Date Me (The Keatyn Chronicles)

After a surprisingly pain-free removal of the stitches, Dawson says, “You did good. Let’s go celebrate.”

“We’re going to celebrate getting my stitches out?”

He holds up the passes the nurse gave us. “Did you notice how I distracted her with questions when she was filling these out?”

“You were asking a bunch of dumb questions.”

“Yeah, she’s not a good multi-tasker. See this line where she’s supposed to write what time we left? She didn’t fill it out. That means we can go have some fun. And we need to have fun this week. When you start play practice next week, you won’t have any time for me.

“I like fun,” I say. “And I’ll make time.”

“You know what today is, right?”

“Tuesday?”

“Yeah, what else?”

“Pajama day?”

“Try again.”

“Uh, Taco Tuesday?”

“It’s our anniversary.”

“We have an anniversary? We haven’t even been going out for a full week yet.”

He grins. He’s got his school blazer off and the sleeves of his oxford rolled up. He looks so damn sexy.

“Yep.” He pulls my waist into his. “It’s been a month since our first time.”

“Our first time. As in when we had sex in the Hamptons?”

“That’s a night worth remembering, don’t you think?”

“Is it bad that we’re celebrating our sexual anniversary?”

“I don’t think so. It’s when we got together.”

“True.”

“So I have plans for you after Taco Tuesday, but since we have some extra time now, we might as well take advantage of it.”

“How are we going to celebrate this anniversary?”

“Exactly the way it started.”



He pulls me inside his dorm and pushes me against the door, kissing me. He drops his jacket and backpack on the common room sofa then pushes me against the wall in the hallway. He’s kissing me with that same intensity he did that first night. That night I knew there was no way I could resist him.

We work our way down the long hall. His hands are feeling their way across what’s underneath my sweater.

After seriously making out down the hall, we finally make it to his room.

He pulls my sweater off and takes in my little pink knit camisole set.

“Very cute,” he says.

“Take it off me. There might be something underneath that shouldn’t be categorized as cute.”

He gets a naughty grin on his face and slowly pulls up my cami, revealing a sexy black lace Agent Provocateur push-up bra.

He licks his lips, kisses my cleavage, then slowly pulls down my shorts to reveal the teeny matching briefs.

He stands back and looks at me. Then he literally leaps on top of me, pinning me to the bed.

“You always ruin my plans,” he says, as he strips his own clothes off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

As he pulls off my panties, he says, “I always think I’m going to be able to go slow. I can’t go slow with you.” He covers my mouth with his and quickly proves his point.



A short while later, we’re dressed and heading to class.

“We’ll go to Taco Tuesday tonight, but we’re leaving early. Gonna do some more celebrating.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to our lake.”

As in the lake where we parked and did it standing up against his car.

Dawson is like a sexual buffet. I never know what to expect, what’s going to be next in line. But I definitely want to keep going back for more.



Looking like a slut.

Lunch



Dawson and I are in line getting lunch. Whitney and Peyton are ahead of us and Peyton is getting chewed out.

“What is your problem lately? You go on one trip with Dawson’s little plaything and come back looking like a slut. Did she help you pick out those furry heels?” Whitney asks, scowling at Peyton.

I give Dawson a look. Like, what a bitch.

Dawson winks at me, walks past me, and smacks Peyton on the butt. “Looking pretty sexy there, Arrington.”

Peyton jumps slightly from the smack, but her face breaks out in a wide grin. A smirk, really, directed at Whitney.

Whitney doesn’t bite though. “My point, exactly.”

“Whitney, I don’t tell you how to dress. Why would you think you could tell me?”

“Because the five of us have dressed alike for every spirit day for the past three years, maybe?”

Peyton shrugs. “Well, if you were on the dance team, you’d understand. Sometimes you get tired of dressing like everyone else.”

Oh. Damn. She just slammed Whitney for not making the dance team.

Peyton’s bitch is totally coming out.

But I’m worried about her because I know what happens when you go up against a Queen.

You become just as big of a bitch as she is.

I want to tell Peyton it’s not worth the fight. Just do your own thing.

Then Damian’s song starts playing in my head. Just do your own thing, do it up big, rocket to the moon, now everybody sing.

I think maybe I need to get Peyton to listen to that song.

I get my food then go to our table.

“That was sweet of you,” I whisper to Dawson as I set my tray down.

“So you have to help me win Mr. Eastbrooke,” he replies.

“What’s that?”

“It's a contest we have every year. The competition is held during the pep rally on Friday. Each boys’ sport chooses a junior or senior to represent their team. I got picked to represent the football team. It’s a big deal.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Dress up like a girl.”

I laugh. “Seriously? And you want to do that?”

“Of course. It's awesome. So you have to make me look pretty. I’ll need makeup, a wig, heels, and an outfit. We all walk out in heels and wave at the crowd. Then we have to do either a dance or a cheer.”

Bryce adds, “Everyone votes by clapping for their favorite.”

“Hmmm. I just can't picture you as a girl.”

He runs his finger down my arm. “Just think. You can grind all up against me and pretend I’m a girl. Only when you take me home, I’ll have a little surprise for you under my skirt.”

“I can handle the clothes. Do you want me to help you with a dance too?”

“No. Honestly, even though it’s always an option, no one ever dances. A cheer is a lot easier to learn. Riley said Ariela could teach me one.”

I finish up my lunch quickly, then tell Dawson I have some stuff I need to do. What I need to do is work my way around the freshman tables and start suggesting they vote for Peyton.



He’s sweet?

5:30pm



I’m just finishing up tutoring Aiden in the library when Dawson texts me.



Dawson: I’m STARVING and ready to start celebrating ;)



Me: I’m about done. Be there soon. Heart you.



“So I have to get going. A bunch of us are going out for Taco Tuesday.”

“I’m going to Taco Tuesday,” Aiden says. “Riley invited me, but he said it was a guy thing.”

“I’m the only girl that goes, usually. Well, so far, anyway. Dawson and I won’t stay all that long though. He wants to go celebrate.”

Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Now he’s going to ask what we are celebrating. How we’re going to celebrate.

“I heard him say something about a special day this morning. What are you celebrating?”

“Um, just our anniversary.”

“Yeah, but anniversary of what? You haven’t even been going out a week.”

“It’s been a month since I stayed with him in the Hamptons. That was when we got together. Like, I was done with the Keats guy, and then I sorta started seeing Dawson.”

“And this anniversary of when you sort of started seeing each other, was this your idea or Dawson’s?”

“He remembered it, if that’s what you mean.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a guy would remember.”

“He’s sweet?”

“Lots of people said you had sex with him that weekend.”

“People speculate lots of things, doesn’t mean they’re true.”

“That would be the kind of anniversary a guy would remember.”

“Or, he’s just adorably sweet?”

“I can’t believe you had sex so soon.”

“I never said I did.”

“I know you did though. It makes so much more sense now.”

“What makes sense?”

He just shakes his head at me.

“Okay, whatever. I have to go. I guess I’ll see you at dinner.”



We’re definitely not.

6:30pm



I stop at my dorm and quickly freshen up. I don’t want to wear my pajama shorts to dinner, so I grab a skirt, throw it on, and then run down to meet Dawson at his car.

“There you are,” he says, eyeing my skirt then pulling me in for a kiss. “Damn, Keatie, you looked sexy today, but tonight you just look hot. Does this zipper work?” he asks, referring to the one that runs down the front of my black Valentino biker mini.



At Taco Tuesday, the boys are all talking about the Homecoming game. How they have to win. About how it sucks having their parents here. About how they have to help Aiden move the keg to the basement tonight because the dorm advisors are doing room checks tomorrow to make sure they look presentable for Homecoming.

Then they start talking about sex. One of the guys brags about doing it with one of the cheerleaders, and I’m slightly horrified at the intimate details he shares.

I’m so glad Dawson isn’t like that.

I’m also listening closely to what Aiden talks about. To see if he’s the type to kiss and tell.

Dallas tells everyone about the big ring gummy lifesavers Dawson brought to the party.

“That’s a dance team girl trick,” Logan says, grinning straight at me.

“Yeah, I remember hearing that,” I say in a noncommittal way. Mostly I say it that way because Aiden is staring at me.

Nick pats Aiden on the back and says, “And last year the cheerleaders were on a fruit rollup kick, remember that, Aiden?”

Aiden gives him a little smile back and repeats my words. “Yeah, I remember hearing that.”

“Hearing that? More like lived that,” Nick says with a mischievous grin.

So cheerleaders are Aiden’s thing.

Jake says, “What about mints? Altoids. Red hots.”

“All this blow job talk is making me incredibly horny,” Dawson whispers, snuggling up to me.

“You’re always incredibly horny,” I tease.

He runs his hand down my thigh. Then up my thigh and inching closer to going under my leather skirt.

I grab his hand. Hold it firmly in a respectable spot. He looks at me, grins, and laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Riley asks him.

“Nothing, we just need to go study, so we’re gonna head out . . . ”

Riley interrupts. “You don’t need to make up a lame ass excuse. I think we all know.”

“Oh, well, okay.”

I just wave.

I’m feeling a bit sleazy leaving with Dawson early, knowing they all know what we’re going to do.

But in my head, I tell myself we’ll just talk, kiss some.

Yes, it’s our anniversary, of sorts, but that doesn’t mean we have to.

We already did it earlier today.

We’re not.

We’re definitely not.

When we get to his car, he pushes me up against the door and gives me a hot kiss.

“I’ll never forget how excited I was when you showed up at the Hamptons, in that bikini. I felt so lucky and happy. And that night. God, that night was amazing. Really. Of course that was probably pretty obvious. Like, how much I wanted you. And then it was so good. Every time is so good. It’s been the best month of my life.”

I slink away from him and get in the car, so he doesn’t attack me right here.

But what he said totally makes me melt, so I lean over, unzip his pants, and slide my hand inside while he drives to the lake.





Wednesday, October 5th

The people that you love.

Lunch



I offered to go help Dawson work on his cheer, but he doesn’t want me to see it until Friday. So I sit down between Riley and Ace, who has stopped sitting at Whitney’s table and started sitting here with Annie.

Annie shoves a tabloid magazine in front of my face. “Look at this! Abby is having an affair with her bodyguard. The hot one that was with her on Saturday.”

I read the headline.

Abby and the Hot Bodyguard’s Secret Affair.

Underneath that is a large photo of Mom and Ryan. Mom’s head is down and Ryan’s hand is on her back, guiding her. It’s not unusual for Ryan to do that when there are a lot of people around. He’s trained to keep her close. To shield her if necessary. Off to the side is a photo of Tommy. He’s wearing a ball cap and sunglasses and his head is down. The photo is not a new one. He’s wearing a shirt that I know he gave to charity over a year ago. The little headline above it says, Friends Say Tommy Distraught Over Affair.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in these kinds of magazines,” I tell Annie.

But even though I know it’s not true, I’m worried.

I leave lunch, get to French early, and text Mom.



Me: Saw what the tabloids are saying. Are you doing okay?



Mom: Of course, we are. Our publicist was going to release a statement that it’s false, but sometimes when you do that people assume you’re trying to cover it up.



Me: So it’s better to not say anything? Does it upset you?



Mom: Of course, it’s upsetting when people say stuff about you that’s not true. But it’s part of the business. Don’t worry about the tabloids. Remember, the only people you should care about what they think, are the people you love.



Me: That’s good advice. I love you, Mom. I have to go. The bell just rang.



Mom: We all love you too.





Aiden sits down behind me. He’s dressed for Western Day in a way that reminds me of my grandpa. He’s got on a soft cotton western shirt with pearl snap buttons, Rag & Bone jeans, and a pair of brown leather cowboy boots. The boots are scuffed and well-worn. I can picture him riding a horse around their vineyard, wearing the boots, stopping to have a glass of wine.

“Guess what?” he says.

“You like my boots?” I say, holding up my feet to show off my faded red boots.

“I do like your boots. They look cute with the lace dress.”

“Thank you. I noticed your boots are worn. They your favorite pair?”

“Actually, they are. I wear them nonstop when I’m back home. But that’s not what I was going to tell you.”

“What were you going to tell me?”

“I’m going to be competing against your boyfriend for Mr. Eastbrooke.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Got picked by the soccer team.”

“You’ll probably make a good looking girl. You and Peyton look a lot alike. So are you going to dance for everyone? Finally show them how good you are?”

He shakes his head. “No. Guys never dance. They all do a cheer.”

“And I thought you weren’t like all the other guys?” I tease.

“I told you. No one has ever seen me dance like that. Everyone would think it’s weird.”

“I wouldn’t think it was weird. I’d think it was awesome. Besides, the only people you should care what they think are the people that you love.”

“And those people will be seeing me do a cheer.”

I think about the cheerleader comment from last night. About how Nick said “lived it.” How cheerleaders must be his thing.

The dream girl must be a cheerleader.

That’s probably the real reason he wants to a cheer. So he can ask her to teach him.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, you dance like you can, you’ll win.”

“Have you ever seen a Mr. Eastbrooke competition?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know if I’d win or not. And you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about how I can dance.”

I shrug my shoulder. “You’re secret is safe with me. But you break out the dance moves you have and your competition does a stupid cheer, you’ll win. Common sense tells me that.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not the dance that wins, it’s how you look.”

“Okay. Good luck.”





Thursday, October 6th

A little skimpy.

1:30pm.



I don’t attend very many classes today. No one does, really. We all get out of class for different reasons. Some get called back to their dorms by their dorm advisors to make their rooms spotless for the alumni tours. Others are finishing up the floats for the parade. Others get out of class to take pictures for the yearbook. Most of the band goes off to practice marching.

Today is officially Sports Day, so I’m wearing Dawson’s football jersey, a red sequined skirt, and tall white athletic socks with stripes of red sequins at the top.

I take Dawson to the drama department to find him a wig and do a test drive on his makeup for Mr. Eastbrooke.

“Here, try this,” I say, putting a pirate hat on his head.

He does a Captain Morgan pose then grabs me. “Ahoy, my little matey. Want me to show you my sword?”

I kiss his neck and then giggle. “Stop that. We need to be serious about this if you want to win.”

He grabs a teeny little costume off a rack. “You should put this on, be my little cowgirl.”

“You’ll actually get to see me in that costume in the play. I’m a cheerleader for a professional football team.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“Don’t be mad. It’s a little skimpy, but it’s a short scene.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Borrow it and wear it for me in my room, and I won’t give you shit about the play.”

“Hmmm. Deal.”

I rummage through a cabinet and pull out a long blonde wig and a shorter brunette one. “Which way do you want to go, blonde or brunette?”

He puts the blonde wig on his head. “Blondes have more fun. You’re fun.”

I look at the blonde wig on him. “Um, they maybe do, but I don’t think you’re very convincing as a blonde. Is the goal for you to look pretty or funny?”

“Pretty. Do you want to see my cheer?”

He leaves the blonde wig on and starts a cheer. “Be Aggressive. B-E Aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E. BE AGGRESSIVE.” He uses a high-pitched voice that sounds hysterical coming from such a buff guy. “Gooooo Cougarssss!”

I can’t help but laugh.

“You totally butchered that cheer.”

“Yeah, I need a little more work on the motions. I can remember football plays, but these stupid arm motions are just confusing.”

“Do you want me to help you? I know that cheer.”

“Maybe you can come teach me in my room. I’d probably learn it better if we were naked.”

“If you were naked, there wouldn’t be any cheering going on.”

“You cheer me on sometimes. Go, Dawes!”

I smack his shoulder. “Shut up. You should hear yourself.” I grab the blonde wig off his head, motion for him to sit down, and put on the darker one.

I swivel the chair around so that he can see himself in the mirror. “See, you look more convincing with dark hair. Wait until I do your makeup.”

He looks at himself. “I look like my mother.”

I use a sponge to put a little foundation over the dark stubble on his checks. “You’re going to have to shave for sure,” I tell him as I add some blush and a little bit of bronzer.

I’m getting ready to add some eye shadow next. “Close your eyes. I want you to be surprised at how you look.”

“Maybe you should blindfold me,” he says, grabbing me and pulling me onto his lap facing him.

“That might be fun too.” I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a deep kiss.

Which turns into a deeper kiss.

Which turns into a full-blown make out session.

“It’s really hot that I’m kissing you while you’re wearing my team jersey. I wish that’s all you had on.”

“Mhhmm,” I say as he moves my hair off my shoulder and attacks my neck. “You talked me into it.”

We rush to his dorm room, lock his door, and I quickly remove everything but the jersey.

He sits in his desk chair and pulls me onto his lap.

We’re in the middle of our fun, when there’s a knock on his door. A voice calls out, “Dawson, honey, it’s Mom. Are you in there?”

“Shit,” Dawson whispers.

I jump off him as he quickly pulls on his pants.

I grab my skirt off the floor and put it back on, but I can’t find my dance briefs. Fortunately they are not black and lacy.

“Just a second, Mom,” he yells out. I grab my purse, run into his bathroom, and spread my makeup out.

But then I look at him walking toward the door, his shorts sticking out in a way that I doubt his mother wants to see.

“Dawson!” I point at his shorts and toss him a towel to hold in front of himself.

“Hey, Mom” he says at the door. “Come in. Keatyn and I were just trying some makeup for the Mr. Eastbrooke contest.”

I lean my head out of the bathroom. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.”

I walk out and get air kisses from his mom. Then I grab the dark wig off the bed and, of course, there are my briefs — which I ignore— and put it on Dawson’s head. “What do you think of your son as a girl? I haven’t done his eyes or lipstick yet. Would you like to help?”

“Oh, I’d love that!” she squeals. “I got to dress your father up for Mr. Eastbrooke about a million years ago. Of course we weren’t dating back then.”

Dawson’s dad sits down on the very chair Dawson was just sitting in. I notice him eyeing my briefs lying on the bed. A big grin forms on his face.

I walk over, grab them, and toss them to Dawson. “Don’t forget you were going to see if you can fit into these. If not, I’ll see if I can find a bigger pair.”

He catches them and tries to put them on over his shorts. It’s not working so well.

“No, silly. They’re never going to fit like that. There’s too much fabric.” I turn to his mom. “What did you make him wear under his skirt?”

“He was on the swim team, so he wore one of those little Speedos.”

“Oh, that would work much better.” I take the briefs out of his hand and shove them into my purse. “That way you won’t stretch mine all out.”

I glance at the clock. “It’s almost three. I have to get to the dance locker room and get ready for the parade.” I turn to his mom and say, “If I leave my makeup, could you finish his eyes and then take a picture of it?”

“Of course, dear,” she replies.

Dawson gives me an evil eye. I know he doesn’t want to stay here with his parents. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and tell him I’ll see him later.



A blowout.

3:30pm



The parade is a blast. We perform a dance routine at four different spots on the route, but mostly I just ride on the float and throw bubblegum and Blow Pops into the crowd.

Our float’s theme is Homecoming: It’s Gonna Be A Blowout.

Get it? Bubblegum. Blowout. Beating the other team.

Of course, as the dance team suspected, the guys all loved this year’s theme and are hoping to get more than bubble gum if they win.

Peyton tried to tell the alumni dancers that she didn’t think it was a good theme, but they loved it and wouldn’t listen.

They loved the play on words between the blow and the bubblegum.

When Peyton said, But a blowout? The alumni in charge said, Yes, dear, we’re a well-educated bunch. Everyone will know that we are referring to beating the other team badly, not getting our hair done.

So I’m thinking maybe when you get old and you hear the word blow, you don’t automatically think blowjob anymore?

I’m not sure.

But I do know that Shark has been having a field day. There have been numerous bets placed between girls and boys based on the game’s score that have nothing to do with money changing hands.

After the parade, he walks up to me and comments on the sucker in my mouth. “There is just something so sexy about a girl licking a lollipop.”

“Oh, it’s not just a lollipop. It’s a Blow Pop. Imagine how exciting it will be when I get to the surprise inside.”

Shark snickers. “Were you not just dying laughing the entire time? I followed your float down the whole parade route just to watch the old guys drool.” He hands me his ever-present flask.

“You’re drinking already?”

“The parents have just arrived and I’m beyond horny. What do you think?”

“Dawson’s parents about walked in on us in his dorm room today.”

“My parents did walk in on me and Shelley today, although we were just kissing. I’m not sure if they were proud or pissed. Hard to tell. Mom’s had so much plastic surgery she has a permanent smile.”

“So how are the odds looking for Queen?”

“The odds are in Peyton’s favor. Does Whitney know that you’ve been chatting up the Freshmen?”

“I hope not. She’d really hate me. I’m not doing it to be mean; you know that right?”

“I know that,” he says as he hands be back the flask. “Here, have another drink.”

My cell phone rings. “It’s Dawson,” I tell Shark.

“Hey, Dawes.”

“Come meet me in Riley’s room. The Johnson boys are wishing Riley luck before the JV game, and my little brother, Braxton, wants to meet you.”

I tell Shark I have to go.



I walk into Riley’s room to find Camden, Riley, Dawson, and a little Dawson clone who must be Braxton, involved in a loud conversation.

Cam says to Braxton, “I heard you got caught by Mom with two girls in your room, who were only wearing their underwear.”

“Bro,” Braxton says, “I was this close to a threesome.” He holds his thumb and finger an inch apart. “Damn giggly girls. Mom heard. Came storming the f*ck in. Now, I’m f*cking grounded for a whole month. Which is f*cking shit cuz Dad was grinning at me the whole time Mom yelled at me. Then he asked me how old they were. They were 16. So shit, ya know.”

“Brax, Keatyn is here now. You need to watch your mouth,” Riley scolds.

Braxton cocks his head at me. “What? You've never heard the word f*ck? Funny, cuz I'm pretty sure I heard my brother implying that Mom and Dad interrupted you doing just that.”

I'm not easily shocked. But my mouth flops open. Braxton continues. “Just wait until this summer. You gonna be there?”

“Uh, I don't know.”

“Well, you can be sure of this. My brothers are gonna be wishing they were me. I was ready this year, but my f*cking parents thought I was too young. But this summer, I'm up to bat. F*cking Whoredom, here I come. Girls all think I'm 17.”

“I'd know you’re not,” I say.

“How’s that? Everyone says I look really old for my age.”

“You might look older than you are, but you cuss too much. You sound like a kid who just learned how. Makes you sound like the eighth grader that you are.”

His studies my face. “Are you f*cking with me?”

“Nope. I'm serious.”

He nods his head. Smiles at me, just like Riley does, and shakes his head. “I'm gonna like you. Since these douches haven't invited you yet, you come stay with us this summer. As long as you want. You can be my wingman.”

“Your wingman?”

“Yep, I have my arm around a hot older chick at the beach, all the other hotties are gonna want me. Proven fact. Girls always want what they can’t have.”

“Now that sounded very mature. And as long as it’s okay with Riley and Dawson, I'll be there. Nice to meet you. I have to get to dance. We’re having a pizza party with some of the alumni before the game.”

Riley says, “I’ll walk with you. I’ve got to get to the locker room too.”



On the way there, he asks me about tonight. “So Braxton is spending the night with me and Dallas. I’m worried about sneaking to your room.”

“It’s been three days, Riley. I think you’re right. It must not have been him.”

“But what if he was waiting for Homecoming? There are going to be a lot of people coming and going this weekend. It’s kind of a security nightmare. Caterers. Foodservice. Delivery trucks. Rental companies. Alumni. Families. If you didn’t belong here and wanted to get in, this would be when you’d try to do it.”

I sigh. “Shit. I didn’t think of that. You’re right. Maybe I just won’t sleep?”

“That won’t work. Maybe you could go stay with Dawson? No, I have a better idea. I’ll send Braxton to stay with him. It might mess up some of your fun, but it’s worth it, right?”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks, Riley. I know it’s a pain for you to have to get up every night, sneak out, and then sleep on my floor.”

“Your rug and I are having a hot affair.”

“I think I’m going to give you that rug when this is over.”

“If we get through Homecoming weekend then I think you’re safe.”



I can’t eat anything at the pizza party because I’m feeling a little sick.

Riley brought up an extremely good point about security this weekend.

It makes me worry about Katie. What if Vincent did come in my room? What if I screamed and she woke up? What would he do to her?

And what about this weekend? All these people here? What would he do? How would he try and take me? Would he cause a commotion like he did at my party?

Or would he try to catch me when I’m alone?

I’m deep in thought when I get a text from Aiden.



Aiden: Quick. Come outside.



Me: I don’t think I can.



Aiden: Make up an excuse. Trust me, it’s worth it.



I make up a lame excuse in my head, but don’t end up having to use it. I just slip out unnoticed.

Aiden is waiting for me outside the dance room.

He tells me to close my eyes.

Once we’re outside the doors, he puts his hands on top of my shoulders and turns me so that I’m facing another direction. Down toward the football field, I think.

He leans his face over my shoulder. His lips lightly touch my ear as he whispers, “Open.”

I open my eyes and see a brilliant sunset. It’s gorgeous. Today was cloudy, kind of dreary, the sky threatening rain. Now the bottoms of those puffy clouds are multiple shades of pink, gold, and blue all radiating out from a red ball of fire low in the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

“Yeah, I thought so too. I’m glad you like it.”

I turn away from the sunset to face Aiden. The view in this direction is just as brilliant. The colors of the sunset are bouncing off Aiden’s green eyes.

I turn back around and look at the sunset again, remembering what Aiden told me about his mom.

I say a quick thank you that I made it through another day. That I’m still here.

I start to get tears in my eyes.

Aiden has no idea how much seeing this sunset helped me. How it calmed me down from freaking out about Vincent.

For some reason, this sunset gives me hope that I’ll win.

Somehow, I have to win.

“Thank you. I was having a rough day. Showing me this sunset helped put it all in perspective.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Remember the stuff we talked about in the chapel?”

“Is your friend having more trouble?”

“Yeah, she had a scare, I guess you could say. Something weird happened recently and she thinks he might have discovered where she is. But he hasn’t come for her yet. Like, to get her. So she’s waiting. And waiting is scary.”

“I bet.”

“But the sun just set on another day of her being safe. So that’s a good thing.”

Aiden touches my arm. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You always help,” I say before I think better of it.

Aiden smiles at me and gives my arm a little squeeze. “What have I told you before?”

“When I need you, you’ll be there?”

“I mean it.”

“I know, it’s just that . . .”

“You have a boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still here. Besides you helped me yesterday.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, in French. What you said about only caring about what the people you love think. It was something I needed to hear.”

I smile big. “Really, I actually helped you?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Thanks. I, um, better get back in there.”

I walk towards the door to the field house, but glance back to look at Aiden bathed in the light of the setting sun, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s going to do for the person he loves.





Friday, October 7th

A little tail.

6:27am



Today is School Spirit Day. Everyone is dressed in lots of red and yellow. As I get in line for coffee and a muffin, I realize that our Cougar Kitty outfits really stand out. I’ve got on a black spandex tank and a flirty black dance skirt with a leopard tail attached to the back. I straightened my hair, teased it up big, added the ears headband, and then drew kitty whiskers on my face with black eyeliner.

Someone pulls on my tail and says, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

I turn around and see Dallas and Riley grinning at me. They are wearing their red football jerseys and each have a red E painted on their cheek.

Riley says, “I was hoping to get a little tail at Homecoming.”

Dallas laughs and adds, “That, or some p-ssy.”

“Oh my gosh, you guys. Grow up.”

Dallas gives me a once over. “I’m digging the outfits for today. You all dressed that way?”

“Yes, we are. Including Katie, your new obsession. I swear, if it weren’t for classes, I don’t think I’d have seen you this week.”

Dallas grins. “We’re having fun. It’s new.”

Whitney walks by, gives me a completely different kind of once over and says, “From glitter whores to kitty whores.”

I suck in a deep breath.

“Don’t let her bait you, baby,” Riley says. “She’s just jealous she doesn’t look as hot as you. For god’s sake, she’s wearing a turtleneck.”

I laugh. “And pearls.”

“What are the cheerleaders wearing today? Ariela gonna be dressed as a kitty too?”

“No, they’re wearing their sporty warm ups today.”

“Phew,” Riley says, while fake wiping his brow. “That’s good. I don’t think I could have resisted the temptation. No offense, but guys are going to be having some kitty fantasies today. I’m just saying.”



Catcalls.

Pep Rally



The dance team does a fun skit for the pep rally and, later, performs a dance.

There are lots of cheers, speeches, and honoring of alumni, but you can tell everyone is waiting for what is sure to be the highlight of the afternoon.

The Mr. Eastbrooke contest.

I helped Dawson get ready and his face looks pretty good. His cheer still kinda sucks, but I don’t think he cares. It sounds like it’s almost more of a popularity contest anyway.

Maggie and I roar with laughter when he sashays his way across the gym. He can’t zip up the cheerleading skirt that he’s wearing, so it’s gaping open in the back, and he’s completely stretching out Ariela’s cheerleading sweater with a hugely stuffed bra that his mom bought him. He says it’s the boobs that will win, not his cheer.

He sticks his fake chest out, puts his hand on his hip, puckers up his bright red lips, and blows kisses to the crowd. Everyone claps.

Then he does his cheer. “Be Aggressive . . .”

When he finishes the cheer, he attempts a cheerleading jump.

The jump is pretty good, but causes one of his fake boobs to fall out of the sweater.

Of course, everyone laughs and cheers about that.

The dean calls up the next candidate and so goes on the annihilation of all that is sacred to cheerleaders. It’s hilarious. I can see why everyone looks forward to the contest.

Aiden is up last. He looks a lot like Peyton, and if it weren’t for his manly build and the stubble on his face, he’d make a pretty girl. He’s got on a long blonde wig but, unlike all the other contestants who have worn cheerleader costumes, he’s wearing a version of the kitty costume I have on today.

All the way down to the tail.

Some of the guys make catcalls. Haha. Get it? Catcalls?

Anyway, people are whistling and yelling out his name.

I expect a cheerleader to walk out with him like Ariela walked out with Dawson, but instead, Peyton walks out. She brushes his hair down and then turns to speak to the crowd. “And our last contestant in the Mr. Eastbrooke contest is Aiden Arrington.” She shakes her head and smiles at her brother. “I hope you are ready for this!”

She points her arm over to Shark, who flips on loud dance music.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Is he going to dance?

He said he never would.

I watch Peyton go sit in the stands next to a man and woman who must be her parents. Both her face and Aiden’s look a lot their mother, but their dad is equally attractive. Actually, that’s not true. Aiden’s dad is hot. Aiden may have gotten his pretty face and green eyes from his mom, but everything else is all dad. The strong jawline, the color of stubble on his cheeks, the broad shoulders tapering down to a lean torso. Even the little freckle on his cheek.

Aiden picks up a pair of pompoms and starts doing one of our dance routines.

And although I shouldn’t be, I’m quite shocked at how good he is.

Like, he is a really good dancer. Not quite as good as Sander was, but clearly good enough to blow away the other contestants.

The crowd goes nuts, cheering, screaming.

Maggie keeps hitting me on the arm. “Oh my god, are you watching this?”

“I think everyone is watching this.”

“Who knew he could dance like that. I told you. I don’t think there’s anything that boy can’t do.”

He can’t speak French worth a shit, I think to myself.

“Why doesn’t he dance like that all the time?”

“I don’t know,” I reply.

“Oh my gosh! He just did the booty shake. Like, he did it pretty good. Gosh, he is sexy. Justin Timberlake better watch out. I wonder if he can sing too?”

“Have you always been such a big fan of his?”

“Everyone has always been a big fan of his. I don’t know. He’s always been hot but this year there’s just something more mature about him. He’s gotten totally sexy.”

“Hmm.”

By the time Aiden finishes, the entire gymnasium, including Maggie and me, are on our feet giving him a standing ovation.

Peyton runs out onto the court and gives her brother a big hug as the dean announces, “By unanimous decision, Aiden Arrington is this year’s Mr. Eastbrooke.”

The soccer team rushes onto the floor and jumps around him.

I glance over at Aiden’s mom. She’s in tears but beaming with pride. Which causes me to get tears in my eyes.

Because I know why he did it.

Why he risked making a fool of himself in front the whole school. He wanted to make his mom, the person he loves, happy.

I feel like I just watched him grow up a little.

They put the silly princess crown on his head and a red glittered sash around his chest.

“This concludes the pep rally, so everyone head out to the alumni tailgate,” the dean announces.

Everyone files out of the gymnasium, but I’m stuck in my spot.

I still have tears in my eyes as I watch Aiden in the crowd.

I find myself walking over to congratulate him.

There’s lots of girls giving him hugs and kisses on the cheek. Guys patting him on the back and giving him fist bumps. But he sees me sort of standing here waiting and moves out of the crowd toward me.

I can’t keep the tears out of my eyes.

I don’t know why what he did is affecting me so much. I think it’s the combination of seeing his mom. Knowing what she’s gone through. What their family has gone through. And probably a lot of me wishing my own mom could be here today. To see me perform. To beam with pride as I take the field at halftime as part of the Homecoming Court in a beautiful dress and shoes that I picked out completely by myself.

I want to make my parents proud too.

He stands in front of me and wipes a tear from my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just really proud of you, Aiden. You should have seen your mom. She teared up and beamed when you won. I just think it’s really cool that you risked making a fool of yourself for her. You did it for her, right?”

“I did it for all the people that I love. Did you love it?”

“Everyone loved it. You got a freaking standing ovation.”

“That’s not what I asked. Did you love it?”

I take a deep breath, so that I won’t start crying. “I loved it, Aiden. I really loved it.”

I get the grin. The grin that grows into the megawatt, brighter-than-the-sunset smile. “I want you to meet my parents,” he says. He takes ahold of my elbow and guides me through the crowd that is still trying to congratulate him.

“Mom, Dad, this is Keatyn Monroe. She’s the girl I told you about.”

Told them about?

Shit. What did he tell them? That he hates me most of the time?

That I’m a freaking soccer-ball-stealing, boot-wearing, French-speaking lunatic?

Aiden’s mom holds out her hand. As we shake, Aiden’s dad says, “We understand Aiden’s French has improved because of you.”

Tutoring. Thank god. He just told them I’m his tutor.

I smile. “Yes, but we still have a long way to go. Especially if he’s going to get to our goal of a B.”

Aiden’s mom smiles. “We heard you’re taking him to France to celebrate when that happens.”

I look at Aiden. My eyes search his for answers. He told his parents that?

He gives me a sly grin.

“He sort of tricked me into agreeing to that,” I say honestly.

His mother laughs. “He’s had that gift since he was a little boy. He smiles that dang smile and looks at you with those big green eyes and he can get away with anything.”

“Mom!” Aiden says, laughing. “Don’t give away all my secrets.”

“Oh, that one I already know,” I say with a laugh of my own. I like his mom already.

Peyton interjects, “Yeah, he never got into trouble. He’d always make Mom laugh or he’d kiss her on the nose and get out of it. It never worked for me.”

Peyton’s dad laughs. “Give us a break. You may not know how to work your Mom, but you have your daddy wrapped around your little finger.”

Peyton beams and gives her dad a hug.

Aiden says, “Well, I supposed I better get out of this makeup and ready for the game.”

“Oh, I have to get going too. It was nice to meet you both.”

Aiden and I turn and walk away in the same direction. “Your parents are great.”

He nods. “Yeah, they are. I’m lucky. Everyone has been complaining about their families coming. I couldn’t wait to see mine. I bet it’s hard not having yours here. Hey, who is going to walk you onto the field?”

“It is, but my uncle is coming.”

We get to the boys’ locker room and as he heads through the door I sort of whisper, “Good luck, Aiden.”

He hears me, stops, does a one-eighty, and comes back to me. He pulls up the sleeve of the black leotard he’s wearing. On his arm is a marker drawn four-leaf clover.

“That looks like . . .”

“Points for dances, Round 3? I had someone draw it to match your note. I needed some of that luck today.”

He still has my note? Of course, I still have the real clover he gave me. It’s pressed between the pages of my Keats poetry book.

“Why did you need luck?”

“Probably because I risked making a fool out of myself. I’m glad I did it though. It was exhilarating. Is that how you felt when you went running down the field and kicked the soccer ball in the middle of our game?”

I laugh. “Yeah, kinda.”

“That was really brave. New girl. New school. To take that chance.”

“Maybe, but what you did was braver. Changing people’s perception of you is a lot harder than making a first impression.”

“Well, since I’m feeling lucky. What do you say? Points for Dances, Round 4?”

“I can’t do that, but . . .” I reach out and trace the outline of the four-leaf clover. “I do wish you and the team lots of luck.”



It seems kind of mean.

6pm



I go to the dance room, change into my game outfit, and get ready for the fun surprise we have for the alumni tailgate. I get a text from Garrett letting me know that he’s here. I text him back and let him know where to meet up with me.

I know he’s not my family. I know that he’s being paid a lot to help me, but I also know that Garrett runs a very large and successful security firm. I know that he’s taken a special interest in my case. I know that he cares.

I spot him. He’s looking really handsome in his charcoal pinstriped suit. I never really paid much attention, but Garrett is really quite good looking. And, apparently, Miss Praline has already noticed this. She is totally chatting him up.

“Do you know Melissa?” Garrett asks me.

“Melissa and I do know each other. She is also Miss Praline, my French teacher.”

Garrett grabs her hand, kisses it, and starts speaking to her in French.

He’s so flirting with her.

And she is totally swooning.

It’s really, really cute.

“Um, Miss Praline,” I say, as I pat Garrett on the back. “My uncle, Garrett, really doesn’t know anyone. Do you think he could sit with you during the game? I have to go now and do a dance thing, and I’ll be out on the field during the game.”

Garrett grins at me and Miss Praline gets all flustered. “Well, um, of course, I wouldn’t want your, uh, uncle, to get lost or anything.”

Ha! I doubt Garrett ever gets lost. He probably has a full recon poster of the school’s building plans on his cell phone.

“That would be great.” I give my uncle a hug, then point and say, “We’ll meet right over there to line up when there are two minutes left in the half.”

“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.”