I see Peyton narrow her eyes. I’ve heard her talking in dance about how she hopes to be Queen this year. She sits up a little straighter and raises her chin slightly in the air. It’s a move I totally recognize. She’s about to stand up to Whitney.
“I don’t know,” she says. “He seems pretty crazy about Keatyn. And the way he calls her Keatie is so adorable.”
Whitney narrows her eyes slightly, but it doesn’t stop her. She snarls at me. “He’s just using you. Surely you’re a smart enough girl to realize that. He’s not going to fall in love with you.”
I don’t get to answer. She turns away from me and speaks directly to her friends. “He freaked out about the photos of them on Facebook. Do you really think he’s going to ask her to Homecoming and be stuck with those pictures for the rest of his life? Plus, his parents will be here, and they adore me. No way he’s going to introduce her to Fred and Sharon.
I sit up a little straighter. “I got to meet his parents. After he and Jake ditched you, we went to New York.”
“Oh and stayed with his mom and dad. That must have been so romantic,” she sneers.
“Actually, we only met them for lunch on Sunday. We stayed at my loft.”
“With your parents?” she laughs. “Even better. If he weren’t so well-mannered, he’d have run the other way. He’s asking me, so don’t get your hopes up. And why are you sitting at my table?”
“Just to be clear. We stayed at my loft. Alone. And you’re right. It was quite romantic. And I’m sitting here because he asked me to.”
“Just like a good little mutt would.”
I’m about to unleash my fury when the dean stands up in front of us and taps on a microphone. “I have a few announcements,” he says.
The table I’m sitting at is the first table in the center of the room. It looks out over a large empty area that is used as a sort of stage. The cheerleaders sometimes do little skits here on game days. The dance team has performed during lunch. The swing choir did their thing just last week. I glance back and notice that Riley and Dallas aren’t at their usual table either. They must have had to do the football thing too.
The dean makes a few announcements that we’re not really listening too, but then I hear him say, “Keatyn Monroe, it’s come to my attention that you’ve been seen canoodling around campus with Dawson Johnson.”
Canoodling? What does that even mean?
I turn around in my seat and face him. Wondering why the hell he would say such a thing in public. If I’m in trouble for kissing Dawson on campus, wouldn’t he call me into his office?
He continues. “I know you’re new, but we have very high standards here.”
I hear Whitney break out in laughter. “This is priceless.”
The dean continues. “You’re about to see just how high.”
Then the room fills with the sound of stripper music. The dean drops the microphone and starts dancing to the music.
He doesn’t dance well.
I wonder what the hell is going on. Is this some kind of new girl hazing?
Is someone going to jump out and tell me I’ve been punked?
I glance at Peyton. She shakes her head at me. She has no idea either.
The dean sticks his index finger in his mouth then touches it to his ass. Like it’s sizzling hot.
My jaw drops to the ground and I half scream and cover my mouth with my hand, laughing. The side door opens and a bunch of boys dance in. Jake, Riley, Bryce, Dallas, Tyrese, Ace, and some other football players.
They line up next to the dean and do a naughty striptease dance, pulling their school blazers off and tossing them to the ground.
The students behind me start clapping and screaming.
I shimmy my shoulders to the music.
“For God’s sake,” Whitney whispers loudly over the music, “stop shaking. You look ridiculous. If you’re going to sit at this table at least try to have a little decorum.”
I flip her the bird over my shoulder. Then I stand up, pump my fist in the air, and go, “Woooh!”
All the guys except for Jake strip off their oxfords, the dean included, and swing them above their heads like lassos.
Jake comes dancing up to our table and crooks his finger at me. I skip up to him as he pulls me into his hips and grinds against me.
“Unbutton my shirt,” he says.
I grin at him and quickly unbutton all of his buttons. I even drop it low in front of him and shake my ass a little. He pulls me up, puts my arms up in the air, and slides his hand down the sides of me. I run my finger down the front of his shirt totally getting into it.
He pushes me back a little and says, “Get ready.”
The music switches and the lyrics scream, Aaaaare yooooou readyyyyy? The crowd behind me yells back, “YES!” Then a fast techno beat blares through the speakers.
The dean jumps out from the line and rips his t-shirt straight down the middle. On his white pasty chest is a red painted H.
Jake follows suit. Ripping his shirt down the middle. On his chest is a red O.