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

by Gracie Graham

  My eyes shifted to the part of the problem he was referring to, the section below where I was at in my explanation. And . . .

  He was right.

  My face flushed as I realized my mistake—a dumb mistake at that.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek as I quickly erased it and rewrote the equation. How? How did I not catch that? Worse yet, how did he?

  “No need to feel bad about it. You probably just switched it up by mistake. Could happen to anyone.”

  “I know what I did,” I snapped.

  “Whoa. Touchy.” He raised his hands in surrender.

  “How are you so good at this anyway?” I asked, angrily gesturing toward the paper. Yesterday I noticed the same thing. He wasn’t exactly desperate for my help. “Aren’t I supposed to be tutoring you?”

  He shrugged and stole another chip from the bag before I could swat his hand away. “Whoever said I didn’t know what I was doing?”

  “Um, that’s kind of what needing a tutor implies.”

  He bit his lip, and I tried my best not to follow the movement with my eyes and failed. “I have a 4.0.”

  The circumference of my eyes quadrupled.

  “But I thought you were dumb,” I blurted, then sucked in my lips, wishing I could take it back.

  Topher laughed. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, but the truth is I’ve had a tutor since freshman year to ensure I keep my GPA up. Think of academics like a sport. The more you practice, the better you get, and I don’t really like to study by myself, so . . .”

  I arched a brow. So he was both hot, popular, captain of the water polo team, and incredibly smart. Fantastic. Life was so fair.

  “So let me get this straight. You have a tutor to practice math instead of studying on your own . . . just because?”

  “I’m kind of a perfectionist.” He leaned casually back in his chair.

  “But . . .” I frowned. I didn’t like this version of him, mostly because it didn’t line up with the one I knew and hated.

  With a sigh, he rolled his eyes and shot a hand through his golden locks. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my dad puts a lot of pressure on me to get perfect grades. I can’t even slip an inch. This is just insurance.”

  “Why? I mean, does it really matter? Aren’t you just going to work for his company?”

  “That’s what he wants.” He avoided my eye as he picked up his phone and started fiddling with it.

  I thought about what he just said and how he implied that he didn’t want to work for his father and filed this away for future analysis.

  My phone pinged from where it sat in front of me. Distracted, I swiped at the lock screen to see a new text from “Jerkwad.” Before I could click it off again, Topher craned his neck over my shoulder to see my screen, which is when I realized he hadn’t been just h with his phone, he’d been texting me. Or Julie. Or . . . crap, this was going to get confusing fast.

  I quickly drew my phone to my chest, away from his prying eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done.

  He snorted. “Who’s Jerkwad?”

  “No one. What did you see?” I demanded, a quiver in my voice. If my cover was blown, I was screwed.

  “Enough to see the name and know someone you don’t like must be texting you.” He whistled, eyes wide. “I’d hate to be that poor guy.”

  A nervous spurt of laughter escaped my sealed lips. If you only knew.

  He looked at me like I had two heads before turning his attention back to his own phone and began typing again.

  I quickly flicked the mute button on mine, and it about killed me, but I shoved it inside my bag without looking at it.

  What could he possibly have to say during our session that couldn’t wait? I was dying to know.

  My eyes darted to where I stowed my phone, and he tracked the movement.

  “You’re being weird,” he said.

  “I am not,” I said, my tone dripping with disdain. “I’m just very private.”

  He narrowed his eyes, then, as if he thought better of it, shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

  “If you’re such an open book, who were you talking to?”

  A wide grin stretched across his face. “A chick. I think she likes me.”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course he’d say that.

  Still, my heart beat a little faster. “Like Gabby’s some big secret,” I said, playing along, mostly because I wanted to see if I could get more information from him.

  “It’s not Gabby,” he said, almost like he was insulted. “She’s not the only girl I talk to, ya know.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I mumbled, then proceeded to examine my nail polish—a bright lemon yellow, the color of optimism and happiness. Because, for once, I finally had a plan to take control of my school life and bring down the king.

  “Seriously. Look,” he said, flashing me his phone, with a text to “Julie.”

  I harrumphed, barely glancing at the screen. “There’s no seniors named Julie that I know of at Lakeview.”

  He rolled his eyes. “If you must know, she doesn’t go to Lakeview.”

  “Wow. Dating outside your usual top three, huh? However will you manage?”

  “Hey, you can make fun all you want, but I don’t care because this girl seems pretty dope.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh, yeah? And what makes her so great?”

  “She’s . . . different. Special. Not superficial like a lot of the girls here.”

  I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. If he knew Julie was me, he’d probably choke on his own spit.

  “You know,” he continued, grumpily, “for someone so quiet, you sure have been awfully vocal lately.”

  “Maybe I’m just tired of taking everyone’s crap.”

  At that, his cheeks flushed, and he glanced down at his calculus book. “Yeah, about the locker thing . . .” He trailed off.

  Good. He should feel bad.

  “Just so you know, I had nothing to do with that.”

  I sighed and picked up my pencil, ready for this conversation to end. “Does it really matter?”

  “To me it does.”

  My eyes flicked back up to his and my stomach clenched. The violet-blue was so bright, it was practically blinding.

  It would be so easy to get lost in them. No wonder all the girls fell at his feet.

  Not me, though, I told myself.

  I was not like the other girls.

  Afterward, when I made my way to Mrs. Geigen’s classroom, I checked the text Topher sent. It was a goofy picture, taken at Mary’s diner. I recognized a couple of the employees in the background, as well as the retro black and white checked floor and red vinyl booths.

  He was hunched over, eyes crossed, lips in a duck-like pucker with a straw wedged between his nose and his upper lip.

  Jerkwad: On a scale from 1 to 10, how hot am I?

  I pursed my lips. I wasn’t sure which was more annoying, his being playful—something I hadn’t expected—or the fact that despite the dumb look on his face, he still looked cute.

  I debated ignoring him, but instead, I found myself grinning as I typed.

  Me: In this pic? Like a 9 for sure.

  Jerkwad: 9?

  Me: At least.

  Jerkwad: That’s pretty good. And normally?

  I rolled my eyes. Just what I expected. When you’re as beautiful as Topher Elliot, you like being reminded. He couldn’t be more predictable if he tried.

  Me: Eh, like a 4.

  Jerkwad: A 4?! You wound.

  Me: Honesty is always the best policy.

  Jerkwad: So, I look better as a cross-eyed Quasimodo, with duck lips. Noted.

  Grinning, I started to put my phone back in my pocket when my phone chimed again.

  I checked it, though I told myself I wouldn’t.

  Jerkwad: Don’t I get a pic of you? Come on, send me your best.

  My stomach sank to my knees. I should’ve known this was coming, and even
if I evaded this time, there would be a next.

  Thinking on my toes, I quickly sent a GIPHY of a witch with green skin and a long nose.

  Jerkwad: HOT! 10 out of 10.

  Jerkwad: Now, where’s the real pic.

  I chewed on my lip a moment before I thought up a response.

  Me: Good things come to those who wait . . .

  Jerkwad: Dang, Abe Lincoln. Okay.

  With a smile, I shoved my phone back in my pocket and shook my head.

  Chapter 12

  TOPHER

  It was Friday night, and I laid awake in bed, hair damp from the shower, muscles like Jell-O from practice.

  I never stayed home on a Friday night. Ever. But after my tutor sessions with Ewe, my irritation with my friends, Ms. Stone, my texts with Julie, and my offer from Bucknell, I was spent.

  I glanced over at my nightstand and slid open the drawer, removing the letter from Bucknell. The tear in the envelope was ragged. I smoothed it down with a finger while I debated what to do with it.

  I still hadn’t made a decision, but if I wanted to entertain their offer, I needed to.

  Was water polo a waste of time? Was I dreaming to think I could have the best of both worlds—a sport I loved and a career, too?

  I exhaled and set the envelope back inside the drawer and shut it. Then I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and clicked open to my last text from Julie. With a smile, I read our exchange. I know I met her a couple weeks ago at JT’s, but something about her felt like I’d known her a lot longer, and I needed someone to talk to, even if it was just to take my mind off of my problems for a moment.

  My fingers flew over the keys as I typed: You awake?

  A second passed before my phone chimed and I smiled.

  Julie: Yep.

  Me: How was your day?

  Julie: Uneventful. You?

  Me: Eh, okay.

  Julie: Just okay?

  Me: It was fine. Just dealing with some family stuff.

  Julie: ???

  Me: My dad. He can be a little difficult sometimes.

  Julie: Difficult, how?

  I hesitated. It was obvious I wanted someone to commiserate with. Did that make me look pathetic? Did I care if it did? Worst case, she’d think I was a tool and ditch me, and then I’d know she wasn’t worth pursuing. Or, she’d prove she was different than Gabby and the chicks at my school that saw me as King and nothing more.

  Me: Just . . . demanding and overbearing. Nothing is ever good enough for him, you know? It gets old trying to be perfect after a while.

  I winced after I hit send.

  Julie: If you look for perfection, you'll never be content.

  Me: Look who’s quoting Tolstoy now. Show off.

  Julie: Hey, you started it. Besides, it’s apt.

  Apt. God, he dug this chick. How many girls did he know that used the word apt in regular conversation? It filled his secretly nerdy-ass heart with joy.

  Topher: It’s a good quote.

  Julie: Seriously though, that sucks. No one’s perfect. Putting that kind of pressure on yourself will only bring you grief.

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  I inhaled a cleansing breath, filling my lungs before I slowly exhaled again.

  Me: It’s hard to break out of that mold though.

  Julie: So do something completely unexpected. Something out of character. Something someone who is perfect wouldn’t do.

  My thoughts drifted to the unexpected. Penelope and Bucknell came to mind.

  Me: Easier said than done.

  Julie: No one said it would be easy. But it would be freeing. That’s what makes it worth it.

  Me: For someone who says that trying to be perfect will bring you grief, you sure sound perfect.

  Julie: Um. No, far from it.

  Me: Okay, give me one way in which you're imperfect.

  My phone goes dead, and though it was probably only a couple minutes, it felt like hours before she responded.

  Julie: It’s rare, but sometimes . . . and this is hardly ever, but . . . I resent my sister.

  Whoa. Not what I expected.

  Me: How so?

  Julie: My mom died when I was 12, and ever since, I’ve focused so much of my time and energy on her. Making sure she doesn’t miss out. Playing that part in all the ways my dad can’t.

  I ran a hand over my face, feeling like a tool. There I was, just moments ago, complaining about my father because he wants me to take over his business someday—a business where I’d make loads of cash—while Julie knew what it was like to grieve a parent.

  Me: Wow. That’s super rough. I can’t even imagine, but that’s pretty understandable to feel that way.

  Julie: Maybe. And it’s rare that I do, but I still feel like a jerk.

  Me: How old was your sister when . . . ?

  Julie: My sister was only three, so she didn’t have as much time with her. And sometimes I think she’s lucky because missing my mom is so much harder knowing how amazing she was. But then, I think of her and know I wouldn’t trade the time I had for anything.

  Me: What about your dad?

  Julie: My dad’s pretty cool. He works a lot, and sometimes I wish he didn’t have to. It means I end up picking up some of the slack at home, but we make it work. Enough about me though. Tell me more about your parents.

  Me: I think my dad means well, but . . . I don’t know. It’s like I’m never enough, you know? And my mom is amazing, but sometimes I wish she’d stand up to him instead of putting up with his crap.

  Julie: Have you ever told him how you feel?

  Me: Not exactly. I’m thinking it wouldn’t go over well though.

  Julie: Never know until you try.

  True. But there was no way in hell I was sitting down with my father any time soon and hashing out my feelings.

  Me: Anyway, tell me something else about yourself. Anything.

  Julie: I’m pretty boring.

  Me: I doubt anything about you is boring.

  Julie: You don’t even really know me.

  Me: Exactly. Only one way to change that . . .

  Julie: What do you wanna know?

  Me: What’s your biggest pet peeve?

  Julie: Getting stood up.

  Me: Haha

  Julie: This conversation.

  Me: Even funnier. I’ll add humor to your list of quality traits.

  Julie: You have a list?

  Me: You don’t?

  Julie. LOL Okay, seriously?

  Me: Seriously. I need to know your pet peeve so that when you give me a second chance, and you will, and I take you out on our first date, I never do it.

  There was a long pause before my phone dinged.

  Julie: Nail biters

  Me: LOL nail biters?

  Julie: Yeah. I hate scabby cuticles and gross nails.

  Me: Lucky for you, I have the hands of an adonis.

  Julie: I just snorted out loud. What about you? What’s yours?

  I grinned like a fool, knowing I made her laugh. Girls like funny dudes, don’t they? Man, I was in trouble if we kept on this track.

  Me: I don’t have any.

  Julie: What? Everybody has something they can’t stand.

  Me: Nope. Not me

  Julie: You’re lying

  Me: I’m not, I swear. People just don’t annoy me easily.

  Julie: Come on. There has to be something people do that gets on your nerves.

  Me: I really don’t think so.

  Julie: I refuse to accept that answer.

  Me: It’s the truth, but okay, I guess if I have to think of something . . . I’d say gum snapping.

  Julie: Because that is super annoying, I’ll accept it.

  Me: LOL Mountains or beach?

  Julie: Beach, always.

  Me: Same.

  Julie: Sweet or salty?

  Me: Major sweet tooth.

  Julie: Me too.

  Me: Team Edward or Team Jacob?

  Julie: You’re a
Twilight fan?

  Whoops. Probably shouldn’t have admitted that.

  Me: If you tell my friends, I’ll deny it.

  Julie: *Zips lips* Secrets safe with me. Books or movies?

  Me: Pshh. Books, of course. Movies are almost always tragic in comparison.

  Julie: OMG! Yes! And my imagination is way better than anything on the big screen.

  Me: You still didn’t answer the original question.

  Julie: What was the . . . Oh, Team Edward, definitely.

  Me: Really? I could never understand why she chose him over Jacob.

  Julie: Um, mysterious, protective, hot, and the vampire thing with a hint of danger, remember? They both knew they shouldn’t be together. Their worlds were completely at odds. Yet that somehow made it all the more enticing.

  Me: Exactly! Thank you.

  Julie: LOL What?

  Me: This girl at school was talking about Romeo and Juliet and how their romance wasn’t really a romance, and I argued that it was, but that maybe they were drawn to each other because it was the appeal of wanting something you couldn’t have. Same thing with Edward.

  Julie: I don’t know. Maybe she’s right, at least where R&J is concerned. This girl sounds pretty smart.

  Me: She is super smart.

  Julie: Do you like her?

  I paused. If I told her no, it was a lie because I did kind of have a thing for Penelope. And since I was turning a new leaf and trying not to be a jerk, I’d rather keep it real. But I also knew nothing would ever come of it. So I felt comfortable replying with: Like her, like her? I’m pretty sure she hates me. Ha ha.

  Somewhat an evasion, but the truth, nonetheless.

  Julie: What did you do to make her hate you?

  Me: Ouch! What makes you so sure it was me?

  Julie: Isn’t it almost always the boy?

  Me: Um, sexist, but . . . Let’s just say my friends can be jerks sometimes. And, okay, in the past, I’ve been a jerk some of the time.

  Julie: And now?

  Me: I’m trying not to be. It’s hard, though, when people expect you to be a certain way. It’s like I have this whole persona I have to live up to that I never really wanted in the first place, and if I don’t, everything will come crashing down. I’m not even sure I know who I am without it.

  Julie: So let it crash. Who knows, maybe life will be better? Or maybe it won’t, but at least you’ll be free to be yourself.