The Hate U Give By Angie Thomas

The Hate U Give By Angie Thomas

Prologue: I shouldn’t have come to this party. I’m not even sure I belong to this party. That’s not on some bougie shit, either. There are just some places where it’s not enough to be me. Either version of me. Big D’s spring break party is one of those places. I squeeze through sweaty bodies and follow Kenya, her curls bouncing past her shoulders. A haze lingers over the room, smelling like weed, and music rattles the floor. Some rapper calls out for everybody to Nae-Nae, followed by a bunch of “Heys” as people launch into their own versions. Kenya holds up her cup and dances her way through the crowd. Between a headache from the loud-ass music and nausea from the weed odor, I’ll be amazed if I cross the room without spilling my drink.

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