Page 49 of He Hate Me

"Um, yeah," I say, putting the phone down on the counter. He actually cranes his neck so he can still see it.

"Is she Hispanic or Black?"

"She's Black," I say, finding the question kind of weird.

"She's a freshman?"

"Yeah. At Marshall."

“You must have met her when she was in middle school, then,"

"Grade school," I respond, without thinking. She used to follow me and Mello around like our shadow. She's his little sister, but over time I've come to see her as mine too.

"Nice," he says, smiling. "They're really fun at that age."

Fun? Does he mean…? No way. He can't be standing there rinsing the dishes like everything's normal after implying a girl that young is.... No, he's not that weird is he? I mean it's kind of strange to hear a grown up say teens are fun when they usually complain how moody and difficult we are. He definitely hasn't given me the benefit of the doubt.

Whatever. I shake my head and check the time. Deja will have to skip breakfast if she doesn't get down here soon. Her omelet is cold anyway. I grab the bullet blender and start prepping a smoothie without thinking about it too hard. She likes Greek yogurt, berries and mango, if I remember correctly. Maybe I'll add a little protein powder or spinach. Devin glances at me in mild curiosity as I get the ingredients out and toss them in. Might as well make myself useful while I wait. Deja hates being late, but she has to eat, right?

Deja slips into the study room around 11:35. I've been here for a while, books spread out on the table, trying to match my scrawled notes with the chapter I'm supposed to be reviewing. As an athlete you always have to keep your grades up, but I never had any trouble doing it at Marshall. Here I'm studying all the time and still just barely keeping my head above water. Deja closes the door and gives the spread a weird look. Did she not realize I use the study rooms to study?

She's wearing yoga pants and an oversized jacket. I wonder if she knows how hot she looks in that outfit. Anyone else I probably wouldn't even notice them, but the shape of her legs and the graceful way she moves are hard to look away from. I motion for her to sit in the chair nearest the door and reposition my chair to face hers.

"What's up?" she asks, crossing her legs at the ankles. "My friends are starting to give me weird looks."

"Why?"

"I keep missing lunch and not telling them why."

"Almost like they don't have lives of their own," I drawl. She shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips.

"They're my friends, Brandon. Friends are supposed to want to know what's going on with each other. Anyway, why am I here?"

"I, ah, wanted to talk about last night." I try to keep my voice steady, but I'm sure she can hear the slight wobble.

"What about last night? You're not trying to get a repeat in the freaking library, are you?"

"No," I say. "Is that a possibility? Cause I'm pretty sure nobody would see us."

Deja sighs. "I, um, no. What did you really want to talk about?"

I spent the last few hours thinking about what to say to her, but now my brain is a jumble. How does anyone get into a relationship if it feels this scary to put yourself out there. My heart feels like it's going to explode.

"Did you have fun last night?"

"What do you think?" she asks. The words are flirty, but her tone is uncertain, almost shy.

"I think you liked it. You were really wet." She looks down, picking at the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. "Are you embarrassed?"

"No!" She's still not looking at me, though. I feel my confidence increase. This is Deja Marcus acting like this.

"I'm going to guess you don't get like that with every guy you meet."

She frowns at me, her expression alternating between irritation and suspicion.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to say anything," I respond, unprepared for the hostility in her tone. It doesn't surprise me, but it's a little disappointing.