Read Seeds of Hate for Free Online

besides, do you really know anyone?"
    He moved to stand and brushed the dirt and leaves off of his pants. I followed him.
    "Don't leave," I said. His steps were long and quick as he headed straight to his locker where dozens upon dozens of shoelaces littered the ground. He began to dump the remaining ones in his locker onto the floor with the others.
    "Why do you care? I don't even know your name," he replied.
    I held out my hand. "Selah Wonders. Senior, loner, and lover of 70s rock and roll." I ripped open my jacket, exposing my vintage Eagles t-shirt. "Everything worth anything always starts in Los Angeles."
    A small smile cracked at the side of his mouth. "Nice name. Old shirt. I don't like LA. And I still don't get why you care."
    I walked backward several steps and started to spin in slow circles, letting my arms fall to my sides. After five spins, I stopped and faced him.
    "I don't really, but the truth is, if you leave then they've won," I said.
    "Who's won? And why are you spinning?"
    "Them. All of them. Or, in your case, Nathan. He seems to be the harbinger of doom for you." I placed my hands out at the side and swayed like a scary ghost as I spoke. "I'll tell you why I spin if you explain the shoelaces," I replied, answering his last question.
    "How would you know?" he asked. "And the shoelaces mean nothing."
    "I know because I'm an observer of life, not a participant. And you're lying about the laces."
    "So what, you just sit around and stare at the lives of others?" he asked.
    "Yep," I replied.
    "Sounds boring." He continued to kick at the laces, pushing them further and further away. Laces shouldn't make someone so angry.
    "Better than the alternative," I stated with a smile on my face.
    "Which is—?"
    I looked him up and down, pointed at the floor, and made a note of his banged up knuckles.
    "I'd rather be alone than a bull’s eye," I replied. "What did you do to Nathan anyway?"
    "Nothing."
    "Well, it couldn't have been nothing. He has you pegged for some reason."
    He took a deep breath before responding, "It's a long story."
    "How long could it be? We're only seventeen."
    "I'm eighteen."
    I blinked at him with annoyance. "Whatever, you get what I mean."
    Javier stopped fiddling with his books and slammed his locker shut. He eyed my hair, my shoes and my everything in-between.
    "And what, you've chosen to be a loner who loves 70s rock and roll, who has no friends, and no desire to fit in or be cool? No, you didn't choose this. You became this." His words grew sharper with each statement.
    "What the hell does that mean?" I asked.
    "It means you have a story too. And by the looks of it, it's longer than your seventeen years."
    Like he could tell anything about me by the way I dressed. He didn't know me. He knew nothing.
    "Well, I'm not the one screaming behind locked bathroom doors, or walking around without shoes on, or having my locker stuffed with hundreds of white laces. At least I keep my story to myself and don't burden others with it."
    Javier tensed and his eyebrows puckered at the edges. "You think I like this? You think I want this?" His hands shook at his sides, fresh droplets of blood coming to the edges of his knuckles as he flexed his fist.
    "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I won't go digging around your life if you don't go digging around mine. Okay?" I said.
    "You're the one who sat down next to me. I didn't ask for any help," he replied.
    A familiar voice rang out from behind us.
    "Javier, my office, now." Our principal stood there looking square and displeased.
    We turned back to face one another. I scrunched my nose and then picked up a pair of laces. "I'm sorry," I said as I placed them along with the others.
    "Whatever, I have to go." And with that he walked away—a trash bag full of shoelaces in his left hand and raw, exposed knuckles on his right.
    "Javier!" I shouted out, hoping to leave a better impression.
    He stopped and craned his neck back in my direction. There was a fresh