Hate Notes: A Sweet Enemies to Lovers Young Adult Romance (Lakeview Prep Book 1)

by Gracie Graham

  Jerkwad: Wow. You sound . . . pretty amazing.

  My stomach flipped as I absorbed his words. They were right there in black and white. Amazing. I never had a boy call me amazing before, and it figured it would be by a guy I loathed. One who thought I was someone else entirely and probably pretty enough to grace the cover of Teen Magazine.

  Swallowing, I typed, You’re just saying that because you know I’m hot. If I looked like a troll, you’d think otherwise.

  Jerkwad: LOL No. Good looks are overrated.

  Liar.

  Me: That’s easy to say when you’re one of the hot ones.

  Jerkwad: Are you calling me hot?

  Psht, as if . . . But I couldn’t say that. This girl liked him enough to agree to a supposed date and give him her number, so I wrote back: You’re super popular, a jock, and, from what I gathered, one of the most wanted guys at Lakeview. You don’t need me to tell you girls think you’re hot.

  My cheeks burned as I waited for his response.

  Jerkwad: It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.

  I caught my breath as the text came through, then glanced around my room, certain I was being pranked. Maybe this was really someone else pretending to be Topher like I was pretending to be Julie because there was no way this was the same boy from school.

  I exhaled a shaky breath and replied.

  Me: Tolstoy?

  Jerkwad: Guilty.

  Me: Now you’re just trying to show off.

  Jerkwad: All I was trying to do was make the point that just because you’re good looking, doesn’t make you a good person.

  Me: Touché.

  I stared at my phone a moment, unsure of what to say next. This was by far the most bizarre conversation I’d ever had in my entire life.

  When I noticed the little gray dots dancing once more on my screen, my insides squeezed, and I hurried to beat him to it. I wasn’t sure how much of this new version of him I could handle. Everything that came out of his mouth was unexpected and it was giving me whiplash trying to keep up.

  Me: Well, I gotta go. Homework is calling.

  The dots on his end disappeared, and there was a pause before they returned again, followed by a text.

  Jerkwad: K. But I’m not even close to being done convincing you. TTYL?

  I debated typing something back, then thought better of it and quickly powered down my phone, lest I give into temptation.

  What in the world was that?

  I blinked into the silence of my room, trying to wrap my head around the conversation we just had. Everything he said had been so unlike the boy I knew him to be. Topher down playing his good looks and popularity. Topher quoting Virginia Woolf and Tolstoy. Topher most clearly trying his best to impress a girl whom he thought to be intelligent. Topher saying I sounded amazing. Me. Not Julie or Gabby or another one of the girls that worshiped him.

  Chapter 10

  PENELOPE

  I grabbed Scarlett by the elbow and steered her toward the girls’ room. I had yet to speak to her this morning since my father drove me to school. “You’ll never believe what happened.”

  “What the—”

  Once we stepped inside the brightly lit bathroom, I spun around and locked the door behind me, then performed a cursory check to make sure there weren't any potential eavesdroppers hiding in the stalls. Satisfied, I turned back with a grin.

  “He texted me back.”

  Her eyes widened, and the corners of her lips curled. “So it was him? No way. What’d he say?”

  “We talked for a few minutes. Turns out, he actually thought I was someone else.”

  Scarlett gasped. “Who?”

  “Some girl named Julie.” I pulled a face, then added, “All I know is that she goes to a different school and they met at a party recently.”

  “But how did you know to pretend to be her? I don’t get it.”

  “Here,” I said, handing over my phone. “It’s easier if you read it.”

  I watched as her blue eyes brightened, moving over the words, and when she finished, she glanced up at me, gaping. And I knew what she was thinking.

  “Weird, right?”

  “I’m so confused.”

  “He actually seemed—”

  “Nice,” she finished for me.

  “And smart,” I added. “I mean, quoting Woolf and Tolstoy? How strange is that? At first, I didn’t know what to make of it because the things he was saying were so out of character for the Topher we know. And then it dawned on me. He probably rehearsed some of that stuff, especially the quotes. I mean, it was clear from the conversation he was into this Julie girl. Maybe that’s his thing. Quoting literary legends. Who knows? It’s not like we’ve ever been on the receiving end of his charms. And it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Scarlett pursed her lips. “Maybe. But even that seems weird. I mean, Topher Elliot having to work at impressing a girl? Since when does he need to do that? All he has to do is glance in a girls’ direction and they swoon.”

  “I thought of that. The way I see it, he’s not trying to impress her so much as he is tricking her into thinking she’s his type. Nothing else makes sense.”

  “Okay . . . Still, it’s hilarious you texted back and forth and he had no idea who you were the whole time.” Scarlett laughed and shook her head. “Serves him right for all the crap he’s put you through.”

  “Which is why I’m going to keep texting him.”

  “Um . . . Why?”

  “Because I’ve been presented with a golden opportunity, don’t you see? Whether he’s trying to impress her or trick her into thinking he’s something he’s not, Julie,” I said, waving my phone in front of her, “is in a position to get a little dirt on the king.”

  I smiled at the thought of finally taking Topher down, and my insides turned all buttery and warm. “There has to be something about him that he wants no one to know. And I’m going to find out what it is. After all these years, I’m going to gain the upper hand. Then the school will be my oyster. I can either blackmail him with it or use it to my advantage and see how he likes his weaknesses being exploited.”

  “But what if he finds out you’re not Julie?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. No one except you has my cell number. Even if he talks to the real Julie and finds out that isn’t who he’s been texting, he’ll never know it’s me.”

  “Are you sure you wanna do this? Because there’s a term for this. It’s called catfishing, and it generally ends in disaster.”

  I scoffed and placed my hands on her shoulders. “You’re worrying for nothing. It’ll be fine.” Then I slung my arm over her shoulders and guided her back toward the door and added, “It’s about time the king of Lakeview got a taste of his own medicine.”

  TOPHER

  The lunch bell rang and everyone spilled from the classroom into the hallway, eager to take a break from class, when Ms. Stone exited the room across from me.

  Her eyes met mine and I quickly turned my back to her, ready to make a break for it when her voice called out, “Hey, Topher. Can I have a word with you a moment?”

  I gritted my teeth and debated whether to completely ignore her. Instead, I thought it better to go with a direct approach.

  I pivoted back around, looping my thumbs underneath the straps of my bookbag. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “It’ll only take a second.”

  “I’m afraid that’s one second longer than I’ve got.”

  She sighed like I was exhausting her. Me. The son of the man she was sleeping with behind his wife’s back.

  Her mouth did this pucker thing like she swallowed a sour lemon, and then she said, “It wasn’t really a request.”

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, mulling over my options. I could refuse, turn around, and head toward lunch. Would she go to Principal Bell and insist I speak with her? If she did, what would be my defense for being so blatantly disrespectful? I couldn’t hardly te
ll him the truth, now could I? At least not if I didn’t want word getting out.

  Not that a part of me wouldn’t enjoy it. I’m sure there was some kind of TOS in the ‘ol teacher student handbook about not sleeping with a student’s parent, and I think I’d quite like to see her fired.

  But outing her meant outing my father, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to be the one to destroy my family and my father’s reputation. If word about an affair with a teacher got around, he might as well kiss his political career goodbye. Not that I gave a damn about him. I did, however, care about my mother.

  The muscle in my jaw twitched. Without a word, I brushed past her and into the classroom, where she closed the door behind us.

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing?”

  I raked a hand through my hair. “I’d be doing a lot better if I weren’t talking to you right now.”

  “Is there a problem here, Topher?”

  My lips ached to say it—to tell her I knew. Instead, I flashed her one of my signature smiles—the kind I was told melted the heart of every girl at Lakeview. My voice sickly sweet when I said, “Whyever would you think that?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, and I’d like to think it was armor against my attempts at charm.

  “I got a phone call from one of your parents . . .”

  Smile faded, and straight-backed, I said, “Oh, I’m sure you did.”

  Her brows drew together. “They’re concerned about water polo interfering with your studies.”

  “Did my father also happen to mention to you that I got an offer from Bucknell? A scholarship. Or did he just sell you some story about how I’d rather sling a ball in the pool and waste away my future than go to college?”

  Her mouth parted, but nothing came out.

  “You know, Ms. Stone, that’s why you’re my favorite teacher. You really go above and beyond for your students.”

  A small smile formed on her lips. I casually strode over to her desk and picked up a crystal paperweight, examined it, and plunked it back down before I turned my gaze, hard as stone, back to hers. “I mean, all those parent teacher conferences you do in your spare time . . .”

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling with a shake of the head like I just couldn’t believe it and whistled. “Gosh, what dedication. I mean, if half the teachers at Lakeview spent even a fraction of the amount of attention and care you put into your students and their parents,” I said with a wicked grin, “just think of the possibilities.”

  Her cheeks turned crimson and her gaze darted away from my face.

  Good. Now she knew. She and my father weren’t a secret, at least not to me.

  I leaned in close, let the peppermint still fresh on my breath from the mint I ate last period wash over her face. “Have a good day, and stay out of my family’s business.”

  I stiff-armed the door, palm flat on the cool glass like a linebacker, and burst into the mostly empty hallway.

  Heat pumped in my veins. My long stride ate the floor.

  To think my father had the audacity to talk to Ms. Stone about me—about my future—like she had any business poking her nose into my personal life. And the fact that she approached me today? What did that even mean? Did he seriously call her the other night after I confronted him about the offer from Bucknell?

  God, how often did they speak that he had to run straight to her when my own mother was probably nursing a glass of wine with a book, alone in our den, wishing she had someone to talk to?

  A headache throbbed at the front of my skull. My skin felt tight and a hand fisted at the base of my spine. Any minute I would come unglued.

  “Hey, Topher,” a girl called out in the hallway, her smile a strip of white through the haze of anger.

  I lifted my chin, offering a head nod as I took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, breathing deep. In an effort to soften my demeanor and diffuse the lit match underneath my skin, I exhaled, flexing my hands. Forced a smile.

  “What up, T?” one of the football players called out, and we slapped hands as we passed each other. “You going to my party Saturday night?”

  I angled my head toward him. “You know it.”

  My muscles relaxed. The headache faded as I settled into my role. Topher Elliot. Royal King. As stupid as it was, at least it gave me something to focus on, a role to play.

  And then I saw her. Penelope Ewe, all long legs, and giant doe eyes. Her whole face lit up when she smiled at her best friend, Scarlett.

  She wore a pair of cut-off jean shorts that hugged her curves and a red t-shirt that skimmed her waist so that as she reached into her locker for a book, it revealed a sliver of torso as she moved.

  I slowed, taking my time, drinking her in.

  What was it about this girl that got to me? Even after my conversation with the Julie chick last night, Penelope still intrigued me more than anyone else in a way I couldn’t explain.

  She entered the combination on her locker while she talked, then lifted the handle and gave it a hip-bump to unjam it as I caught part of their conversation.

  “Are you gonna text him later?” Scarlett asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that . . .”

  Penelope’s voice lowered, so I couldn’t catch the words. But I heard enough to know she was talking about a boy, which sent an unexpected wave of jealousy crashing through me.

  I slowed, almost at her locker, when she wrenched the door open and the contents on the top shelf fell in an avalanche, bopping her on the head and clattering to the floor. At least two dozen sticks of deodorant and room freshener spray fell around her feet in a heap.

  Her hand shot up to the spot where the items pelted her, while she stared down at them with wide eyes.

  “What the—” Scarlett started, mouth agape.

  A blush rose to Penelope’s face, spreading to her ears and neck.

  A couple kids passed by her, remarking on the treasure trove of Speed Stick, snickering as they walked away, and I had to fight the urge to go after them and yank them by the back of their shirts and ask them who did this.

  But I knew, didn’t I?

  This had my friend’s names written all over it.

  A stab of guilt twisted in my belly, knowing this started with me, as she bent down to retrieve a yellow sticky note. Even from where I stood, I could make out the words. P-U was emblazoned in Sharpie.

  My back stiffened as a burst of laughter from across the hallway drew her attention.

  JT and Mikey stood a few rows down on the opposite end of the hallway, folded at the waist, bodies quivering with laughter.

  “Seriously, guys,” Scarlett shouted. “Hilarious.” Then, to Penelope: “Ignore them, P.”

  Without thinking, I closed the gap between us, quickly, while JT and Mikey were still watching, and leaned beside her locker, arms crossed casually over my chest. “What’s with all the deodorant?” I grinned like an idiot, smothering my irritation.

  Penelope’s head whipped around at the sound of my voice, and if the widening of her eyes was any indication, she was surprised by my presence. “Do you think I put these here?”

  I lifted a shoulder like I hadn’t just watched the whole thing play out and didn’t know exactly what happened.

  Without waiting for a response, she huffed and turned to face her locker and began shoving the tubes back inside, so I bent down to help.

  “What? You’re not gonna just stand there and laugh like your friends?” she spat, and okay, I probably deserved that.

  “You know they did this, right?” she asked, eyes blazing like hot coals.

  “They don’t mean anything by it,” I said, though it was the farthest thing from the truth; they got off on the misery of others. “They’re just screwing off.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, and I realized it the second I said it.

  “Is that what you guys do? Go around making everyone’s lives miserable and making excuses for each other?”

  I opened my mou
th to speak, but before I could say anything, Scarlett placed her hand under Penelope’s elbow and helped her up, saying, “Remember the game plan, P. Come on, let’s go.”

  And then they left, leaving me staring after them, wondering, what’s the game plan?

  Chapter 11

  PENELOPE

  I pointed to my notebook with my pencil. “Okay, so in this example, D equals distance fallen in meters and T equals time from jump in seconds.”

  Crinkle. Crinkle.

  My teeth gnashed together.

  I sat in the study room of the library with Topher on my right. “So in this example, at one second, to figure out how far Sam has fallen, we use d = 5t2=5x12=5m.”

  Crinkle. Crinkle.

  I glared at him. The entire building was quiet save for the obnoxious rustling of his chip bag. “And, so to get the speed—”

  Crinkle. Crinkle.

  My hand whipped out and crushed the bag of potato chips, smashing Topher’s fingers in the process.

  “What the heck?” he cried.

  “For the love of all that is holy, would you, please, stop crinkling that dang bag and pay attention?”

  Topher snorted, and it took everything in me not to punch him.

  “Alright, geez. All you had to do was ask,” he said, cramming one last chip into his mouth.

  “You’re not even supposed to have food in here.” I reached up and angrily yanked at my ponytail, tightening it, needing a release for my pent-up rage.

  “Says who?”

  “Um . . . the school? The librarian? I don’t know,” I said, my voice rising with my annoyance. “It’s common knowledge.”

  “Seems dumb to me. Food helps me think.”

  I glared at him.

  Typical. He thinks the rules shouldn’t apply to him.

  He glanced down between us, a furrow between his brow. “Your equation to figure out speed is wrong.”

  “What?” I blinked over at him, then down to the paper where he pointed at the numbers.

  “Down here,” he said. “Where you work out the difference between distance. It should be T plus delta T.”