“Is that why you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend? Because you didn't want to have to break up with me? Because you’ve been planning this all along?”
“You’ve been my girlfriend all summer, Keats. I thought when I told you I loved you that you knew that. And I didn’t plan it all summer. I mentioned it to my dad, and he got the sponsors all set up. He told me when we were in London that he thought it might all pan out, but I didn’t know for sure until we got home. I didn't tell you, because I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”
“I didn't know how you felt.”
“How could you not know how I felt? I've told you a million fucking times this summer that I love you.”
“Well, maybe you need to learn to communicate better.”
“Maybe you need to grow up. Stop worrying so much about what people think and start worrying about what you think.”
I immediately get tears in my eyes.
I swear, I'm normally not such a crybaby.
“Don’t yell at me. I can't take it.”
He grabs me. Hugs me tight.
I lay my head on his chest. The place that used to feel so wonderful now feels foreign. “So we were already going out?”
“I told you, I love you. We were together because we wanted to be. That's all that mattered.”
“No, knowing where you stand is what’s important. And after tonight, I knew exactly where I stood with you. That’s why I broke up with you even though we weren’t actually going out. And I kissed Cush.”
He purses his lips. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you kiss him?”
“Because you didn't like me enough to want to date me. We had sex the other day, and you said I'm glad we can chill together. That’s why. So are you telling me that we were in a relationship? Like you were my boyfriend?”
“Labels matter way too much to you. All the way down to the ones in your thousand dollar boots.”
I look down at the boots Cush gave me for my birthday.
Be bold, Keatyn.
I raise my chin up, stand up tall, and put my bitch on. “Lots of guys tell you they love you just for sex; even my mom, who is in a we’re-together-but-don’t-label-it relationship, asked me about my birthday. Wanted to know if you asked me out. If you gave me a ring or anything.”
“A ring?”
“Not like engaged. Just something to show the rest of the world you wanted to be with me.”
He flips his hand over and shoves his fresh tattoo in my face. “Tattoos last forever, Keats. I thought we would too.”
I start crying again.
“You should’ve known,” he pokes my chest, “in here. You don't know if I'm the one, do you?”
“I wanted you to be the one. I've loved you since the day I met you.”
“You had a crush on me. That’s different than true love.”
“And you’re telling me you feel that way about me? You can’t. You just decided to leave me for a year. You didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend, and you only like me when I’m your laid-back surfer girl. When I’m me, you don’t really like me that much. You want me in your world, but you don’t want to venture into mine.”
He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I know everything you’re saying is true. But I did love you. I mean, I do love you. I wasn’t lying. I just figured if fate wanted us together it would figure out a way, because I couldn’t figure it out myself. I couldn’t figure out how I could have my dream and you too.”
“Well, you pushed fate along. You didn’t dance with me. You didn’t try to be nice or meet any of my other friends. You make fun of my amazing shoes and called my gorgeous dress slutty.”
Brooklyn nods his head. He knows what I’m saying is true. “So what are we gonna do?”
“You’re going on tour, and I’m going to boarding school. I’m going back out there.”
Mom looks surprised to see me back out in the family room. “It's late, Keatyn; why don't you get some sleep? You’ve been through a lot. We can figure this out in the morning.”
“Mom, I’m not going to be able to sleep. Probably ever again. Besides, it is morning. I feel better since I took a shower and talked to B. I finally know where we stand.”
I sit down next to Mr. Moran and hand him Tommy’s laptop. “Would you mind showing me the school’s website?” I ask politely.
He types in an address and turns the screen to face me.
I click through the site.
“That looks very nice,” Mom says, hovering behind me. “Look at the gorgeous trees.”
Mr. Moran continues his sales job. “It's a beautiful campus—a lot like a college. And it's very exclusive. Most of the kids go on to Ivy League schools.”
I click on the soccer page.
Mom says, “Look, honey, you could still play soccer.”
“Yeah, it looks nice. Mr. Smith, if you think it’s safe, I’d like to go there.”
My phone has been vibrating all night. While they are still talking about boarding school and clicking through the website, I take it out of my pocket, plop down on the couch, and read the texts. Lots of people have asked about the after-party. They wanted to know if it was rescheduled.