Date Me (The Keatyn Chronicles)

There’s a wide pathway running down the parking lot and tailgaters are set up on both sides of it. I get a text from Peyton telling us to take our positions.

I walk casually over to a tent and pretend to be interested in what they are doing.

Someone turns up a great song. Which is my cue. I walk out into the pathway and start doing a line dance to the music. I’m the only one out here, so people are turning to stare.

After a few lines of the song, Peyton and Maggie come out to dance with me.

Pair by pair, dancers join in the dance, and pretty soon a lot of the alumni dancers join in too, then some of the crowd.

By the end of the song, the pathway is full of people dancing with us.

After the flash mob, Peyton runs up to me, flushed and beaming. “That was so much fun. You did a great job starting it.”

“A great job making a fool out of myself, you mean?”

“Speaking of fools, what did you think of Aiden’s dance?”

“It was really good. So, does Whitney know about Cam or your dress yet?”

“Are you kidding? I made sure to parade him in front of her the second he arrived. I know she’s mad, but it’s not like she can say anything about it. And no, she doesn’t know about my dress. I want that to be a surprise.”

“That seems kind of mean, Peyton. I think you should tell her.”

“I don’t think it’s any of her business what I wear.”

“That’s true, but—“

She holds her hand up. “No. I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to do what I want to do.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“I’m not listening.”

I really want to tell her that this is going to blow up in her face. That someone will end up getting hurt in the crossfire. That her boyfriend will get drugged. That she’ll turn into a bitch. That her secret will come out.

But I know she won’t listen.

Maybe it’s a lesson you have to learn on your own.



Excitement in the air.

Halftime.



At halftime, I change into my formal gown, then meet Garrett just outside the field house. We gather with the other Court members waiting for the processional. The game has been going in our favor. We’re up by fourteen already and you can feel the excitement in the air.

Except for here.

Here, there is tension.

Peyton is happily sashaying around in her new dress, but you can feel the tension between her and Whitney. You can see the glares Whitney gives her and you can tell that Peyton is pretending not to care.

Whitney is standing next to her perfect-looking parents.

Where there is even more tension.

I think it’s safe to say that Whitney’s mother does not approve of her dress. She keeps looking at it and scowling.

I have to hand it to Whitney though. She has her head held high and a smile plastered on her face.

I didn’t think she could pull off a dress covered with jewels, but she so is. She looks amazing and I can see why she fell in love with the dress. It makes the rest of our gowns look plain in comparison.

Dawson grabs me from behind, kisses my neck, and whispers, “You look hot.” Then he gets in line with his own parents.

I forget about Whitney and Peyton and just stare at him. He looks so sexy in his football uniform and my mind can’t help but wander back to wearing that jersey and nothing else yesterday. Although, in my daydream we are not interrupted by his parents.

Garrett is reading emails from his phone. He coughs and a troubled look crosses his face.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“I just got some news.”

I instantly panic. “Bad news?”

“I’m not sure yet. We had an interview scheduled next week with a guy regarding Vincent and, possibly, your case. Now he’s dead.”

“Dead?” I croak out.

The band director, who is in charge of leading us all out onto the field, yells out, “Okay, line up by class starting with the freshmen. We’re about ready to go out.”

We’re supposed to follow the band director out onto the field. Then, as our class is called, we’ll walk down the sideline, then turn and go up through the 50-yard line toward the home crowd.

“Yes,” Garrett replies. “He was apparently killed in a random mugging.”

Random mugging. Where have I heard that before?

He continues. “His family doesn’t think it was random. They think he was murdered. And, I mean, they’re right . . .” He stops to listen to the stadium announcer who starts talking about the Homecoming Court tradition over the loudspeaker.

The band director yells out, “As soon as he says freshmen, all freshmen proceed on your route.”

And this year’s Freshmen Court is . . .

Garrett whispers to me, “The guy was huge. I can't imagine anyone trying to mug him.”

“What did he have to do with Vincent? How did Vincent know him?”

“He had an appointment with him a few weeks ago.”

"And this year’s Sophomore Court is . . .

“Was he a doctor?”

Garrett looks at me and shakes his head. “No, he was a tattoo artist. He did Vincent’s chaos tattoo.”

“All right, juniors, walk down to the fifty-yard line and hold,” the band director instructs us.

Garrett and I walk to the fifty-yard line. I hear someone shouting my name from the Visitor’s section, which I’m now standing in front of. I look up and see Braxton waving at me.

I smile and give him a little wave back, but there’s something gnawing at the back of my brain.

“We had hoped Vincent might have said something about the tattoo that would help our case. Like maybe he mentioned why he was getting the same tattoo as you. Or something like that.” He shakes his head. “It was a long shot.”

And this year’s Junior Court is . . .

I remember the tattoo artist who Brooklyn brought in to do our tattoos. How big he was. “Tell me he wasn't covered in tattoos and looked like Santa Claus.”

I take a step forward to walk onto the field, but Garrett doesn't come with me.

He’s firmly holding his stance and my elbow.

“How do you know that?”

The band director yells, “Miss Monroe, go, please.”

I pull Garrett down the center of the field, putting on a big smile that completely masks the sick feeling in my stomach.

“Because Brooklyn hired a guy who looked like that to do our tattoos. Everyone called him Tiny.”

“That’s the guy who is dead,” Garrett says.

Keatyn Monroe.

As I accept a bouquet of flowers, the student section yells, “MON—R-O-A-R!”

I plaster a fake smile on my face and wave to the crowd.

Then it hits me. Where I heard it.

“Garrett,” I say out of the side of my mouth, while still keeping a smile plastered on my face. “Vincent’s mom and stepdad were killed in a random mugging.”

Garrett says, “This is quite disturbing.”

“Yeah, it is.”

And this year’s Senior Court is . . .

We all turn to watch Dawson, Jake, Brad, Whitney, Peyton, and Mariah walk down the fifty-yard line toward us.

Garrett holds my arm tight. “Are you okay? You’ve got a smile on your face, but I can feel you shaking.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. But I’ll be better if you can prove Vincent killed him. Then he can go to jail and I’ll be free.”

“Do you need me for anything else after this?”

“No, this was the big deal,” I say, looking down at the designer dress and shoes I’ve had on for a total of twenty minutes. “Kinda silly, isn’t it? Like, in perspective.”

“Yeah, it kinda is. As soon as this is over, I’m catching a plane to LA.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.”



A New Jersey housewife.

Halftime.



Garrett immediately leaves for the airport and I work my way through the halftime crowd. I have to change back into my dance costume for the rest of the game.

Whitney is surrounded by her family. I hear her mother say, “What in the world are you wearing?”

Whitney stands up straight. “A dress.”

“If you had some feathers, you could be a Vegas showgirl.”

Her sister laughs. “Expect she can’t dance.”

Oh, wow. That was a low blow.

“First you lose Dawson and then you wear a dress like that. Are you trying to lose?”

“Everyone already voted, Mother. They didn’t vote based on me not wearing my sister’s hand-me-down gown.”

“You know, you’ll be the only one in the family that hasn’t won. What a let down,” her mother replies.

“This dress was very expensive,” Whitney counters.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste. You look like a New Jersey housewife.”

I actually feel sorry for Whitney, especially when I see the tears shining in her eyes. The ones she refuses to let fall.

I make a beeline toward her. “Whitney,” I say, grabbing her arm. “Will you come with me to the dance locker room? There’s an issue that I need your help with.”

“What kind of issue could she possible help with?” her sister asks in a tone dripping with bitch.

I look straight at Whitney’s mom and ignore her bitch sister. “Mrs. Clarke, do you mind if I steal her away?” I roll my eyes dramatically. “We’re having an issue with the security for the after-party and since Whitney runs the Social Committee, I feel it’s best that she handle it.”

Her mother looks at me shrewdly. “Your dress is very pretty.”

I smile sweetly at her. I am an adorable, respectful young woman.

One who wants to rip this woman’s eyes out.

“Thank you.” I look down at it and scrunch up my nose. “Although it doesn’t compare to Whitney’s. I’m so jealous of her bold choice. She looks amazing, don’t you think? You must be so proud. I mean, Homecoming Court is nice and all, but it’s nothing compared to Social Committee. There isn’t a more respected position at school. Did she tell you how we’re doing themed weekends? They will be a learning experience, incorporate the entire student and faculty population, and raise funds for some great causes. We’re all so excited.”

Winnie is looking at Whitney like she’s an alien, but her mother turns to her. “Whitney, darling, you didn’t tell us about all the amazing things you are doing.”

Whitney says with no trace of a smile, “You didn’t ask.”

The tension is thick, so I start moving her. “Nice meeting you all,” I say, as I pull her through the crowd.

When we get to the door, she asks, “Why did you just do that?”

“Your family sucks. And I meant what I said about your dress.”

She looks wistfully at her dress. “Peyton had a beaded one. We were both supposed to look different. But then she went shopping with you.”

“You sister is just jealous. She could never pull off a dress like that. You can tell by her wardrobe tonight that she prefers to blend in. You took a chance. I give it two thumbs up.”

“Really?”

I laugh. “Well, I’m not the most conservative person around here, and you hate how I dress, so you can take my compliment with a grain of salt.”

“If only I could have a shot of tequila with it,” she chuckles.

I wrap my arm around her neck. “I’m pretty sure I know a guy that can help with that.”

“Shark!” I yell out.

He saunters over. “S’up ladies?”

“Shark, you're tipsy.”

“My parents are here for the next forty-some hours—not that I'm counting—and it’s just so wonderful to hear them tell me what a failure I am.”

“Wanna share with Whitney? I think she’s counting down the hours too.”

He holds out his flask. “Rocking dress,” he says, while staring directly at her cleavage.

Whitney blushes.

I've never seen her blush.

She raises his flask in the air. “Here's to being a disappointment to our parents.”

“You two enjoy,” I say. “I gotta go change back into my dance costume.”

“From glitter whores to kitty whores?” she says with a laugh. It’s her typical slam, but she says it in a nicer way. Like we’re sharing an inside joke.

“Yeah, something like that.”



I’m late getting to the dance room, so I quickly change back into my dance costume.

Everyone is already back out on the field. I can see their dresses all lined up on the rack. I should hurry and get out there too, but I need a minute.

I sit down, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

When I open them, I roll the waistband of my skirt down, look at my tattoo, and remember Tiny.

As much as I wish we could find something on Vincent, I pray that Tiny’s death had nothing to do with me.

I stand up, pull my phone out of my locker, and call my mom.

Tommy answers with, “What’s shaking, baby?”

“I just called to tell you and Mom that I’m thankful I have such a supportive family. That I appreciate all you and Mom have done for me.”

“Well, we love you. Um, have you done something we won't love and are buttering us up?”

“No. It's Homecoming, so everyone’s parents are here and a lot of the kids are miserable. I was thinking how I would love to have you around. I’m lucky to have parents like you and I probably don’t tell you that enough. And I’m sorry that I talked back to you last week. I was sort of under some stress.”

“I know you were. It’s killing your mom and me not to be there to share Homecoming with you. But I hope you know how very proud we are.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“Heard you invited Uncle Garrett.”

“Yes. He walked me on the field and then just left to catch a flight for LA.”

I don’t tell him about Tiny. Probably because I really don’t want them to know.

“Tell Mom I love her and kiss the girls for me.”

“You got it.”





Saturday, October 8th

A rich history.

11am.



At the Women’s Tea, Peyton and I are bored to tears, so we start contemplating our escape.

“Let’s go find the boys at the golf tournament,” I suggest.

Whitney walks up to me. She had been sitting at a table with her mother and sister, along with Rachel’s family. “Keatyn, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Um, sure, what's up?”

“Jake is throwing a bit of a fit. He wants to spend part of Homecoming with his friends. Rachel is going to the dance with Bryce and the other girls have respectable dates, but he’s insisting that he wants to be with Dawson. They've gone to every Homecoming together.”

“Yeah, they told me that.”

She gives me a cool smile. “He also says that I should give you a chance.”

“Jake seems to take friendship seriously.”

“He does. So I'm compromising. It's obviously going to be a bit awkward, since Dawson and I have such a rich history. I'm sure that must bother you.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Not really. We have a very different relationship than what you had."

“How would you even know what we had?” she snarls. Her true bitchy self coming back out.

“Because he told me about it. Before we dated, we were friends. We were both hurting from breakups and that’s sort of how we bonded, I guess.”

“And what makes him different now?” She doesn’t have the bitchy look anymore and I can tell that she sincerely wants to know how Dawson has changed.

“Probably his time spent trying to make you mad. He’s more experienced now, in lots of ways.”

There’s a little wrinkle between her eyes. She quickly puts on a happy face and says, “Well, I’d like you and Dawson to sit with us at dinner.”

“Oh. That we can’t do. But Dawson got us a limo. We’re going to the hotel to change and then to the after-party. Jake thought it would be fun if we went together. Partied a little.”

“Will there be champagne?”

“I’d say that's a given.”

She shakes her head. “I think I’ll need it.”

I can tell she can’t believe she’s agreeing to it. I’m not sure if she’s doing it because she actually likes Jake or if she’s afraid he’ll dump her if she doesn’t.

I give her a big smile. “Who knows, Whitney, we might actually have fun.”



Peyton tells her mom that we have to head out to take care of some last minute details for Social Committee.

She takes me to a golf cart that all of the Senior Prefects have for the weekend to ferry people around. We hop in and ride down to the school’s nine-hole golf course.

On the way, I ask about Aiden. “So who’s your brother taking to the dance?”

“He doesn’t have a date.”

“Really, why not?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. He always has a date. I asked him about it and got some vague response. He and Logan are going stag. But lots of girls are going stag too, so they’ll have plenty of fun.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure they will.”

We pull up to the golf shack and find Camden with his arm wrapped around a leggy brunette.

“Ugh,” Peyton says. “That’s Samantha. She’s why Cam and I broke up in the first place. I hate Homecoming week. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and go to college.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“My parents want us both to go to Yale, but I’m hoping to get into Stanford.”

“Really? I’d love to go the either Stanford or Pepperdine. But I like it here too. I think Yale would be cool. Dawson wants to go to Columbia.”

“So he can party with Cam?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Have you two talked about that? Like, what you’ll do if you’re still together then?”

I shake my head. “No. We’ve only been together for a week. College is the last thing on my mind.” Really, I’m just praying I stay alive long enough to be able to choose a college.

“Watch this,” she says as she hops off the cart.

She walks straight up to Camden and slides her arms around his waist. Clearly staking out her territory.

“S’up, girls?” Cam says and gives Peyton a kiss.

Score one for Peyton.

The Samantha chick says, “Cam, you didn’t tell me you were here with Peyton.”

Cam fires back, “You didn’t ask.”

“Who are you here with?” Peyton asks her politely.

“Oh, um, just my parents.”

“Cool,” she says with a smirk. Then she tugs cutely on Cam’s shirt, sliding her hands underneath it. “Come have some beer with me and Keatyn.”

He eyes me. “That’s actually a good idea. Keatyn, you and I need to talk.”

“Oh, do we?” I say.

“See ya, Sam,” he calls out as he puts one arm around me and the other around Peyton and leads us to the beer garden.

“I can’t be seen drinking a beer here!” Peyton tells Cam.

“Oh, live a little. Fine. I’ll get you a soda. Then we’ll spike it. What about you, missy?” he asks me.

“I’ll have a beer.” Peyton gives me a little scowl. “What? I’m not a Prefect.” As Cam sets a red cup in front of me, I ask, “Where’s Dawson?”

“Out golfing with Dad and Braxton. Riley left to sneak Ariela out of the tea.”

I grin. “They are so cute together.”

Cam rolls his eyes.

“What?” Peyton asks. “You don’t think they’re cute together?”

“He’s stranded on second base.”

“Yeah, and he’s happy there. So don’t give him any shit about it.”

“What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, you come here a nobody and now you’re Miss Popularity.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not Miss Popularity at all.”

“So why Dawson then?”

“First off, I’m not like Whitney. Dawson and I ended up together because we had something in common and we got to be friends.”

“Really?” Peyton says.

“Yeah. I hated him when I first met him. He was a jerk to Riley. Slung his arm around me and said Riley was a cheap imitation of the real thing.”

Cam busts out in laughter. “Oh, that’s classic. What a great line.”

“No! It’s a horrible line. I thought he was a jerk. Then he gave me the worst kiss ever.”

“My brother gave a bad kiss? Damn, he’s going to ruin our reputation.”

“Yeah, well, he’s made up for it.”

“So I hear,” Cam says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry. He won’t tell me anything. But he’s too freaking happy for it not to be amazing. So, I guess I’ll let you stay.”

I laugh. “Gee, thanks. I’m so honored.”

He clinks my glass and looks at me seriously. “You should be.”



After a couple beers, Dawson, Braxton, and “Daddy” Johnson come off the course. Peyton told me that all the girls call Mr. Johnson “Daddy Johnson” because he’s really good looking.

I will admit the four of them all together do make a pretty nice picture. All dark hair, dark eyes, muscles, and cocky attitudes.

Braxton rushes over to us, clearly trying to win some kind of race. He sits on my lap and says, “Baby, we need to talk.”

I can’t help but laugh at him. “And what do we need to talk about? The fact that you’re small enough to sit on my lap?”

Camden says with a snort, “If Riley was the cheap imitation of the real thing, then Brax is the pocket-sized version.”

Braxton hops off my lap and says proudly, “Ain’t nothing about a Johnson that’s small.”

Camden high-fives him just as Dawson and Mr. Johnson join us.

“Is he bragging about winning already?” Mr. Johnson asks. “Because you should know he’s a cheater.”

“I didn’t make up the silly scramble rules. And Dawson has obviously been spending too much time with this one.” He tilts his head in my direction. “And not enough time on the course.”

Dawson sits down next to me and gives me a sweet kiss. “At least I have something better to do than chase my own balls around.”

Braxton does a little huff and folds his arms across his chest. He’s ready to spout off a comeback.

Probably a dirty one, because his dad says, “Don’t even say it, Braxton. You need to mind your manners in front of the ladies.”

“Did you decide to ditch the tea?” Dawson asks.

“Yeah, it was really boring,” Peyton replies. “So I made Keatyn sneak out with me.”

The boys all talk about their golfing. The best shots. What little contests they think they might win. I’m listening to their conversation when I catch Braxton typing into my phone.

I grab it from him. “What are you doing?”

“Putting myself in as a contact. You need to text me tonight with the party info. My brothers tell me nothing is going on after curfew tonight. But I don’t believe them.”

“Everyone is going to the after-party. At least everyone I know.”

“Can you get me in? I’m a good dancer.” He stands up and does a couple dance moves.

“I wish I could. The security for the event is really tight. It’s the first time the school has allowed something like this, so each student has to show their student ID to get their wristband. You have to have the wristband to get on the bus and into the event.”

I can tell Braxton’s brain is in motion. “So I just need to get a school ID and a wristband and I’m in? That should be easy.”

“Don’t you dare, Braxton,” his dad says. “We don’t need you getting kicked out before you ever get in. You want to come here next year, don’t you?”

He hangs his head in defeat. “Yeah.”

“Then behave.”

He raises his head and smiles. “Can I have beer instead?”

His dad and brothers just roll their eyes and continue their conversation. Braxton sends me a text.



Braxton F*cking Johnson: You need to hook me up with a wristband. I know you set up the security. Dawson was bragging about it. He was bragging about some other things too.



Me: Dawson never brags about other things and, sorry, but no.



I change his name to something a little more normal.



Braxton: My life sucks. I’ve been here for three days and haven’t got laid.



Me: You’re a little young for that, I think.



Braxton: I’m not. I’m ready. I’m SO ready. Hook me up. There was a party last night and you didn’t invite me. I was hurt.



Me: I didn’t go to a party last night. Neither did Dawson.



Braxton: I know that Riley snuck out.



Shit. How does he know that?



Me: Where did you hear that?



Braxton: Dallas.



Me: Probably went to see Ariela.



Braxton: Nope. I asked.



Me: I don’t know then.



Braxton: He calls you baby. He doesn’t call his girlfriend, baby. What’s up with you two?



Me: He’s my friend. Tell you what. You’re coming back for the Prospective Student weekend, right?



Braxton: Hell, yeah, I am.



Me: Be a good boy and don’t get in trouble for Homecoming and I’ll take you to a party then.



Braxton: You swear?



Me: No, I’d say that you’re the one who does all the swearing.



Braxton: F*cking right, I am.



“I have to go,” I say, checking the time on my phone.

“I’ll walk you,” Dawson says.

“You’ll what her?” Braxton says really loudly.

“WALK,” their dad says to Braxton. “Get your mind out of the gutter, son.”

As we walk away, Dawson is laughing. “I like my brother’s idea better.”

“Really? I never would have guessed that,” I say with a smirk. “You want me to look good tonight, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then I need to go get my nails done.”

“I have a few things errands I need to run myself.”

“What kind of errands?”

“Champagne kinds of errands.”

“Yum.”

When we get to my dorm, he gives me a steamy kiss and says goodbye.

I go into my room, grab my handbag and keys, then text Annie, Maggie, and Katie.



Me: Ready to head to the salon?



Annie: Still at the boring tea. Where are you?



Me: Coming to rescue you. I’ll pull my car up. You run out. LOL It’s okay to leave for our appointments. We have to look beautiful for tonight.



As I walk to my car, I’m suddenly very aware that there are a lot of people milling about that I don’t know.

Riley’s words about how it would be the perfect time to sneak on campus start running through my mind. I feel very paranoid as I walk to my car.

Twice, I see someone with Vincent’s build and hair color and have a momentary freak out.

When I get close to my car, I carefully look behind me and around me.

I peek under my car and then walk along it, making sure no one is hiding in the cargo area. Then I hit the unlock button, jump quickly into the car, and lock it back up.

I’m probably just being silly, because I really do feel safe here.

Didn’t Garrett tell me to listen to my gut? And to that little voice inside my head that lets me know when I’m in danger?

I take a deep breath and clear my head.

I don’t feel danger, so I start my car and go pick up the girls.



Not the jealous type.

8:30pm



After dinner, the walls on each side of the banquet hall are slid open to reveal the dance floor.

I enjoy being appropriately held in Dawson’s arms all night. It’s strange being in his arms for such a long period of time without attacking each other.

Although it doesn’t stop him from whispering all the things he’d like to be doing right now.

Or what he wants to do later.

Or trying to talk me into a quick visit to his dorm, or the bathroom.

Or anywhere, really.

At a little before eleven, the Homecoming Court is assembled for our procession and then the announcement of the King and Queen.

We walk to the middle of the stage when our names are called and then line up on the stage.

The Dean thanks the Homecoming Court and gives a short speech about exemplary students, all aimed at the alumni and parents as opposed to the students.

Then he opens an envelope and says, “And this year’s Homecoming King is Dawson Johnson!”

I let out a somewhat dignified whoop as the crowd cheers.

Last year’s Homecoming Queen, the leggy Samantha that Camden was flirting with at the golf tournament, walks across the stage, places a crown on Dawson’s head, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

The dean is handed another envelope and slowly opens it.

He smiles and says, “And this year’s Homecoming Queen is Peyton Arrington!”

Peyton gets teary-eyed and walks to the center of the stage. Dawson holds out his elbow for her and they smile for the flashing cameras. Camden, who I didn’t realize was last year’s King, walks out onto the stage, grabs Peyton, and dips her back for a sexy kiss on the lips.

All the students hoot and whistle.

He pulls her back upright then places a tiara on her head.

I think ahead to next year. How cool it would be to have Dawson come back, place a crown on my head, and dip me back and kiss me?

I look out into the crowd and realize that I survived the dance. The dance was really the part I was most worried about. It felt a lot like my birthday party. People all around.

I tried to act normal, but I stuck as close to Dawson as I could.

I catch him smiling at me. He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a soft tan dress shirt that is just slightly darker than the nude color under my dress, a black suit with a tan pinstripe, a black tie, and shiny black wingtips.

I watch the assistant dean place a bouquet of red and yellow roses in Peyton’s arms.

Peyton beams and her smile lights up the stage.

But another brightness catches my eye. Aiden is smiling at his sister. I can tell he’s so proud. And he looks extremely handsome standing there. He’s wearing a grey Armani suit, the palest of blue shirts, an artistic gray and blue striped tie, and by far the coolest shoes of the night. I had seen them earlier and hadn’t noticed. They just looked like basic black Prada dress shoes, but up here in the bright light you can see the perforated pattern on them and the bright blue undertones.

He catches me looking at him and gives me a little wink. At least, I think he’s winking at me. There’s no one behind me and I don’t think he was winking at Ariela or Maggie, who are standing beside me. I give him a little smile back.

Music starts playing again and Dawson and Peyton descend from the stage for the Royal Dance.

I glance at Whitney. There’s no mistaking the venom in her glare.

She’s pissed.

Pissed she isn’t out there dancing with Dawson.

Pissed her perfectly scripted life hasn’t gone according to plan.

About halfway through the dance, Dawson and Peyton break apart. Dawson dances with his mom and Peyton with her dad.

I picture myself dancing like that with Tommy.

But if I danced with Tommy, that would mean the truth about who I am would have to come out.

Vincent would have to be in jail.

And if he was, would I come back?

Would everyone hate me for lying?

Or would I go back to my old school?

My old life?

Everyone claps, breaking me out of my reverie, and indicating the end of the song.

Dawson comes up to the stage and holds his hand out to help me descend the stage.

I’m happily swaying in his arms when Whitney says, “May I cut in? For old time’s sake?”

Jake holds out his arm to me, so I politely let her dance with Dawson.

Dawson looks stiff, but she looks happy.

She doesn’t look like a scheming bitch when she dances with him.

And, while I’m not the jealous type, I’m practically giddy when Dawson ends their dance halfway through and takes me back in his arms.



Like a red Solo cup.

11:15pm



Dawson and I walk down to the dorms, so we can pick up our bags to take to the hotel. Then we stop off at the student center, show our school IDs, and get our wristbands.

The school was really concerned about students inviting friends to come to the event, so, for liability reasons, we had to devise a way to make sure the party stayed closed.

The rule is: no wristband = no entrance. No exceptions.

Whitney and Jake meet us at the limo. Jake gives me a hug and whispers, “Thank you. But, beware: she’s in a pissy mood after not winning.”

Dawson had taken his crown off and put it on me at the dance. I realize I’m still wearing it, so I pull it off my head and tuck it into Dawson's duffle bag. I don’t want to make her feel worse.

“Champagne is in order, I think,” I say to Jake.

He opens one of the bottles he brought along and pours some in a flute for Whitney.

She doesn't even bother to wait for a toast. She just drains it.

Jake refills her glass and then grabs another flute.

“Oh, here,” I say to Jake and hand him two red Solo cups. “Put ours in here.”

“Very classy,” Whitney sneers.

“It has nothing to do with class, Whitney. I’ll never drink out of limo glasses. They don't wash them. Just sort of Windex them off between uses. Way to many germs for me. Besides, nothing says party like a red Solo cup.”

“Maybe your kind of parties.”

“Yes, my kind of parties. Shots. Dancing on the bar. You know, fun stuff.”

Jake asks Dawson for a red cup, fills his glass, and toasts, “No more parents. No more alums. Watch out club. Here we come."

“Whooh!” I yell, and take a sip.

Dawson pulls me into his arms. “Are you going to dance on the bar tonight? That sounds hot.”

“Definitely.”

Dawson is all over me in the limo.

"I can't wait to help take this off,” he says, touching the bow on my shoulder.

Jake puts his arm around Whitney and as hard as she’s trying to pretend things are perfect, she looks like she's ready to cry.

And I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm sitting here getting mauled by her King.

I grab Dawson's hand and place it on my thigh, keeping my hand firmly on top of it.

Jake says, “So, tell us about the after-party.”

“Although, at first, I wasn't supportive of the idea,” Whitney admits. “After spending the last three days with my family, I'm very much looking very forward to cutting loose.”

Jake grins and promptly refills her flute. She chugs it and then leans into Jake, clearly a little more relaxed.



When we get to the hotel, Jake asks Whitney, “How long do you need to change?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes.”

Jake says to us, “Okay, so we’ll meet back here at 11:45.”

As we walk into the lobby, Dawson puts a shoulder into Jake’s. “I’m gonna need a little more time than that. Let’s shoot for 12:30.”

“But the party starts a midnight,” Whitney pouts.

Dawson shrugs his shoulder. “The party won't start until we get there. That's how it's always been."

Whitney beams at him.

As we walk to our room, I say to Dawson, “You gave Whitney a nice compliment.”

“Yeah, Jake hasn't quite learned how to deal with her yet.”

“But you know,” I say, not quite able to conceal the hurt in my voice.

He rolls his eyes at me. "We dated for a long time. She needs her ego stroked. Always has. That's why she and Jake won't work long term. He's too stubborn."

My stomach drops. Does he want her back? Does he want to stroke her ego?

He continues. “I’m so glad you're not like that. And, besides, it was worth it. I’m going to need every bit of that hour with you.”

“Oh really, why?”

He opens the door to our room and says, “This is why.”

He barely gets the door shut before he's got me pinned against it and is untying the bow at my shoulder.

The front of the dress falls down to reveal my nude-colored strapless bra.

“This needs to go,” he says, unhooking it and flinging it on the floor. I push his suit jacket off his shoulders as he bends down to kiss my chest. He tries to push the rest of the dress down off my hips, but it’s very fitted and has a zipper.

“There's a zipper,” I moan as he sucks his way across my chest.

He fumbles with the zipper, gets it undone, and pushes it and my panties to the floor.

He picks me up and carries me to the couch, quickly undoing his own zipper.

"God, that dress has been driving me crazy.”

Then he’s moving like we have two minutes instead of an hour.