Page 77 of He Hate Me

“But then he got in trouble, right?”

Mello nods, taking a bite of his sandwich. “He sold to some cop’s kid and got popped.

“Did he go to jail.”

“Did a few months in juvie far as I know, but that was like two years ago at least. I’d a thought living with y’all he wouldn’t need money like that.”

“You think maybe it’s because his mom’s in hospice?”

“I thought your stepdad was paying for that.”

“Did Brandon tell you that? He told me the opposite.”

“That’s my bad then. I asked him and he said somebody was taking care of it. I figured it was your dad, but now that I think about it, if he was gonna do that, he would have done it years ago and Brandon wouldn’t have gone to jail.”

“Did he ever, I mean, was he using?”

“I mean everybody smokes some weed. Weren’t you high the night I met you?”

“Yeah, weed, but he had pills and coke, too.”

Mello shakes his head. “Like I said he’s hanging with RVH. I mean, I get he’d want to make a buck off that cokehead, but that shit is expensive. I hope he didn’t get in with somebody dangerous.”

I hadn’t even thought of that.

If he was doing it to help his mom, that put a different complexion on it. It didn’t really excuse the lying, but at least he wasn’t just trying to make a quick buck.

“He and I…” I say, softly.

“I know,” Mello says. His smile is compassionate. “You all don’t hide it very well.”

“Do you think everyone knows?”

Mello shrugs. “I don’t think most of those kids can see past their own noses. I’ve never in my life met a group of people so self-absorbed. But I think a few people have noticed something.”

“I don’t know how to handle this. Last night I said I was done with him, you know. He lied to me and he’s a criminal. But when I saw him earlier it was hard to look at him and think we weren’t going to be together anymore. I’m in love with him, but I feel like I can’t be with someone who’s breaking the law like that.”

“I understand,” Mello says. “But those kids you’re going to school with, the ones who are headed for Yale and NYU and Northwestern. How many of them do you think will be running stock funds that cheat people out of their life savings in ten years? Fifteen years from now, they’ll be running companies that dump toxic waste into the ocean and lie about it or use slave labor and pretend not to see it. Would you feel like you had to give one of those guys up because he’s less than honest, or is it only because Brandon’s on the street and they’ll be in a boardroom?”

“I’d have to—” I start to say, but then I get his point. It’s all dirty. The entire system is dirty, we just pretend it’s not. Rourke should have been expelled. Gio should have faced repercussions for hurting Mello. Ivy League schools shouldn’t have legacy admissions and companies should have to pay for the environmental damage they do. But top to bottom, society is unfair, and the winners are those that figure out how to get away with it. Brandon selling a few thousand dollars’ worth of drugs to the sons of the people ruining the world is not that bad in the grand scheme of things. Not bad enough for me to give up on the only guy I’ve ever loved.

Brandon

I pace the floor of my room, waiting for Anton to call me. Since I texted him last night that I was kicked out, and got an “okay,” he hasn’t responded to my texts until 10 minutes ago when he finally said, “I’ll call you.” Now I’m watching the second hand of the clock, each sweep around the dial feeling like an hour. I’ve barely eaten today, and the soup I choked down half an hour ago is threatening to come back up. I don’t even try to do homework; I know I wouldn’t be able to concentrate and after all that studying I did last night, I’m almost certain I failed my math test. As if that shit even matters now.

“Hello,” I say, as soon as the phone rings.

“I’ve got ten minutes. Tell me what happened—fast.”

“Devin went into my room last night and found my stash. He kicked me out.”

“Where’d you leave it that he found it?”

“In my room. He pretended they went to bed, but he was really searching my room. I was in Deja’s room. I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I tried to talk to her today and she wouldn’t listen, and she blocked me. Can you get me into the house? I know if I could be alone with her, I could⁠—‘