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

by Gracie Graham

  Below me in the crowd, someone hollered, “What the hell?”

  A rumble rippled through the student body, everyone trying to decipher what was going on.

  But Topher stepped forward, unfazed by the attention, and the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, leaving him room to close the distance between him and the stage. “Is that all you are? Grateful?”

  I shook my head, and it took a moment to find my voice. “I’m crazy about you,” the words rushed out of me, and with them, a sense of relief filled me up. “I’m head-over-heels, mad about you. And I’m so sorry for what happened.”

  A commotion rushed through the crowd.

  “And why should I believe you?” Topher asked.

  “Because . . . it’s not rational for me to love you. It doesn’t make sense. We don’t fit on paper. It’s not prudent or expected, and it certainly wasn’t what I wanted. I hadn’t planned for this, quite the opposite.”

  Topher continued forward, only feet away, his eyes bright as he listened.

  “’But the heart isn’t rational,” I continued. “And mine chose you with little regard for what I wanted. My only love sprung from my only hate,’” I said, quoting Juliet.

  Topher stopped, just below me, finally close enough that if I wanted, I could bend down and touch him. And my heart gave a little kick.

  “‘Too early seen unknown, and known too late,’” he replied back, also quoting Juliet. Then stretched his long legs and stepped up onto the stage in one giant leap. He moved closer until he stood right in front of me and I could smell sunshine and the citrus scent of his cologne on his skin.

  “Forgive me?” I murmured, forgetting the mic. Forgetting the hundreds of eyes on us, not caring if anyone heard. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me, but at least forgive me, because I can’t stand the thought of you hating me.”

  “You know they’re recording this, right?” He nodded his head out toward the crowd, but I didn’t even so much as glance in that direction.

  “I don’t care. That was actually part of the plan. You know, in case you didn’t show up.”

  Surprise registered in his eyes as his brows rose. “You’re brave.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He reached up and ran a hand down the length of my hair. “I don’t hate you, P,” he said, searching my eyes, for what I had no idea.

  “You don’t? But I—”

  He placed a finger over my lips, and hope soared in my chest despite the mass of nerves fisting at the base of my spine.

  “Did you mean everything you said in your texts?” he asked.

  “Every word. When I went to your father, it was all a bluff. I know you have no reason to believe me, but even had he not offered my father his job back, I would never have—”

  “I believe you.” He shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but I’ve thought a lot about what happened over these last weeks, and I realized that if your feelings were real, I wasn’t mad about the Julie thing, not really. In fact, it was a good thing you were her. It was the fact that you took my secret and used it as ammunition that hurt the most. The fact that you could betray me like that . . .” He sighed and reached down to grip my hands. “But I once asked you for a chance to prove myself, and you gave it even though I didn’t deserve it. It was my fault that your life at school has miserable for a long time, and for reasons that were a lot less noble than trying to save my family.”

  I glanced down at my hands, feeling the sting of tears in the back of my eyes, and when he placed his fingers under my chin and tilted it, bringing my gaze up to his, he said, “And so it’s my turn to give you a chance. To give you the benefit of the doubt like you did for me.”

  A rumble of both disbelief and excitement fluttered through the crowd, but I ignored it.

  My lower lip trembled, unsure of what this all meant. Afraid to speak to the hope in my heart. “Friends?” I asked, but he shook his head.

  “I want to be more than friends.” And then he kissed me.

  Epilogue

  PENELOPE

  I wiped my sweaty palms on the seat of my jeans as we approached Topher’s front door. Dad trailed behind me with a bouquet of sunflowers—a gift for the hostess—wearing his best dress shirt and tie, even though I told him it wasn’t necessary. Meanwhile, Sara stuck to my side like glue, wide-eyed and bursting with enthusiasm at the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving with my boyfriend at “his mansion.” Though I suspected her excitement was more due to her desire to snoop around the Elliot’s home and grill him.

  Why did I agree to this again? Oh, right. Because Mrs. Elliot asked, and because I’ve discovered she’s as sweet as pie, so I couldn’t say no. And because I loved Topher Elliot.

  I cleared my throat and rang the doorbell, then waited for Topher to answer.

  “Do they have a butler?” Sara whispered.

  “They’re not that rich.” I rolled my eyes, even though they probably were that rich.

  But Sara frowned, looking disappointed, so I added, “They have a maid though, and like, five cars.”

  “Cool.” Sara brightened, and it was all I could do to stifle a laugh.

  Suddenly, the door swung open, and I stared up into those familiar blue-violet eyes, and the nerves rioting in my chest turned into butterflies, swooping and fluttering in the most exhilarating way I hoped I never got used to.

  “Hey, there.” Topher grinned down at me, and all I wanted to do was draw him in for a kiss, but my sister’s presence beside me reminded me I couldn’t.

  “Hey.” I smiled, and Sara groaned beside me.

  “Oh my gosh. Are you guys going to just stand there mooning at each other all day, or do we get to go inside and eat? I’m starving!”

  “Sara!” Dad chastised from behind me, but one glance at him and I noted the laughter in his eyes.

  Topher chuckled and stepped to the side, waving a hand. “Please, come in.”

  Everyone piled inside and followed him through the yawning foyer. Though I’d been in his house now a dozen times, my father and Sara hadn’t, and I noted the awe in their expressions as we passed by the giant coat room, a reception room, and another formal family room until we finally reached the giant kitchen with the massive island, chef’s stove, complete with copper hood, marble countertops, and crystal light fixtures.

  The opulence took some getting used to. I knew Sara would adjust quickly and only hoped my father would as well. The last thing I wanted was an awkward or uncomfortable dinner.

  The scent of turkey and something savory drifted toward us, making my stomach growl. Suddenly, I was grateful not to be in our tiny kitchen with an empty seat at the table—my mother’s spot—eating a subpar meal prepared by my father and me.

  Dad must’ve felt the same because I could practically see the tension melt from his face as Topher’s mother headed for him with a smile, and he said, “For the hostess.” He handed her the flowers, then added, “Whatever you’re preparing smells amazing.”

  “These are beautiful.” Mrs. Elliot smiled down at the flowers, then gestured around her. “Welcome to our home. I’m so glad the three of you could make it.” Her gaze flickered to my sister. “Hi, Sara. It’s good to see you again.”

  Shortly after homecoming, I’d taken Sara to one of Topher’s water polo games and instantly regretted it. All she did was talk the entire time about how hot and cool and impressive Topher was in the water, and how lucky I was to score a jock. I, literally, wanted to die of embarrassment.

  “You too.” Sara grinned. “I wanted to go to another game, but . . .” She shot me a knowing look, then turned back to Mrs. Elliot and shrugged, and I was instantly thankful she didn’t ask her any probing questions or blurt out anything rude about how huge their house was.

  “Well, who knows?” Mrs. Elliot said. “Maybe Penelope will have to bring you to one of his games at Bucknell sometime. We can make it a girls weekend and have dinner afterward, maybe even stay at a hotel for the night.”
>
  Sara’s eyes lit up like the Fourth of July and my heart squeezed. Over these past weeks, Mrs. Elliot and I had become fairly close. As soon as she realized Topher and I were serious about each other, she’d taken me in like she would a daughter, and so, to see her bring Sara into the fold made me feel a whole other level of gratitude I never thought possible.

  “Really?” Sara asked, the hope in her voice palpable.

  “Well, I don’t see why not. Would you like that?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She nodded so hard I thought her head might fall off, and my gaze darted to Topher to gauge his reaction, but he just watched on with a crooked grin. Despite Sara’s tendency to follow him around like a puppy whenever he was near, he adored her.

  “Now,” she rubbed her hands together, “everything’s almost ready. Why don’t I finish up while you guys help yourselves to a beverage? There’s a variety of soft drinks and wine, anything you’d like.” She waved them to the wet bar. “And if you need anything else, just tell Toph or P and I’m sure they can get it for you.”

  Dad and Sara turned to me with a questioning glance, and I nodded. “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.” I was dying to talk to Topher. To kiss him and hold his hand and . . .

  “Hey, you.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist while his breath tickled my ear.

  “Today will be great, right?” I asked, inhaling the scent of his skin that was all him—deodorant and soap and the citrusy scent of his cologne. And before he could answer, he spun me around in his arms.

  He placed his fingers under my chin and tipped my gaze up to his. “What are you worried about?”

  “It’s not so much that I’m worried.”

  He cocked his head. He knew I was lying.

  “I just . . .” I bit my lip, thinking about it. “I feel bad your dad’s not going to be here. It’s his home. He’s your father. Shouldn’t he be here regardless of everything that happened?”

  Only six weeks had passed since Topher told his mother about his father’s affair. Shortly after homecoming, they separated. His father got an apartment nearby, and though Topher assumed divorce was inevitable, so far, his father had surprised him. He attended weekly counseling sessions with his mother, spent more time away from the office, and had even given Topher his blessing to attend Bucknell and pursue a coaching career with the contingency that he minor in business. That way, if he ever needed a backup plan or had a change of heart, he could take over Elliot Landscaping.

  Topher lifted one shoulder. “He’ll be fine. Besides, sacrificing one holiday meal so that we can host you guys isn’t too much to ask, especially so soon after everything that’s happened.”

  “Still, it’s his house and—”

  He silenced me with a finger over my lips. “Technically, but he also has an apartment, and he’s coming over later for leftovers. He’ll be fine. Mom wanted to have you guys and didn’t want it to be weird with him here. Plus, even though they’re trying, I don’t think she’s ready to forgive him yet. I think she’s trying to show him what he’s missing. She’s still in the “teaching him a lesson” phase of their separation.” He grimaced.

  “And you’re okay with it?” I asked, my brow creasing in concern. “With him not being here, I mean.”

  “As long as you’re here?” he asked, planting a tiny kiss on the top of my nose. “I’m more than okay.”

  I shifted my gaze to Mrs. Elliot. She hummed as she took the turkey out of the oven. She certainly seemed happy. Then I slid my gaze to my father who meandered through the sitting room, staring up at the oil paintings, thinking how weird this must be for him. Then to Sara who was playing with a little wooden carving of the Eiffel tower. It was delicate and detailed, and it looked super expensive. Knowing Topher’s parents, it was probably hand carved and cost a mini-fortune.

  My eyes widened and when Topher followed the trajectory of my gaze Sara plunked it back on the bar with a thud. One of the blades fell off, and I winced. On alert, Dad turned and shot her his best death stare.

  Topher simply laughed and squeezed me tighter. “It’ll be great,” he said. “Stop worrying.”

  With a sigh, I turned back to him as my father headed into the kitchen to help Topher’s mom carve the turkey and Sara took a seat at the table. Our eyes met and we must’ve been thinking the same thing—that we should take advantage of everyone’s distraction—because he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to mine. Parting my lips with his own, he kissed me until I felt the tension release from my spine and I melted into him, savoring the taste of mint on his breath when someone cleared their throat from behind us and I pulled away, feeling the heat of a blush in my cheeks.

  “Dinner’s ready if you two love birds wanna take a seat,” Mrs. Elliot said, and across from her, my father rolled his eyes.

  Beside me, Topher chuckled, and together, we turned around and headed toward the table that was now covered in dishes and platters heaped with food.

  “Whoa.” Sara’s eyes rounded as Mrs. Elliot removed the lids off of several casserole dishes, and I had to stifle a laugh.

  “Mom may have gone overboard with the menu.” Topher shot Mrs. Elliot a wink.

  “Sure beats boxed stuffing and instant mashed potatoes, huh kiddo?” Dad joked and Sara laughed.

  I sunk back into my seat, feeling an unexpected wave of contentedness wash over me as everyone began to serve themselves and chat casually. “Last year, Dad’s turkey seriously looked like the one from Christmas Vacation,” I said with a teasing grin. “I swear the thing was hollow. Usually we just do one of those turkey breasts in the slow-cooker, but he insisted we try the real thing.”

  “Dry as shoe leather,” Dad confirmed.

  “I still have nightmares from it,” Sara chimed in while she took a drumstick off the platter of meat.

  Mrs. Elliot laughed, then raised her gaze to my father. “So, Mr. Ewe, how’s the business coming?”

  “Please,” he waved her away, “It’s Dave, and it’s really coming along nicely. We just bought a skid steer and dozer so we can add land clearing to our list of services, and I think we have more bookings for that than we do anything else. We might’ve found our niche.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she remarked.

  It was true. Dad had taken his business in a different direction than Elliot Landscaping and it seemed promising.

  “How about you?” Dad asked. “Penelope tells me you’re taking some culinary classes?” He took a bite of stuffing and I could practically see his suppressed moan. “I can’t imagine you need classes with this spread.”

  “Well, thank you.” Mrs. Elliot blushed. “It’s a focus on French cuisine though, so it’s quite different . . .”

  She went on to discuss her class, and the conversation flowed throughout the rest of dinner. Dad asked Topher about his scholarship to Bucknell, and Sara, in particular, had a lot of questions about the game of water polo, not that she hadn’t already pestered him over the course of the last six weeks, but it was rare for her to have so much of his time and attention since I usually kept him to myself.

  By the time we finished eating, Mrs. Elliot insisted on dessert on the veranda, despite the fact that we were all stuffed.

  My dad and Sara followed her outside while Topher and I purposely dawdled, lingering behind for some time and space alone. My hand traced the grooves in the wainscotting in the hallway as we slowly made our way to the French doors, thinking of how perfect this day was. If only my mother were here to share it. I wished she could meet Topher. But then, I knew she was looking down on us, and my heart warmed at the thought.

  When he gripped my hand and pulled me into the shadows of the library, away from the doors and the veranda, my stomach took a tumble.

  His fingers brushed over the back of my hand as he turned it over, smiling at the bright red polish coating my nails. These days, I wore mostly pinks and reds and bright glittery shades, despite the fact that Scarlett had started to complain that I was b
ecoming predictable. But no matter what, Topher always noticed even the subtlest of changes.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, my lips twitching.

  He shrugged. “I was just thinking about that first day in the library.”

  “The one where you argued with me about Romeo and Juliet?” I laughed.

  “The one where you proved I was right.”

  I scoffed. “And how exactly did I prove you right? As I recall, you were suggesting that they wanted to be together only because it was forbidden. Is that the only reason you were interested in me, Topher Elliot?” My brow quirked while my eyes sparkled. “Because we come from two different worlds? Because it was taboo?”

  “Quite the contrary, but I did suggest, however, that love has no boundaries while you tried to argue that maybe it was a lesson in how adolescents should listen to their parents.” He pulled a face. “If we followed that advice, we wouldn’t be together. Point for Topher.” He drew an invisible checkmark in the air with his finger, and I choked on a laugh.

  “Ha!” I waggled a finger at him. “Nice try, but you also tried to make a point that people want what they can’t have. And as much as I love you now, I didn’t want you then.” My eyes rolled skyward and I cocked my head in thought. “Well, not really,” I said, then laughed again. “At least not that I admitted.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you wanting me when I said that.”

  My expression sobered as his eyes met mine, suddenly serious. “Then who . . .?”

  “I was talking about me wanting you.”

  My pulse leapt in my throat as I stared at him and he stepped even closer. “What?”

  “The truth is, I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you your first day at Lakeview. At least, as much as an eleven-year-old could.”

  “But . . .” A tiny huff of air escaped my chest. I thought back to that day, the way he had stared at me. And when I introduced himself, he’d cracked that very first joke that started it all. Skunk Girl was born. “That’s impossible. You made fun of me.”