her by that red hair of hers, but I know it wouldn’t go well tonight—not with so many people against me.
“You guys know what else she is?” Eddie suddenly says, smiling like a child finally getting his way. “She’s also a prude.”
Chuckles begin popping up all around me as the entire room focuses on us. I’m the center of attention, and it feels horrible.
“I’m not a prude,” I mumble, barely loud enough to be heard as my confidence shrinks into a tiny ball in my gut that’s too small to be felt.
“What’s that?” Eddie says. “I think she said something.”
“I said I’m not a prude,” I say again, louder but no more intimidating.
“Well, you’redefinitelya bitch,” Amy interjects, followed by laughter.
“And a cunt,” Amber adds, and the entire house begins to laugh like we’re suddenly in a sitcom.
The roles shift and I’m no longer the person who can make people submit. There’s only one of me, and everyone I had an issue with is right here at the same time, relishing in the fact that there is strength in numbers, and they can gang up on me without fear of my retaliation now because we’re never stepping foot on a college campus again. It’s everybody versus me, and with more people huddling around, I can’t even get to the door to leave. My eyes mist over against my will, and there is too much attention on me for someone to not notice. They see me on the verge of tears, and it only adds fuel to the flammable mixture of hate and mob mentality. Everyone in the room is laughing at me, and I can’t leave. Coming here was a horrible decision.
