The Hate U Give(73)

“Don’t call me that. Especially since She Who Must Not Be Named gave me that nickname.”

Damn. She Voldemorted Hailey. “Maya, you don’t have to take sides, you know.”

“She’s the one not speaking to us, remember?”

Hailey’s been on some silent treatment shit since the incident at Maya’s house. I mean damn, I call you out on something, so I’m wrong and deserve the cold shoulder? Nah, she’s not guilt-tripping me like that. And when Maya admitted to Hailey that she told me why Hailey unfollowed my Tumblr, Hailey stopped speaking to Maya, claiming she won’t talk to either of us until we apologize. She’s not used to both of us turning on her like this.

Whatever. She and Chris can form a club for all I care. Call it the Silent Treatment League of Young, Rich Brats.

I’m in my feelings just a tad. I hate that Maya got pulled into it though. “Maya, I’m sorry—”

“No need,” she says. “Don’t know if I told you, but I brought up the cat thing to her. After I told her about Tumblr.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And she told me to get over it.” Maya shakes her head. “I’m still mad at myself for letting her say it in the first place.”

“Yeah. I’m mad at myself too.”

We get quiet.

Maya nudges my side. “Hey. We minorities have to stick together, remember?”

I chuckle. “Okay, okay. Where’s Ryan?”

“Getting some snacks. He looks good tonight, if I say so myself. Where’s your guy?”

“Don’t know,” I say. And don’t care at the moment.

The beautiful thing about best friends? They can tell when you don’t wanna talk, and they don’t push it. Maya hooks her arm through mine. “C’mon. I did not get dressed up to stand around.”

We head for the dance floor and jump and fist-pump along with the rest of them. Maya takes those heels off and barefoots it. Jess, Britt, and some of the other girls from the team join us, and we make our own little dancing circle. We lose our minds when my cousin-through-marriage, Beyoncé, comes on. (I swear I’m related to Jay-Z somehow. Same last name—we have to be.)

We sing loudly with Cousin Bey until we almost go hoarse, and Maya and I are really into it. I may not have Khalil, Natasha, or even Hailey, but I have Maya. She’s enough.

After six songs, we head back to our table, our arms draped around each other. I carry one of Maya’s shoes, and the other one dangles from her wrist by the strap.

“Did you see Mr. Warren do the robot?” Maya asks between laughs.

“Did I? I didn’t know he had it in him.”

Maya stops. She looks around without looking at anything at all. “Don’t look, but look to the left,” she mutters.

“The hell? Which one is it?”

“Look to the left,” she says through her teeth. “But quickly.”

Hailey and Luke are arm in arm in the entrance, posing for pictures, and I can’t even throw shade—with her gold-and-white dress and his white tux, they’re cute. I mean, just ’cause we’ve got beef doesn’t mean I can’t compliment her, you know? I’m even happy she’s with Luke. It took long enough.

Hailey and Luke walk in our direction but brush right past us, her shoulder a couple of inches away from mine. She flashes us stank-eye. This chick. I probably shoot one back. Sometimes I give stank-eyes and don’t realize I’m giving them.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Maya says to Hailey’s back. “You better keep walking.”

Lord. Maya can go from zero to one hundred a little too quick. “Let’s get something to drink,” I say, pulling her with me. “Before you hurt yourself.”

We get some punch and join Ryan at our table. He’s stuffing his face with finger sandwiches and meatballs, crumbs falling onto his tux. “Where y’all been?” he asks.

“Dancing,” Maya says. She steals one of his shrimp. “You didn’t eat all day, did you?”

“Nope. I was about to starve to death.” He nods at me. “What’s up, Black Girlfriend?”

We joke around about that whole “only two black kids in the class are supposed to date” thing. “What’s up, Black Boyfriend?” I say, and I steal a shrimp too.

What do you know, Chris remembers he came with somebody and walks over to our table. He says hey to Maya and Ryan, then asks me, “You wanna take pictures or something?”

His tone is all robotic again. On a scale of one to ten on the “I’m done” meter, I’m at about fifty. “No thanks,” I tell him. “I’m not taking pictures with somebody who doesn’t wanna be here with me.”

He sighs. “Why do you have to have an attitude?”

“Me? You’re the one giving me the cold shoulder.”

“Dammit, Starr! Do you wanna take a fucking picture or not?”

The “done” meter blows up. Ka-boom. Blown to pieces. “Hell no. Go take one and shove it up your ass.”

I march off, ignoring Maya’s calls for me to come back. Chris follows me. He tries to grab my arm, but I snatch away and keep walking. It’s dark outside, but I easily find the Rolls-Royce parked along the driveway. The chauffeur isn’t around, or otherwise I would ask him to take me home. I hop in the back and lock the doors.