Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

“Ecstatic,” he says with a small grin.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Dig the new hair, by the way.” He lightly pokes me with his elbow. “Pink looks good on you, Harper.”

“Thanks, dork.”

It’s like a switch.

From the second the words trickle out of my mouth, Xavier pulls back, his smile slipping away. He stares at me as though I just slapped him across the face with a pan, the shock in his eyes indecip

herable.

“What did you just call me?” he asks.

Realization crushes me like a pile of bricks.

I just called him a dork, didn’t I?

“Did you just call me a dork?” he urges when I don’t reply.

No, it can’t be.

It’s just one stupid nickname.

He can’t be thinking what I’m thinking.

He’s about to speak again when my loud ringtone slashes through the air. Saved by the phone, I check the caller ID in a haste. Mom.

“I’m sorry, I-I have to take this,” I babble, pushing to my feet and distancing myself from him before I guide the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell did you do to your sister?” Mom screeches as soon as I pick up.

“Hi, Mother. I’m great, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Do not start with me, Aveena. I just called one of Ashley’s cast mates, since rehearsal was supposed to end hours ago. Turns out there was never a play rehearsal scheduled tonight.”

Busted.

“Have you tried calling her?”

“What do you think?” she yells. “I put a tracker on her phone last week, and you know where it led me tonight? To the Richards’ house. On a Saturday night. I’m not stupid, Aveena. I’m well aware of what kids like to do on Saturday nights, and I know your trollop friend Diamond is seeing this Richards kid. I was willing to turn a blind eye when you asked for nights out, but you’re completely out of control! I can’t believe you’d coerce your underage sister into getting drunk at some party!”

Of course she’d assume it’s my fault.

God forbid Ashley actually made her own decisions.

“What? I wouldn’t do that. She came all on her own. I tried to get her to leave, but I lost her in the crowd and now I can’t find her.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” A bitter laugh echoes down the line. “My Ashley would never be so reckless. She’d never mix with…” She pauses. “Your kind of people.”

My kind of people?

Call us peasants, why don’t you?

“Well, maybe you don’t know your precious Ashley as well as you think you do.” I erupt, shocked by my own audacity. This night has been a killer headache, and my bullshit meter is nearing its limit.

“Aveena Harper D’Amour, are you talking back at me?” Mom cranks the yelling up five notches, and I flinch, driving the phone away from my ear. I’m this close to losing my temper and going crazy town on her when I remember I have an audience.