I believe the rumors and know without a doubt it’s true. You could see it coming. She’s been publicizing the hell out of Jake. Sending out all sorts of little rumors. Getting people talking about him. And she’s been making out with Jake in front of Dawson every chance she gets. She wants to make him jealous. She doesn’t really want him, she just wants him to want her, to pine for her. Having someone as hot as Dawson begging for you ups your status.
The thing with girls like her, though, is they are sneaky. They’re always planning and scheming. That’s why they’re hard to beat. Who else would spend so much time trying to get Jake built up to relationship status? And to one-up Dawson in the process.
She should be a publicist when she grows up. She has marketed Jake to perfection. She’s made him into the new It boy in less than a week.
That’s what Vanessa was planning on doing to the lacrosse player that got hot over the summer. She wanted to parade him around school. Make them the next power couple.
Is there some top-secret Alpha guide somewhere? Because clearly Whitney and Vanessa are following the same handbook.
I have to walk in front Dawson and crew to go to the concession stand.
I really should’ve thought ahead and sent Dallas.
Tyrese, who is sitting right next to Dawson, yells at me, “Keatyn-baby, come here!”
I want to pretend that I didn’t hear him, but I’m like a dog; when I hear my name I can't help but turn my head toward the noise.
But guess what, boys? I’m not coming here.
I look at Tyrese, lift my chin in the air, give him a little princess-in-the-crowd wave, smile, and keep on walking.
I get to the concession stand.
Decide to feed my depression with food.
Buy two hotdogs and three types of candy.
I’m stuffing one of the hotdogs into my mouth, eating it quickly so that when I get back to the stands it will look like I only bought one.
My mouth is stuffed full when Dawson rounds the corner and beelines straight toward me.
Shit.
I chew as fast as I can and choke down a piece that is way too big to swallow—but I manage—and chug some diet Coke, seriously wishing it was laced with rum, as he says, “Keatyn.”
“Hey, Riley’s doing great tonight. You should be proud.” I try to walk past him. He grabs my arm, holding me back.
“I’m sorry, okay?” He hangs his head.
“Yeah, okay,” I say back. Damn him for having such adorable and pathetic-looking eyes. He stands there, looking at me. But I’m not caving. “Anything else you needed? I have to get this hotdog back to Dallas.”
“Yeah, there is.” He pulls me into his lips. His kiss is soft and sweet. It’s an I’m-sorry kiss. And it makes me feel surprisingly happy. “Can we hang out tonight after the game?”
Happy, yes, but I’m still pissed. “Sorry, I can’t. I have homework to do and posters to make for dance.”
He looks like he doesn’t believe me.
I’m not lying, though. I really need to do those things tonight. I’d be in big trouble if I flunked out of here.
“Okay, uh, well, see you tomorrow, then, I guess.”
“Sounds good.” I turn my back on him and walk back to the safety of my friends.
Once back in my seat, I notice two girls chatting enthusiastically a couple rows in front of us and a little to my right. “Hey, look, it’s Facebook official. Jake and Whitney are going out,” one girl says to the other.
“I heard that Jake is in line for the British throne. Like he could be King someday.”
“Oh my gosh. He’s so dreamy. It’s so not fair that Whitney always gets the hottest guys.”
“He is dreamy. And of course she does. She’s, like, perfect. I wish I was her.”
“Did you see those pictures of Dawson and the new chick?”
“Ohmigawd, I know. Were they not the most adorable thing ever? I want to hate her just because of Dawson, but it sounds like she’s actually nice, not a bitch like Whitney.”
“I bet Whitney was pissed.”
They both giggle and I stop eavesdropping.
So that’s what she meant by royalty being in style. Jake’s in line for the British throne? Interesting.
I wonder if it’s even true.
Where we stand.
10:05pm
Katie, Maggie, and I are lying on the floor of my room sniffing markers to try and get high—it’s not really working—and making posters to put on the Varsity football players’ lockers, when my phone buzzes.
An unknown number: Scored 10
Me: Who is this?
An unknown number: Aiden
OH MY GOSH!!!! HE TEXTED ME!!!! HE GOT MY NUMBER SOMEHOW AND HE TEXTED ME!!! But I try to play it cool, replying, and adding his number to my contact list.
Me: I was at the game. I saw. Good job.
Hottie God: Would you be interested in 10 more dances tomorrow night after the game?
And I can’t help it. I scream out loud. Katie grabs my phone, reads the text, and screams along with me. Then she says, “Wait. Who’s the Hottie God? Is that Aiden or Dawson?”
“Aiden.”
“Personally, I think Dawson’s hot and Aiden is immature,” Maggie states.
“How is he immature?”
“This is the first time he’s texted you since last weekend. And, also, you should never say yes when a guy asks you out at the last minute. My sister says that’s how you know a guy is serious about you. He asks you out on Tuesday or Wednesday for the weekend because he wants to make sure you don’t make other plans.”