He Hate Me (Briarwood Prep #1)

Chapter 1

One

Deja

“You’re hot!” Mackenzie yells out the open window as we whip past three shirtless white skateboarders standing on the curb.

One of them raises his arms in a vee and yells something back, but it’s blown away in the wind.

Mackenzie’s nearly black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her pale skin pinkening despite the heavy application of sunscreen.

It’s a goddamn beautiful summer day, the afternoon sun streaming in through the moon roof of Mackenzie’s five-year-old Lexus as we cruise through the perfectly manicured lawns and sprawling homes of my neighborhood.

Stone walls and wrought-iron gates conceal the luxury cars of my neighbors.

We’re driving a bit too fast, and Doja Cat is blasting at full volume. The breeze lifts my braids, whipping them around my head. I have my feet up on the dash, my dark chocolate legs sporting a light layer of salt from dried sweat.

“Can you close the windows?” I yell over the noise, and she rolls her eyes subtly before doing as I ask.

To compensate for the closed windows, she flips on the air conditioning.

We’re on our way back from cheerleading, not wearing much, but still a bit overheated.

Cheer camp is going hard this year. Coach made us run suicides till we saw stars.

But the sweat and tears will be worth it when we step onto the field this Fall.

“I cannot wait to wash this grime off from practice,” I say, leaning back against the plush leather seat.

“Me either,” Mackenzie says, grimacing. I think she’s sore. I certainly am, and Kenzie always struggles a bit more than I do. I was hurting during practice, but I didn’t let it show. I was recently made captain of the squad, so I feel like I have to set an example for the younger girls.

“Wanna hang out later?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s just a kick ba—who is that?”

Turning into my driveway we spot a boy carrying a cardboard box.

He’s standing in my courtyard, sun glinting off his black hair, toned arms and chest revealed by the tank top he’s wearing.

He’s got on basketball shorts that show off a pair of calves sculpted from marble.

Honey-gold skin is stretched over taut muscle.

He turns to look at us, crystal blue eyes locking with mine, and my breath catches.

His face is as perfectly sculpted as his body—a sharp nose, high cheekbones, well-shaped lips.

His eyes burn like a flame, for a second admiring, and then his expression hardens.

He stalks up the stairs and into my house.

“What a snack,” Mackenzie says, and I nearly agree until my mind connects the dots. I forgot today was the day.

“That ‘snack” is Brandon,” I tell her as we park.

“Brandon Brandon?”

I nod. My stepdad, Devin, exits the garage carrying another box. I remember Brandon from grade school. His crow black hair and cerulean eyes are unforgettable. He looked at me with such hostility that I’m a little surprised. My friends and I used to pick on him, but that was years ago.

“He’s still a snack,” Mackenzie says.

“If you like bad boys.”

Mackenzie taking an interest in Brandon is not a positive development. I get why Kenzie is into him—he’s hot, but I stay away from boys with a bad reputation. However, Mackenzie is all about the wrong decisions. She thinks assholes are sexy, even though they keep screwing her over.

Brandon’s story, from what I understand, is that his mother, Lindsey, can’t take care of him anymore and Devin signed some paper a long time ago saying if anything ever happened to her, he’d be Brandon’s guardian.

What happened to her? I get the impression Brandon got into some kind of trouble.

Rumor is he got expelled from his old school, though Devin insists it’s because he got recruited to play soccer where I go.

Who gets recruited to play senior year after being on a mediocre high school team?

I climb out of the car and Kenzie pops the trunk so I can get my gym bag out. “Wanna come inside?”

Mackenzie sighs in irritation. “I wish, but I have to meet my mom at the club.”

“Okay,” I say, stepping back to give the car room. “I can’t hang out tonight, but I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you.”

Brandon

I hear her soft, off-key singing voice before I see her coming up the stairs.

Long, thin braids are pulled into a high ponytail above a stunning face: a high forehead, large brown eyes, high cheekbones, full lips and button nose covered in skin the color of dark chocolate.

Not a blemish there, even though her white tank top is stained with sweat.

Cheer shorts reveal a pair of the longest, sleekest legs I think I’ve ever seen.

There’s a gym bag over her slim shoulder and a half-smile on her expressive face.

I still can’t believe this is Devin’s stepdaughter.

The last time I saw her before today she was practically a stick figure with an oversized head.

I don’t remember her having a cute face back then, maybe because I was eight, and maybe because she used to steal my lunch and once threw my notebook in the mud just to be spiteful.

Why is she smiling right now, looking as radiant as a fitness model returning from a spa trip.

I fight the urge to turn my head as we pass each other so I can see if the back matches the front, but when she walks by my room a bit later, I get a good look at the round tits and perfectly shaped ass I tried not to see earlier.

The attraction I feel for her is an unwelcome complication. Where’s the disdain she used to aim at in grade school? That I could deal with, but the warm playful looks she's giving me now make me want to call her over, ask her how she's been, watch her expressions change, sink my teeth into her—.

No! Not going there. I can’t afford to lose focus. I don’t have time for any girls, but this bitch? The one who made fourth grade hell? Nope. Not happening.

And in any case, I’m not here to flirt. I came back to make him pay.

Deja

“Is that everything?” Devin asks, setting down a box outside the formerly empty bedroom down the hall from mine.

Brandon, a sullen expression on his face, nods.

He looks like he just tasted something bitter.

He sees me standing in the hallway and scans me up and down so coldly that my skin prickles.

I don’t take it personally. I couldn’t care less what this guy thinks.

Still, he’s the one moving across town. I can get why he might feel a little off-balance.

And I have to admit I’m kinda curious. I may not want to date bad boys, but I’m as fascinated by deviance as the next person.

“Hey,” I say, after Devin has gone downstairs, “how’s it going?”

He looks right at me, but instead of responding he walks into his new room and starts unpacking boxes. Rude!

“Do you need any help?” I ask, really extending an olive branch here. I’m not generally an altruistic person, but I try not to be a complete jerk.

“No.” He turns and looks at me, appearing to focus on the long expanse of bare leg on display and then shaking his head slightly.

“What?”

“I said, no,” he responds. “I’m not interested.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Not used to guys ignoring your little Hooters Girl outfit?”

“This is not—” I look down at myself. I’m wearing a fitted white tank top and black gymnastics shorts because that’s what was comfortable for cheer camp, not because I want guys looking at me, and for damn sure not this particular guy.

Yes, the shorts fit like underwear, but it’s not to attract male attention.

And even if it was, what right or reason does he have to be mad about it.

“This is not for you.” I gesture at my body.

“Good,” he says.

“I could show you around later,” I offer, trying again to be friendly. We’re going to be living together for the next year. I want to at least be cordial.

“I used to live here,” he grinds out.

But that was ten years ago, I almost say.

Brandon’s mom used to be the live-in housekeeper here, but she got fired when he was ten.

They had to move to a bad neighborhood. Two years ago, Devin married my mother, and I moved in here.

The house isn’t quite the same as when he left—Devin had it updated a few years ago.

There’s a new security system, the basement’s been redone, and the pool area wasn’t even here when Brandon moved out.

Even though Devin and my mom only got married a couple of years ago, they’ve been friends and coworkers a lot longer than that.

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” I say, tossing a braid over my shoulder.

Brandon might have a point, actually. I’m not accustomed to guys ignoring me.

I am literally the most popular girl at my school, just turned 18, a cheerleader, five foot seven inches tall, and a perfect size 6.

My skin is a flawless dark chocolate, and my hair is always on point.

I don’t expect him to be drooling or anything, but who in their right mind is rude to a girl like me.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” he says evenly. He locks eyes with me, blue boring into brown, and I get the message. He’s not ready to be friendly. I roll my eyes and leave.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” I toss over my shoulder. This is going to be a long school year if he keeps up that shitty attitude.

The party at Perry Asterburg’s house is lit and I’m piled on an antique George III settee with a bunch of cheerleaders including my girls Mackenzie, Lorelei, and Shelby.

Yeah, they are as white as they sound. My school is not that diverse and I’m currently the only Black girl on the cheer squad.

There are a couple of Asian girls on the squad, Melodie and Lin, and one Latina, Cristabel, and I make sure to keep them close, in addition to being friends with the most popular white girls.

Staying on top of the social heap is as much a game of strategy as it is dominance.

I never let anyone step to me or throw shade without repercussions, but I put a lot more energy into cultivating relationships.

I’m in everybody’s messages with encouraging words, always checking in and being a shoulder to lean on, always “humble,” and never mean unless the other person was publicly out of line first. Then I’m merciless.

That way I’ve got a bunch of people defending me if anyone tries to talk shit behind my back and everybody has stories about how I dismantled this or that bitch for trying to mess with me. Yeah, it’s work, but it’s also fun.

Unfortunately, Mackenzie let slip about the party to Brandon a few days ago, so by the time I asked her to keep it quiet, it was already too late.

Kenzie was one of Brandon’s friends back when we were in grade school.

I’m starting to think she might like him.

When she spotted him at church, she went straight over and started chatting.

He's a different person around her—smiling and saying non-offensive things. Right now, though, he’s just standing in a corner nursing a beer.

A few people have tried to talk to him, then looked kinda uncomfortable and backed away.

Even Mackenzie could only endure like five minutes of conversation with him before coming to sit with us girls.

I guess I didn’t have to do anything to exclude him since he’s making that happen all on his own.

“Giorgio’s looking at you,” Shel says in my ear, tipping her head towards the other side of the room where a bunch of sloppy idiots are playing beer pong on a $20K dining table.

Giorgio is the new exchange student from Italy and he’s got all the girls thirsty.

He’s cute—don’t get me wrong. He’s got the same coloring as Brandon, but he’s more olive-skinned where Brandon is paler, and he’s shorter and bulkier.

I am not into Giorgio at all. Shel is, though.

Why her crazy ass would want me paying attention to a guy she wants, well that’s about not stepping on my toes just in case.

“I think he’s looking at you,” I say. “You look super cute tonight.” She blushes and pushes a hank of pale blonde hair behind her ear.

He’s not looking at her. I stand out in this room like a sore thumb.

There are other Black kids here, a handful anyway, and even some other girls, but I am the darkest and the hottest. People who are new to the social circle always stare at me, and a fair number of them do it the way Giorgio does, like he’s contemplating a walk on the wild side.

Like he honestly thinks I’m a piece of low hanging fruit on the vine just waiting to be plucked off.

I want to roll my eyes, but you know how it is.

Gotta not come off like a bitch even when you’re being a bitch.

“He’s coming over,” Shelby says, breathlessly.

Mackenzie and Lorelei break off their conversation about a new TV show to smile at the new arrival.

He stops in front of us, his body language screaming confidence.

He’s wearing a Zegna white linen shirt and nice-fitting khaki slacks with leather sneakers that look like they might be Berluti or Dior.

I’m not completely versed on boys’ sneaker brands TBH.

“Ciao, tesoros,” he says, using a phrase that has to be cheesy even in its native Italian, “can I borrow this beautiful cioccolata for a moment?”