Page 32 of I Love to Hate You
“What were you planning on doing, taking on the entire house?” he asks in all seriousness.
I scoff. “You’re one to talk. You snuck in there like a ninja and slammed a guy’s face into a China cabinet, then held him in a headlock while he bled on the floor. What the hell got into you?”
Kendrick gives his attention to the road in front of us as traffic shifts and we start to drive the speed limit again.
“I just didn’t like the look of it,” he explains. “I walked in, and everyone had their back to the door and their eyes on the den. It was literallyallof them against you, and shit like that doesn’t sit right with me. I had to remind them.”
“Remind them? Remind them of what?” I ask, my brow furrowed in curiosity.
“That you and I aren’t like them,” he answers. “I know you’re not from where I’m from, but I see you, Maya. You struggle with the same shit I do. Walking through the halls of Temple, surrounded by people who’ve always had it better than you—it does something to your mindset. It changes you and makes you stand out. It scares them, but it feels like home to me. You just need to be more careful, because they hate what makes us different from them, and I might not be around to save you next time.”
“I didn’t ask you to save me,” I reply. “I went in there thinking it was just going to be a party. I thought you asked me to go so we could hang out and have a good time. I didn’t know I was going to be ambushed. I only went because of you.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But that’s what you implied by saying you only went because of me. If I didn’t tell you to think about going, you never would have.”
“God, you’re sensitive,” I snip, staring a hole into the side of Kendrick’s face.
“Me?” he barks, before chuckling. “Didn’t I catch you with Amy’s hair wrapped around your fist while she was bent over at a ninety-degree angle? That was you, right?”
“She had it coming and you know it. I don’t wanna hear shit from the guy who just performed a wrestling move on my ex. Who are you, The Rock? Are you John Cena?”
“Oh, that’s real funny, Hulk Hogan.”
“Why am I Hulk Hogan?”
“I heard that story about you smooshing that poor girl’s face into the wall because she bumped you,” he says while veering the car toward an exit. “You’re out here smashing hands with textbooks and making people miss volleyball games. You’re a whole menace. I’m surprised Batman hasn’t swooped down here to beat the shit out of you, you goddamn villain.”
“You’re worse than me!” I bark with wide eyes. “How about you punching some sad little nerd in the face in the cafeteria? They had to pull you off him and drag you away like you were the leader in a prison riot. There’s literally no peace when you’re around, and you’re chastising me? I don’t think so, Glass House.”
“Me, glass house?” he exclaims. “No, you’re a glass house.”
“Oh, now I’m a glass house?”
“Yeah, because I see right through your bullshit.”
“You don’t see shit,” I say, just as Kendrick pulls the car into the dark parking lot of an abandoned apartment complex. “You just think you know everything.”
“I knowyou,” he states unequivocally, before snatching up the car’s handbrake.
“Please. What do you think you know about me?”
He shuts off the car and turns his body toward me. “I know you broke up with your ex because you think he’s a pussy.”
“Everybodythinks Eddie’s a pussy. No surprise there,” I rebut.
“Yeah, but you’re the only one who hates him for it because you’re from a place where pussies can’t survive. You didn’t like having to defend him, and every time you did, you thought less of him, which is why he thinks you’re a prude—because you don’t like the idea of fucking a guy who’s too much of a bitch to have your back when it matters most. Which, by the way, is also why you followed me out of there tonight.”
I suddenly feel tense as I look Kendrick in the eyes. The butterflies are completely awake now and have taken flight in my belly, making me feel like I could fall out of this seat were we not in a closed car. It takes concentration just to swallow and speak again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“Yes, you do,” he refutes without missing a step. “All that shit about not liking being told what to do—all of that might work on a guy like Eddie, who’s too afraid to tell you what to do anyway. But it doesn’t work on me.”
I scoff. “Oh, really? You think you can tell me what to do? You think I’d listen toyou?”
