Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

11:52 p.m.

“Hey, D, I’m not feeling too well,” I tell Dia. “Mind if I go lay down in Finn’s room or something?”

“What’s wrong?” she worries, guiding her left palm to my forehead to check for a fever.

“I don’t know, it’s just… with everything that’s happened with Ashley, I need a break,” I improvise.

“Say no more.” Dia cracks a sad smile, traps me into a hug, and whispers into my ear. “Third floor, last door at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks.” I nod as I pull away and set off for the staircase on the other side of the house.

I realize, while patting my jeans pockets halfway to the stairs, that I lost my keys somewhere in this circus—my house keys, car keys, work keys. All gone. This night just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?

“Aveena? Holy shit, is that you?” a masculine voice asks before I can reach the stairs. I swivel to find Axel staring at me with ulterior motives and bad intentions glimmering in his eyes. I’m starting to think that’s just this guy’s default mode.

“Axel.” I barely acknowledge

him, checking my phone again.

11:55 p.m.

“Damn, Vee, I almost didn’t recognize you with that hair.” Axel smirks. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” I drone before attempting to walk around him, but he intercepts me, sidling into my way.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.

“I’m good.” I glance over his shoulders at the staircase barely a few feet away.

So close.

“Look, while I have you, there’s this friend of mine I’d like you to meet. Said you’re just his type.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“You haven’t even met him.” He laughs.

One more peek at my phone.

11:57 p.m.

Jesus, this guy is harder to get rid of than a piece of gum under my shoe.

“I don’t need to, I’m… seeing someone,” I lie.

His eyes light up, and I mentally smack myself. Why did I have to say that? It’s only going to lead to more questions.

“You are? Bummer. My buddy was really looking forward to it.”

11:58 p.m.

I don’t have time for this.

“So, who’s the lucky fella—”

I interrupt him. “Sorry, I got to run.”

“But you didn’t even answer my question,” he presses.