Page 22 of Hate Notes

Maybe it was time to take a risk. Step out of my comfort zone.

Which brought me to the question. Who was Topher Elliot without them?

I drove home, thinking about everything that had happened today—Penelope, the time at the pool with my friends, and the anonymous text.

When I parked in the long winding driveway in front of our house, I sat there a moment before I picked up my phone and re-read the text I’d received, taking it in with fresh eyes. The text had “chick” written all over it. There was no way a dude would send something like this. We were more direct. Instead, a guy would just come out and call me a prick to my face and be done with it. Which meant it was either some girl I’d rebuffed at school, a prank, or one of the girls I met over the summer from another school.

Regardless of who it was, I opened a new text and debated what to write back. Unless it was a prank, they clearly hated my guts. But what if I could change their mind?

I said I wanted to be different. This was the perfect chance to prove it—a chance to put my money where my mouth was—so I began to type.

Chapter 9

PENELOPE

AfterwegothomefromSara’spractice,DadandIfixedspaghettifordinner.WhileIbrownedthemeatandheatedthesauce,heboiledthepasta,andSarasetthetable.Itwasoneoftheonlymealswepreparedtogetherbecause,well,itwashardtomessupnoodles.

By the time I headed up to my room and got a shower, I flopped down on my bed, sinking into the tattered quilt that belonged to my mother when she was a girl. A glance at the clock above my desk told me I had approximately one hour before Sara finished watching TV with my dad and headed to our room where she’d inevitably launch into her evening ritual of recounting every minute detail of her day for me as she fell asleep.

A text on my phone pinged from its perch on my nightstand. I lay there a moment, staring at it as fatigue from the long day set in before I remembered the text I sent.

Maybe it was Topher.

My stomach dropped as I snatched it up and saw his name on the screen. Or at least, the code name I saved for him—Jerkwad.

I dropped my gaze and chewed on my lip a moment before debating simply erasing it and forgetting about the whole thing. For all my bravado earlier, the introvert in me had returned. I wasn’t sure I could handle a scathing response. Even though Topher didn’t know it was me, I did, and for a person who made it their life’s mission to avoid confrontation, that was a problem.

But after a moment, curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the text. Besides, I was being ridiculous. No one knew it was me, so there was no harm in reading his response.

Jerkwad:LOL Who is this?

Of course he’d get a nasty text and laugh it off. He probably thought it was some big joke.

People think I’m a jerk. Harharhar.

It probably only deepened his feelings of superiority. Like as long as he had haters, he was winning in life.

I couldn’t help myself as I typed,Whodo you think it is?

Jerkwad:Hmmm . . .

Jerkwad:Is it someone from my school?

I typedYes, then quickly erased it. I had no reason to be paranoid that he might suspect it was me, but still. It felt too risky to say yes because all he’d think about is trying to figure out who Ireallywas.

Instead, I typedNoand hit send.

Jerkwad:Okay . . . give me a hint. How do I know you and what school do you go to?

Panic swelled in my chest and my fingers froze on the keyboard. I had no clue what to say, mostly because when I texted him, I never thought he’d text back wanting an actual conversation. I figured he’d either blow me off or tell me off. Not this . . . whatever this was.

Unsure of myself, I typed out a response.

Me:Shouldn’t we address the proverbial elephant in the room first?

Jerkwad:Which is?

Me:That I obviously don’t like you.

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