Love Me(The Keatyn Chronicles #4)

Fire = Passion.

French



Even though I want to skip French, I don’t.

But sitting in this class sucks.

Because all I can think about is him.

All the things he’s leaned up and whispered in my ear. The dirty words. The notes about true love and the dream girl.

I tune out Miss Praline, hide my phone under my desk, and send a text.



Me: Grandma, my house got burned down.



Grandma: You can always rebuild a house. Fire is a lot harder to find. (It’s just harder to control sometimes.) Hint: Fire = Passion.



I also send one to Grandpa.



Me: Remember when Jose told me not to let boys give me shit?



Grandpa: Yes.



Me: He forgot to tell me what to do when a boy does.



Grandpa: Well, you have two options. I can send you a nice little revolver, or you can give him shit back.



My God of all Hotties.

4pm



I manage to get through our dance routine at the pep rally without crying.

But I want to cry.

Just seeing Aiden in his jersey makes me want to bawl.

It’s the jersey that I wore.

That I was so proud to wear on the field.

He kissed me with his tongue because of that jersey.

I bury my face in my pompoms so I don’t have to look at him.

“Keatyn,” Maggie says. “You have to snap out of it. You’re acting like a zombie.”

“I am not. I was just out there dancing.”

“And now you’re practically in tears.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a hug. “Boys suck.”

I nod, agreeing with her. But I don’t agree. Aiden doesn’t suck. He’s perfect.

“You made me give Logan another chance.”

“No, I didn’t. You gave him another chance because he made the big gesture.”

“Do you need a big gesture?”

“No. It won’t matter, Maggie. We fight all the time,” I say, giving her the excuse I gave him.

“My mom says there’s a fine line between love and hate. That the more passionate you get, the more passion you have.”

“My grandma said something like that to me today. That fire equals passion.”

“You and Aiden have passion.”

“Aiden and I had more than passion. We had fire.”

“Fires smolder for a while after they’ve been put out, you know. You aren’t done with him. You can’t be. Keatyn, tell me now that you don’t love him and I’ll stop bugging you.”

I look at him.

He’s standing across the basketball court, listening to the coaches try to get everyone fired up for the big game. His face is bruised, his hair isn’t gelled, his posture is off, his green eyes aren’t sparkling, and there’s no beaming smile on his face.

But he still looks like a god to me. My God of all Hotties.

Little tears fall down my face.

I wipe them away quickly.

“You’re crying just looking at him. I know you love him.”

I close my eyes and nod.

“So why don’t you talk to him?”

“I did earlier. It’s over, Maggie. It has to be.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t hooked up with Dawson.”

“I wish I could. It would make this a whole lot easier.”



A friendly voice.

7pm



I skip dinner. The girls offered to stay and order in pizza, but I told them to go without me. I wouldn’t be very good company. No one really argued with me. Ace and Annie will be apart for Thanksgiving break, as will Katie and Bryce. They are trying to spend every last minute together.

I scroll through my phone and hit Damian’s number.

“Hey, Keats.”

“Hey.”

“Oh, boy. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

“Are you excited to go to St. Croix?”

“Very.”

“Who all is going with you?”

“Um, no one, actually.”

“You’re spending Thanksgiving alone?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought . . .”

“It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe you should invite B.”

“No. I . . . I couldn’t deal with him right now.”

“Keats, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. Just a little broken. But I’ve been broken for a while. I’m like a chip on your windshield.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You know how when you get a rock chip, it seems minor? But then a few weeks later you see that the chip has spread. Then a few weeks after that, your windshield is ruined. I’m a chip that didn’t get fixed.”

“And now you’re ruined?”

“Pretty much. Damian, will you sing to me?”

“Yeah, Keats. Lie down and close your eyes.”



I like it rough.

11:30pm



As soon as Katie starts breathing heavily, I sneak into my closet and change into my workout clothes.

“So, what’s your holiday tradition?” I ask Cooper while I’m putting on some protective gear.

“Um, well, we eat a turkey dinner and then go to my sister’s grave. She was killed two days before Thanksgiving.”

“I’m so sorry, Cooper.”

“I know,” he says, throwing me a pair of red gloves.

We walk out into the center of the mat and he tells me a bunch of rules like we’re in an actual competition.

“Is this like a match? Are we keeping score?”

“You tap out, you lose.”

We bump gloves, and I show him all that I’ve learned from him in the last few weeks.

And I’m doing well. I’m connecting with a lot of my punches, and I’ve even managed to get him down on the ground twice.

And, more importantly, he’s yet to take me down.

“That’s it,” he says, egging me on. “Get on it.”

I’m breathing heavily and sweating. “Uhh. Uhh. Uhh,” I grunt as I throw a three-punch combination.

“That’s it. You know I like it rough,” he teases.

He throws a right-handed punch toward my ribs. I quickly grab his forearm and twist it, bringing him to his knees.

“Do it harder,” he says. “You want me facedown.”

All of a sudden, the gym doors swing open.

“See, I told you they’re having an affair . . .” Whitney says to the dean, who she’s pulled inside with her.

We pull our face guards off and go, “A what?!”

The dean says, “Clearly, you were mistaken, Miss Clarke. Why don’t you head back to your dorm. I’ll take it from here.”

“But they were gone on the same two days. I gave you pictures of them sneaking off together. He’s even holding her hand in one photo. And . . .”

“Miss Clarke.”

“It’s more than an affair. She was pregnant with his baby. That’s why they were both gone the same day. She had an abort—”

The dean says, “That’s enough accusations, Miss Clarke. Get to your dorm or you’ll get a detention for being out after curfew.”

“But she’s out after curfew!”

“Now!” he says.

Whitney gives me an evil glare and stomps out. The dean shuts the door behind her, saying, “I’ll expect to see you in my office first thing in the morning.”

Then he turns to us. “Now, obviously, you’re not having an affair. But you, Mr. Steele, are out alone with a student after curfew. That’s against school policy.”

"It's my fault, sir,” I say.

“How so?”

“I asked him to teach me how to fight. With homework, rehearsals, and other activities, right after curfew was the only time we could meet."

“And why do you need to know how to fight? We don’t have too many street brawls here at Eastbrooke.”

“Um, well, I'm hoping eventually that will be classified.”

Cooper stifles a chuckle.

“What?” the dean asks.

“I’m good with languages, sir. I'm a good actress. I'm smart and athletic. When we did our career surveys with our counselor, mine came up with a career that I’m really interested in. A CIA operative. I've always read spy novels and realized it was totally, like, my calling. And Miss Praline told me all the stuff I needed to start working on now, because it’s really tough to get selected.”

I turn to Cooper. “Even you’ve heard that, right, Coach Steele?”

Cooper flashes his dimples at me and nods at the dean. “That is correct.”

“And I think I’m mostly prepared except for two things. I need to learn how to protect myself and, of course, I’ll need to learn how to shoot a gun. After soccer one day, Coach Steele was punching the bag in the gym, and I remembered that he was an accomplished MMA fighter. So I asked him to teach me.”

“Begged him,” Cooper counters.

“Yes, begged him to teach me. And it’s good for him too. Like, so he can keep up with his skills.”

Cooper rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

But I continue. “And that day we were both gone. I'm sorry if it was inappropriate for us to go together, but there was this fight. In Atlantic City.”

“I wanted her to see it in person. I didn't think she really understood the savageness of it all.”

“He's not going to get in trouble, is he? He's a really good soccer coach.”

Dean shakes his head at me. “The CIA?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interesting. Do you have much left of your lesson?”

Cooper looks at the clock on the wall. “About 10 more minutes.”

“I think I’ll stay and watch the rest, then.”

“Awesome,” I say, loving the idea of having an audience. “You can tell me if I'm any good. Coach Steele says that I still suck.”

The dean sits in a chair, while we pull our face masks back down and get into position.

Cooper quickly strikes, but I’m ready for him with a block. Then I grab his arm, spin under him and elbow him in the ribs.



When we’re done, the dean offers to walk me back to my dorm.

“So is that CIA stuff really true?” he asks me.

“Yes, sir. It is. You can ask Miss Praline.”

“I will,” he says.
    

Tuesday, November 22nd

That bird thing.

History



I get a long text from Grandma.



Grandma: I heard a quote at the hair salon this morning. One of those women has a facepage and that bird thing. She has been chirping or twittering or something. We were talking about getting older and how this applies to us, but I also think it’s good advice for any age.



Life is not measured by the quantity of breaths we take, but rather by the moments that took our breath away.



Your Grandpa took my breath away when I first met him. And when he asked me to marry him on a horseback, I knew, even before he proposed, that something special was about to happen, but it still took my breath away. His reaction when I told him I was pregnant with your father. The first time I saw him holding your father in his arms. I could go on and on. My point is, if someone is special enough to take your breath away on numerous occasions, keep them in your life. Even if they are a pain in the ass like your Grandpa . . .



I think about the moments that have taken my breath away.



When I saw Gracie right after she was born.

When Avery first said, I wuv you, Kiki.

When B helped me catch my first big wave.

When he told me I was desirable.

When he told me the waves didn’t miss me, he did.

When we were in the hammock and he told me he loved me.

When we watched the sunrise every time we went out surfing.

When my little sisters all gave me gifts before I came here.

When I saw Aiden’s face in the goal.

When I accidentally brushed into him at the café.

When he gave me the clover.

When he kissed me on the Ferris wheel.

When I saw the twinkle lights.

When he told me he was going to ask me to marry him someday.

When he said it was fate that I was here.

When we watched the sunset.

When he danced at the pep rally.

When he brought me the cake.

When he stood in my loft.

When we were in the limo.

When he woke me up by rubbing my face.



I could go on and on.

Aiden has been taking my breath away from the moment I laid eyes on him.



Solely for her entertainment.

Lunch



Somehow, by the time lunch rolls around, everyone is aware of the fact that Whitney wrongly accused me and Cooper of having an affair. The rumor mill is going crazy and a simple mistake is taking on a life of its own. I’ve heard that’s she’s been out to get me all year. That she’s jealous of me. That she’s mad Peyton and I are friends. That she did it because I dated Dawson. That she wanted Cooper for herself. That Cooper turned her down. That she’s dropping out of Eastbrooke. That she’s going to be suspended after break. That she told the dean to shove it.

All are possible, I suppose, but it all just seems a bit off.

In fact, it reminds me of a publicity stunt.

I wander through the lunch line looking for something appetizing and end up with an apple and a piece of chocolate cake. I go sit down with everyone and look at them. Katie and Bryce, Maggie and Logan, Annie and Ace, Jake, Dawson, Peyton, Shark, and Aiden, all smiling and happily discussing their holiday plans.

Well, except for Aiden. He looks as miserable as I feel.

I glance away from him, not wanting to make eye contact and accidentally get caught in his tractor beams.

Instead, Peyton catches my eye with hers. She smirks at me and then darts her eyes toward the popular table where Whitney is just getting ready to sit down.

Alone.

Dawson, Bryce, Peyton, and the last remaining minion aren’t there.

Peyton knew that Whitney thought we were having an affair. I told her about my lessons. She knew if Whitney accused me, I wouldn’t get in trouble.

I look at the smug look on Peyton’s face.

And know that she set this up.

Because this is exactly what she wanted.

Whitney sitting on her throne all by herself.



I’m not sure what Peyton expected, but Whitney doesn't look the least bit upset. She’s sitting with her shoulders back and her head held high. She even looks out at the rest of the room like we’re here solely for her entertainment.

Although I didn’t see Vanessa and RiAnne when they were sitting alone at our lunch table the day I threw the party, I know without a doubt that Vanessa looked just like that.

And I get up.

Peyton grabs my arm and says, “Where are you going?”

“She’s sitting there all by herself.”

“You’re going to sit with her after what she did to you last night? She tried to get you expelled!”

“Why do I feel like maybe she had some encouragement? You wanted this. You’ve been slowly chipping away at the table since Homecoming. But what you don’t understand is that it’s going to backfire on you.” I stop and study her smug smile. Her crossed arms. Her cocky attitude. I shake my head at her and say sadly, “Actually, it already has. In your quest to get back at her for being a bitch, you’ve become a bigger bitch than she is.”

I ignore the gasps from my friends over what I just said.

And I know all eyes are on me when I walk over and sit down across from Whitney.

“You’re the last person I thought would sit with me today,” she says, not even trying to hide her surprise.

“Sometimes people surprise you.”

“Do people ever surprise you?” she asks, glancing at Peyton.

“Yeah. All the time.”

She looks wistful when she says, “Me too.”

“Peyton hasn’t exactly been subtle, has she?”

Whitney shakes her head. “No. Part of why she could never be the Alpha. She’s too afraid to challenge me straight up or to even just stand up for herself. Why do I get the feeling that this is not a new situation for you? At your old school, were you like me?”

I chuckle, remembering. “No. I was like Peyton.”

“Now that really surprises me. You’re the only person here who has the balls to challenge me.” She lowers her head for a moment and then meets my eyes. “I’m sorry about last night. I really thought there was something going on with you and Cooper. Some of the things he said to you, I was almost scared. I really wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

She stops and laughs. “That’s a complete lie. I thought you were the reason my life had gone to shit this year. I realize now that it had nothing to do with you. When I told Peyton that I thought there was something going on with you and Cooper, she added fuel to the fire. Even told me where you would be last night.”

“She’s trying to be her own person or something.”

“She’s not being a very good friend,” she says with a slight frown. “But you could be. I’ve been causing trouble for you all year. I shouldn’t have. I am sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”

She grabs her phone, hits a few buttons, and smiles. “You should grab some popcorn. The fun's about to begin.”

“What fun?” I ask as my phone buzzes with a photo text from a blocked number.

I click it to make it bigger.

There’s a screenshot of Chelsea posing topless and corresponding texts of her offering herself to Jake and, thankfully, him turning her down.

My phone keeps buzzing and buzzing.

As do most of the phones in the café.

I scroll through even more screenshots of her offering herself up to different guys.

All of whom happen to be the boyfriends of her fellow cheerleaders.

Audible gasps rise from the cheerleaders’ table.

And then the table erupts in havoc.

Girls start crying. Yelling at Chelsea. Calling her names. Flashing her topless and naked pictures around. Then yelling at their boyfriends. Stomping out. One even grabs her hair and is pulling it, until the lunchroom attendant blows a whistle.

“All of you. All you people at THIS table. To the office, immediately!”

From the other table, Dallas catches my eye and winks at me.

I text him.



Me: Did you have something to do with this?



Dallas: Who me?



Me: Did you?



Dallas: They say guns don’t kill people, people do.



Me: What does that have to do with anything?



Dallas: I didn’t shoot the gun, Kiki. Just provided the ammo.



Me: You teamed up with Whitney?



Dallas: From what I can tell, you just did too. I’m proud of you, by the way. This isn’t how either of us expected it to go down.



“Whitney, how did you expect this to go down?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. But if I had planned something with a friend, neither one of us would’ve predicted for you to come sit here with me. You’re a way bigger person than either of us thought. And that’s saying a lot, because Dallas thinks pretty highly of you.”

I look back at Dallas and smile.

“Oh, oh,” Whitney says, glancing toward Chelsea, who has started marching in our direction.

“I know you did this!” she yells, waving her phone at me.

“Chelsea, I didn’t . . .”

Whitney interrupts and says in a lazy tone, “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You should definitely take those photos to the dean. I’m sure if you could prove Keatyn sent them, she’d probably get, like, what? A detention or something.”

“Yeah, right. And I’d get expelled.” Chelsea narrows her gaze at me then runs out of the café.

“I can't believe you did that.”

“Did what?” Whitney replies with a smile.



Our luck.

1pm



After all the drama at lunch, I’m ready to get on the bus for the three-hour ride to upstate New York for the second playoff game. I sit next to Maggie on the bus, listening to her gossip and gush about Logan. When he starts texting her, I put my headphones in and close my eyes.

And, yes, I’m a glutton for punishment. I listen to the 29-song playlist.

If I were my friend, I would tell myself to stop listening to it. That I’m just prolonging my own agony. But, at the same time, I’m kind of proud of myself. I’ve never done the wallowing after a break up thing before. Where you go though all the notes, movie stubs, and photos from your time together. Cry over them. And then burn them.

RiAnne would do that when she had a bad break up and I never understood why.

Now, I do.

It’s part of the grieving process.

It’s therapeutic.

Healing.

I feel Maggie shift in the seat and then a finger pokes me.

I open my eyes to find Peyton sitting next to me, her eyes shimmering with tears.

I pull my earbuds out as she says, “You’re right. I have become the biggest bitch of all. And I don’t want to be a bitch.”

I wrap my arm around her and pull her into a hug. “I know you don’t. It’s not who you are.”

She cries and shakes her head. “It’s not me. I was just . . . I was just trying to get back at her. I wanted to hurt her, but I didn’t. I just made her my enemy.”

“You need to talk to her. Tell her how you felt and why you did it. Do you know why you did it?”

“I was afraid I was going to turn into a bitch. I was going along with her when I should’ve stood up to her.”

“But . . .”

“But I should have realized I was mad at myself for not having the courage to do what was right.”

“You’ve got to learn to love yourself.”

She nods in agreement. “I really wish me and Aiden could . . .”

“Please, don’t say it.”

“He’s really upset, Keatyn.”

“Me too,” I reply, putting my earbuds back in and halting our conversation.



The playoff game is close.

Back and forth scoring.

As the end nears, you know that whoever ends up with the ball last will probably win.

And whoever is our team. Riley, who has started every game since Dawson got banged up, runs time off the clock until there are only a few ticks left.

Aiden goes out to kick the winning field goal.

He lines up, takes two steps over, makes the four-leaf clover symbol with his hands, and kicks the ball.

I pray that it goes through the uprights.

Pray that even though we’re not together fate will still allow our luck to work for him.

But it doesn’t.

The ball hits the upright and bounces out.