I swear I still have a hatred for him Novel – The English dictionary defines it as “intense or passionate dislike.” But if you ask me? Hate is the heat in my blood when I see his face. It’s the twitch in my eye when he walks past with that infuriating calm like the world bends for him. Hate is… Atlas freaking Lawson. I stared down at the paper in my hand. 99%. Not bad. Actually, excellent. For most people, it would be celebration-worthy.
But not today. Because across the room, sitting like some broody Greek god with a pen behind his ear and zero awareness of personal space, was Atlas Lawson. And taped to the top corner of his paper? 100. Of course. Of course he got a perfect score. I didn’t realize I was burning holes into the side of his head until he looked up. Our eyes met. His lips twitched. A smile. A small, smug, soul-crushing smile. And then he turned to his friend and said something that made him laugh. Like I was invisible. Like he hadn’t just one-upped me for the eighth time this semester. That’s it. That’s it.
I was about to lose my freaking mind. “I swear,” I muttered through clenched teeth, “if he smirks at me one more time, I’m going to shove this test paper down his—” “Okay, relax, assassin Barbie.” Laila, my best friend and long-time chaos anchor, leaned across the desk with her usual iced coffee and a raised brow. “You’re legit about to shoot lasers at him.” “Oh, I wish I could do more.” I flung the paper onto my desk like it had personally betrayed me.
Laila stifled a laugh. “It’s just one point, Em. You still got the second-highest score.” “That only makes it worse!” I hissed, glaring at the red ink like it mocked me. “If it were anyone else, fine. I’d shrug it off. But it’s him.” “Atlas Lawson,” Laila said dreamily, her eyes glued to him like he was the sun incarnate. Sadly, my beautiful friend had also fallen blindly into the trap of his looks, which, by the way, I still thought was nothing far from average (okay, maybe I lied).
I rolled my eyes. “The bane of my high school existence.” She sipped her iced coffee and didn’t even try to hide her grin. “He doesn’t even talk to anyone, Em. Maybe he’s not evil. Just… socially constipated.” “He smiled, Laila.” “Oh, the audacity.” I dropped my forehead to the desk and groaned. “Why couldn’t he be dumb? Or ugly? Or… I don’t know, allergic to pencils?” Laila chuckled, reaching over to pat my back. “You’re spiraling again.” I didn’t reply. I just let my cheek press against the cold desk, eyes peeking over the edge at him.
Atlas was now stretching, arms over his head, muscles flexing under his stupid black hoodie like he was in some sportswear ad. God. I hate him. I hate him so freaking bad. And the worst part? This was only Monday. *** I don’t usually hate people. In fact, I love everyone. I’m that girl. The one who volunteers on weekends, bottle-feeds sick puppies, bakes cookies for bake sales, and organizes food drives like it’s a competitive sport. I’m the “teacher’s favorite,” the “golden girl,” the one with the heart of gold, as Mrs. Benson once said while dabbing tears from her eyes at the spring award ceremony. All A’s. Captain of the swim team. Medals? I lost count. Smiles? Always. Enemies? Just one.
Atlas freaking Lawson. He’s the only person on this earth who makes my blood pressure rise like a thermometer in hell. I remember the first day he transferred. He walked into school wearing that hoodie pulled up, hair slightly damp, bag slung over one shoulder like he couldn’t care less. Every girl in a 30-foot radius physically stopped breathing. But not me. No, I was on a mission to be kind. I approached him at the vending machines. “Word of advice,” I’d said with a sunny grin, tilting my head toward the machine, “unless you’re into stomach cramps, avoid the tuna sandwich.” He blinked at me. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even nod. Just walked right past me. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he didn’t hear me? Maybe he