I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Emery

Hate.

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.

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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?

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 im 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

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Chapter 1

“Okay, relax, assassin Barbie.”

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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 ick 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.

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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.

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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 was having a rough day? But every time after that, every joke, every smile, every attempt to be even slightly human to him, he ignored me.

But here’s the thing about me: I don’t give up.

The more he pushed me away, the more I was determined to break through that arctic wall of broody silence.

So, after one of his hockey games where he’d scored the winning goal and the crowd was practically chanting his name, I decided to be the bigger person. I waited by the locker exit, holding a small white box tied with a blue ribbon.

Homemade chocolate chip cookies. Still warm.

I even wrapped them in tissue paper with hockey stick stickers. Im not a monster.

He stepped out, hair still wet from the shower, jersey slung over one shoulder. His eyes met mine briefly, and I forced the kindest, brightest, most Emery Collins smile I could manage.

“Hey,” I said cheerfully, stepping forward. “That was insane, you rushed it. I baked these. For you.”

He looked at the box.

Then at me.

Then said, “No, thank you.”

And walked away.

My smile faltered. My stomach twisted.

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No, thank you?

That was it. I snapped.

“Why are you such an asshole?” I blurted.

He stopped. Turned. A slow, raised brow.

“What?”

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“Did I do something to you?” I asked louder. Now people were turning to look like I was crazy but at this point I couldn’t care less.

He stared at me, calm and unreadable. “No.”

“Then why do you act like I’m this massive pain in your ass? I’ve cracked jokes, offered you my pen, saved you a seat in homeroom. I even helped you find your locker when you got lost that day, and you didn’t even say thank you. I’ve tried, Atlas. I’ve really tried to be your friend.”

His jaw ticked. His voice was low, cold. “I never asked you to be my friend.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He folded his arms, tone sharp but even. “Look, I don’t want to be part of your little Miss Princess Act.”

I stepped back like I’d been slapped. “Miss Princess, what?”

“You don’t have to make everyone like you. You don’t have to pretend to be kind just to feel good about yourself.”

My throat tightened, heart slamming against my ribs, my hand sill holding the damn cookie box like a trophy of humiliation.

People were watching. Whispering.

And he just turned and walked away.

No.

No freaking way he was going to walk away after embarrassing me like that.

“Atlas!” I yelled.

He stopped mid-step.

I stormed up to him and shoved the box into his chest, hard enough that he had to grab it.

“Fine,” I snapped. “You don’t want to be friends? Great. Amazing. But mark my words, I’m going to crush you. On the track,

in the classroom, wherever I see you…I’m coming for the crown And you can thrash the cookies if you want to.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked off like a girl on fire.

I didn’t look back.

But I really hoped he choked on the smell of chocolate chip cookies.

And that, right there, that embarrassing cookie moment in the hallway was the very beginning of my downfall.

Because, as much as I wanted to write Atlas Lawson off as a one-me nuisance, the universe had other plans. Evil, well- packaged, six-foot-two plans with annoyingly good cheekbones and an even more annoyingly high IQ.

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Turns out, Atlas stupid, annoying jerk-face Lawson wasn’t just a ockey prodigy with lips wornen would write songs about.

Nope.

He was smart.

So smart, in fact, that he managed to do the unthinkable, push e to second place in our final GPA rankings.

SECOND place!

Me.

That had never happened. Not in Preschool, not in Elementary school, not in middle school, and certainly not in my entire four years of high-functioning, overachieving, anxiety-powered high school life.

And now, on graduation day, I sat there in my cap and gown, clapping like a good little graduate while the Dean called out

his name.

“And now, it’s my honor to recognize the student who has achieved the highest academic distinction in the graduating class of 2024. This year’s Valedictorian, with the highest cumulative GPA, is Atlas Lawson!”

Cue the thunderous applause.