Love to Hate You

Aesthetics of Hate

I was perched on one of the chairs in the archive room, trying to pull a stack of yearbooks off one of the filing cabinets. I wobbled, trying to catch myself.

"You better not fall," Eddie warned. I snapped my head towards him – he was leaning back in the other chair, boot-clad feet set on the table. I glared at him.

"You know, you could help," I snapped. I went back to reaching for the books.

"You seem to have a handle on this, Ick," he retorted. I rolled my eyes. I had told Eddie my plan – dividing the room into different sections based on different records, allotting specific times to each section to allow for maximum efficiency – and he had rolled his eyes and tossed my notebook at me. He was such a prick. Not even sometimes – all of the time.

"The more you help, the faster this goes, and the less time we have to spend together," I insisted, still reaching for the books.

"Maybe I want to spend all of this time with you, Ick. Maybe this is my grand plan to make you fall in love with me."

I snorted before looking at him. He had a malicious smile and waggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah, and I'm our school's head cheerleader," I quipped. This made him let out a harsh laugh. I turned back to my task. I suddenly felt large hands around my waist.

"This is making me nervous – I feel bad enough about you getting your feelings hurt yesterday," Eddie said, lifting me off of the chair and setting me on the ground. My stomach flipped and I flushed at his sudden touch and apparent strength. He kept his hands on my waist as he looked at me. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing, you just surprised me," I croaked. Eddie raised an eyebrow before stomping onto the chair.

"Whatever, weirdo," he commented before turning to the pile. "What do you need me to grab?"

"That stack of yearbooks, and the box that says 'Hawkins High – 1967'," I ordered, turning back to the table. Eddie stepped down, setting the yearbooks and the box by me. I glanced at the box, brows furrowing.

"Munson, I said 1967, not 1976," I berated. He glared at me and looked at the box, studying it. His glare moved to a look of panic, and he flushed a deep crimson.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning quickly to the stack. He scrambled up and looked at the boxes again. I watched him, puzzled, as he pulled a different box down. He set it down in front of me, still crimson.

I continued to look at him as I opened the box, confused by his sudden demeanor change. He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat.

"I get numbers mixed up, sometimes," he offered, still embarrassed. "Words, too, but I can normally get through it."

My stare softened and I nodded.

"Oh, no worries," I said quickly, smiling tightly at him. "That's no big deal at all."

I started sorting through the different pieces of paper and I felt his stare. I turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"What's with your staring problem?" I snapped. He glared at me.

"You aren't going to pounce on that? Tell me how stupid I am?"

I felt my stomach drop – had people done that to him? I shook my head and went to sit at the other chair.

"You're not stupid, Munson. Obnoxious? A pig? Maybe evil? Of course. But not stupid. That would be cruel to insult you for that when there is so much other truthful material to work with," I insisted, studying the papers. He watched me for a beat before sitting across from me, clearing his throat.

"Sorry," he offered. I glanced up and nodded. He was still blushing, wringing his hands. "I get told how dumb I am a lot because of it so I tend to get a little testy about it."

"No problem," I answered, stacking the different papers in chronological order. He took a stack, shuffling through them. I glanced up. "Would it make it easier if we sorted through the papers together?"

He snapped his head up, glaring at me. I held my hands up.

"I was being sincere, Eddie," I assured. His face softened and he nodded his head.

He dragged his chair close to me, setting his papers down and leaning over my shoulder. I held one up, reading the important pieces of information out to help us organize. I leaned back and accidentally brushed shoulders with Eddie. I caught a wave of his scent – woodsy cologne and a skunky aroma. It was nice.

"You going to keep going?" he asked. I realized I had gotten distracted by how much I enjoyed his smell. I flushed and cleared my throat.

"Sorry, I got distracted," I croaked. I continued on, desperately trying to avoid waves of his scent.

---

"How was the day with the freak?" Robin asked, settling into her couch. I plopped next to her, sighing.

"Long. Annoying. We only got through, like, one year of information."

Robin snorted and turned the TV on. I turned to her; my eyebrow raised.

"What?" I asked. She rolled her eyes.

"I mean, it's Eddie Munson. Are we surprised it took so long?"

"What do you mean?" I pushed. She looked at me, annoyed.

"He's a mess. I'm surprised he even got to high school," she replied, looking back to the TV. I felt a surge of anger.

"That's not nice, Robin," I snapped, suddenly defensive because of what Eddie had told me earlier in the day. She looked at me, confused.

"It was just a joke, Vic," she said. I shook my head.

"It wasn't funny."

"Okay, got it – I was just trying to make you feel better," she answered. "I thought you hated Eddie."

I looked forward, my face burning.

"I do. I just don't think that's nice."

"You called him a mouth breathing twat yesterday," she quipped. I sighed.

"I got it, Robin," I hissed. She watched me.

"You better not get Stockholm Syndrome. I'm not too interested in losing my best friend to the school's deadbeat," she finally said. I looked at her and laughed. She smiled and punched my shoulder.

I still hated Eddie. I just think were other things to hate about him. 

"Did you want to go to Steve's party tonight?" Robin asked. I nodded and looked at her, grinning wickedly.

"Are you going to invite the other Vickie?" I teased, making my voice a singsong. She flushed and rolled her eyes.

"I hate that you call her that," she replied, her face deepening in red. I laughed and poked her side.

"Well, are you?" I pushed. She grinned.

"Yes, and she said she would go with me," she answered. I squealed, grabbing my best friend, excited for her.

"I can't wait!" I replied, my mood lifting. She laughed and shoved me off.

"Alright, Eddie Munson's biggest fan – go home so you can get ready, then," she ordered. I rolled my eyes and headed out.

I was not Eddie's biggest fan.