Page 92 of The Way I Hate Him
Ryland and Aubree exchange glances, and I know they’re not telling me the whole truth.
“What’s that look for?”
Ryland cuts into his lasagna again. “You just need to finish, okay? So this internship will give you the credit you need to graduate, right?”
“Uh . . . no,” I say, causing both of them to snap their heads up.
“What do you mean, no?” Ryland asks.
“I mean . . . I’ll have to attend another semester to finish up my master’s.”
“Why would you do that?” Aubree asks. “I was under the assumption that instead of classes, this was going to give you the credit you need.”
Crap. The look of anger in her eyes sends a wave of nerves straight through me.
“No,” I say in a shaky voice. “Like I said, my professors and I thought it would be best to focus on this rather than classes for now because of my grief. I just couldn’t focus.”
“Wait,” Ryland says, holding his hand up. “So . . . you started your classes this semester and then just . . . stopped? Isn’t that wasting money? Why wouldn’t you just finish?”
Sweat trickles down my back as I realize I didn’t fully think this through. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to tell them the truth . . . the whole truth.
About failing.
About working for Hayes.
About my interest in Hayes . . .
“Hattie?” he asks, his expression waiting for an answer.
I swallow hard and realize that if I lie at this moment and they find out the truth, I might never be able to recover our relationship, so I decide to be partially honest, even though it’s not going to be pretty.
Composed yet nervous, I say, “Well, I actually, uh . . . I didn’t do that well on my midterms.”
“What do you mean?” Ryland asks.
Oh God, here we go.
“I failed them . . . all of them.”
“What?” they ask at the same time, their voices rising.
“I c-couldn’t focus,” I say. “Cassidy’s death hit me hard, and before I knew it, midterms were here, and I wasn’t prepared. I failed, and with my classes, if you fail the midterms, you have to retake the class.”
“Wait . . . so you failed out?” Ryland says, looking angrier than I expected.
“Not because I was fucking around or anything,” I say. “I was mourning my sister, Ryland.”
He leans back in his chair and stares me down. “Why the hell did you lie to us?”
“Because I was too scared to tell you the truth. I thought that maybe if I took this internship near you guys, we could, I don’t know . . . help each other out, and I could recharge for next semester.”
“So we’re talking like six to seven more months before you graduate?” Aubree asks, looking pissed.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Jesus,” she says, pushing back from the table. “You realize we’re all mourning here, right? That you’re not the only one?”
“Aubree,” Ryland says under his breath.
