Текст книги "Kiss Me"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

I want to tell him. I really do want to tell him the truth. I know he’s trustworthy, I can feel it, but I can’t. So I tell the lie.

“I had some trouble too. Then my mom and stepdad decided to move to France. It was go there or come here.”

“Sucks, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Thanks. So, how’s the wrist?”

“Feeling better now, but I think I’m going to have to get it x-rayed. And since I know you’re dying to ask, the psychic panty network is doing quite well. You’d be shocked—hell, I was shocked—at how many girls will show me their underwear just to prove me wrong.”

I can’t help but giggle.

Then he grabs my face and pulls me into a kiss.

I ought to be an expert.

2:30am

I quietly sneak into our bathroom and call Mom.

“Hey-woah.” I hear the unmistakable voice of my sweet little sister, Gracelyn, and laugh at the adorable way she says hello.

“Gracie, it’s Kiki. Give Mommy her phone.”

“KI KI KI KI KI KI!!!” she screams into the phone. “Kikikiki on a ’venture!” she sings.

“Can I talk to Mommy?”

“NO! No, no, no, no, NO!” I hear clanking, and then it sounds like she’s beating Mom’s new iPhone against a wall or the floor.

Pretty soon, I hear a commotion, then one of the triplets, probably Avery, the oldest by a few minutes and the most bossy, yells, “Gwey-sie, give me Momma’s phone!”

And then Gracie screams, “NO!” I can picture her holding it to her chest, that stubborn little look on her face, “Mine!”

Then Avery tattling, “MOMMMAAAA!!!”

Then, click.

About five minutes later, Tommy calls me from his phone.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, can I talk to Mom?”

“She's trying to get the girls settled down. I can talk to you.”

“You can talk to me about boys?”

“Well, I’m a boy. I ought to be an expert.”

I give that some thought. “Wow, I never thought of that. Plus, Mom said you were a player. Hmmm. Okay, so what does it mean when a boy stares deep into your eyes, like touches your soul kind of deep. He does something really romantic one minute, but then doesn’t call or text, and then he acts like he hates you the next?”

“I’d say he was into you, but then you pissed him off.”

“Let me add that he has the reputation of being a player, but with me he is not very smooth.”

“Hmmmm, maybe he’s a good actor. Maybe I should meet him.”

“Oh my gosh, Tommy. This guy is way better looking than an actor. He’s practically a god.”

“The God of all Hotties?”

“How do you know that? Are you his god mentor? Cuz now that I think about it, you have some powers similar to his.”

“Your mother told me you called him that. I swear, I’m going to use that line somewhere in my next movie. I laughed so hard!”

“Tommy! This is my personal life here! Do not laugh at it.”

“Calm down. Breathe. If he’s a player and was just playing, he’ll lose interest and move on. If it was love, true love, he won’t give up, even if it takes a while. Be patient. Sometimes true love takes a bit.”

“Mom said she knew the minute she shook your hand.”

“And I contend I knew it before, the second she walked in the room. I just felt this magnetic pull to her. Like gravity.”

“That’s not what she says. She says it took you a while to figure it out.”

“No, I knew. I just didn’t want her to think she had me whipped. And I sorta couldn’t believe it was happening to me. After all the women I’d been with. And then, boom! I tried to pretend it wasn’t real at first. And don’t forget, I’m a good actor. She couldn’t figure me out. Hey, it’s late there. You should be asleep.”

“I know. . . . Tommy?”

“What, baby?”

“Do you think the stalker will forget about me?”

“Garrett seems to think things will get worse before they get better.”

“Get worse, how?”

“He’ll get frustrated that he can’t find you. If he gets frustrated, he might become more scary.”

“Maybe we should just let him find me. Set him up. Then once we have proof that he was trying to kidnap me, they could arrest him.”

“It sounds good in theory, but if something went wrong we’d never forgive ourselves.”

I sigh loudly.

“But the good news is we had security trailing him when we left for New York. He didn’t follow us, so you’re safe for now.”

“Tommy, you’re a big star. How do you know who your real friends are?”

“That can be tough sometimes. Usually I know someone is a friend if they tell me the truth. In this industry, a lot of times people tell me what they think I want to hear.”

“They don’t want to piss you off?”

“Exactly. A true friend would want to piss me off.”

“There’s a mean girl here. She’s apparently telling everyone the only reason I have money is because we hit the lottery.”

Tommy laughs. “That’s funny. I suppose that makes your money not good enough?”

I laugh too. “I don’t know. Who cares? Money is money. All it’s good for is buying stuff.”

“Your mom raised you right. A lot of people think money is the most important thing in life.”

“I lost my dad, Tommy. I’m pretty sure I know it’s not.”

“Yeah, I know, baby. So are you behaving at school?”

“Uh, mostly. Kinda, yeah.”

“Mostly, kinda, yeah?”

“I’m not doing drugs, getting drunk, or having sex, so I guess I’m being pretty damn good.”

“Good to hear. Get your beauty sleep. Mommy and I love you.”

“I love you too, Tommy. Thanks, really.”

Wednesday, August 31st

Seven minutes until class.

7:48am

Stayed up way too late last night.

Note to self: stop staying out until 2:30 with Dallas. Must have beauty sleep or some kind of decent sleep.

I’m so tired, there’s no way I’m going to get breakfast before class. I’ll be lucky to be dressed in today’s uniform combo, which is the plaid skort, white long-sleeved tee under a red sweater vest. Little girl white socks with ankle bows, Charlotte Olympia red Kitty flats, Miu Miu red patent leather headband, and straight hair. I look like the perfect little preppy schoolgirl today. The girl who is probably going to have to sprint across campus to make it to History before the bell rings.

I guess that makes the flats the perfect fashion choice!

I text Riley.

Me:  You still at breakfast?

Sex God:  Yuuh, where are you?

Me:  Hung with Dallas last night. Very tired :(

Sex God:  I hate you. Invite me next time!

Me:  Okay :) I’m soooo late, will you bring me food to class?

Sex God:  Sure. What do you want?

Me:  Skinny soy chai latte, maybe some of that pound cake? Or a banana or a whole grain bagel. I’d be grateful for anything, really.

Sex God:  I’ll see what I can scrounge up.

Me:  You are THE best friend ever!!!

Sex God:  My brother’s becoming obsessed with you.

Me:  Haha!! No, he’s not!

Sex God:  Um, yeah. You serious about him? I thought you were in love with the hottie god. Dawson doesn’t need to have another girl string him along, you know?

Me:  Your brother still loves Whitney. That’s why we are just being friends.

Sex God:  Friends who kiss, apparently. Btw, you have 7 minutes to be at class.

Me:  Shit!!!

Watching a car wreck.

French

Annie plops down in her seat a few minutes before class is ready to start and beams at me.

“Okay, so I was up all night editing, and, oh my gosh, these are some of the best pictures I have ever taken! I can’t wait to show you!”

As she turns on her computer, Aiden sits in his desk behind me.

I realize I forgot to check the back of my hair after lunch. And Dawson was messing with it. Teasing me. Whispering in my ear. He is really pretty freaking cute.

But then there’s Aiden.

Aiden is beyond cute.

Like Buzz Lightyear says, To infinity and beyond.

Aiden is cute to infinity and beyond.

And even though he is sitting behind me and I can’t see his mouth, I still feel his magnetic pull. Like my heart and soul know things my mind doesn’t.

Is it like those birds that migrate back to the same spot every year? Their bodies just know where to fly. Does my body just know that Aiden is where I belong?

OMG!

Stop it!

Stop thinking these stupid, stupid things.

Maybe I should drop French. I think you can still switch classes this week. And, really, I can speak better than the teacher. Plus, do I really need to be tortured by having a god sitting behind me every day?

I tell Annie, “I’m thinking about dropping this class.”

From behind me I hear Aiden say, “Why would you do that?”

“Speak to me in French,” I tell him.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Ask me where the bathroom is. Tell me you want to order chicken. I don’t care, just tell me a simple sentence.”

“Um, vous êtes une fille.”

“Yes, you’re right, I am a girl. You got anything else?”

“Uh, très jolie?”

“Very pretty? Who is very pretty? You have to make a complete sentence.”

“I’m trying to say you’re very pretty. I just don’t know how.”

“And that is why I’m thinking about switching classes.”

“No, stay. You can tutor me. I suck at French. And, worst case, you get an easy A.”

I rant. “Tutor vous? Comme je pouvais m'asseoir que près de vous et de ne pas être tiré dans votre rayon tracteur. Sérieusement?”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” is what I say to him, but what I actually said was, Tutor you? Like I could sit that close to you and not be pulled into your tractor beam. Seriously?

But then I think, maybe tutoring him wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I could see that he’s not really a god. That he’s just a stupid boy. Because shouldn’t the God of all Hotties be able to speak French a little better? I mean, it is the language of love. Shouldn’t he be pre-programmed for that or something?

“I’d really like it if you tutored me.” He sounds both sweet and sincere when he says it and, somehow, I find myself agreeing.

Annie says excitedly, “Here! Look! These pictures turned out so good! Wait! Let me show you my favorite first. I showed it to my teacher this morning, and she says it’s so good, so full of emotion, that I should enter it in the state photography competition. Would you be okay with that? I told her I thought you would be. And, oh, Keatyn, I didn’t tell you! Ace texted me last night after the game! Can you believe that? Isn’t he just so cute?”

I’m like, “Uh, yeah, that’s so exciting. And, um, how about we see the pics, like, later. Um, seriously, you can show me later.”

“No! I can’t wait!”

I try to tell her with my eyes that I really don’t want Aiden to see these pictures. But she is oblivious.

“Okay. Look! This is the one that is so amazing.”

On her screen is a picture of me and Dawson. We’re sitting on the bench under the tree. Dawson and I are looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes are tentative, like he’s trying to decide to kiss me or not, but he has sorta already decided because his body is leaned into mine; one big hand is cupping my waist.

It’s an extremely romantic and beautiful picture, and if I didn’t know the people in it and what was really going on in their minds at the time, I would have thought they were incredibly in love. And the picture is brutal proof to me of just how gorgeous Dawson is. His dark hair is falling perfectly into his eyes, his skin is tanned and gorgeous, his jawline is strong and his nose looks like it belongs on a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon’s nose chart for perfection.

I look surprisingly pretty too. There is a slight breeze, blowing my hair back. The lighting is soft. My skin is so perfect it almost looks airbrushed, and there are highlights perfectly glistening on my cheekbones.

It looks like a very tender moment caught on camera.

But I know what was really going on. I felt the emotions. I knew what he was thinking. What looks like tenderness and uncertainty in his eyes about should I kiss her is really uncertainty about kissing me when he’s in love with someone else. And I was thinking pretty much the same. Should I kiss a boy who I know is in love with someone else? But I can’t say any of that. She is too excited.

“Wow. That’s a really good photo,” I tell her, commenting on the lighting and the trees and ignoring the subject matter.

“Wait until you see the rest.” She starts clicking through picture after picture. Showing me a slow motion version of our kiss. Us moving closer toward each other. Our lips touching. His hand moving toward to my face. My hand running through his thick, dark hair. It’s like watching a slow motion video of a car wreck. I want to tell her to stop, but I can’t get the words out.

From behind me I hear a SLAM as Aiden gets his French textbook out of his backpack and slams it on his desk.

I’m thinking he doesn’t like the photos.

Annie looks at him, then at my cringing face, and says quietly, “Oh, um, class is about to start. I will just show you these later.”

We’ll be sneaky.

9:45pm

Annie and I study together in the library tonight. She tells me she’s going to spend the weekend at her parents’ house in upstate New York.

“Are a lot of people here from New York?”

“All over, really, but most are probably from the upper East Coast.”

I was thinking earlier about where I will go on school breaks and maybe even weekends when I just need to get away. This is something no one really thought about. Where am I supposed to go? I can’t go home. I can’t go with my family. So I’ve been thinking that New York would be the perfect place to go. I also realized today that even though we have a small walk-in closet, I seriously need somewhere else to keep my clothes.

What I need is a home.

A place of my own.

I decide that when I get back to my room, I’m going to look at some real estate sites online.

“So what are your plans for the weekend?” she asks me.

“I think I’m going to a surfing tournament on Long Beach. The guy I dated this summer is going to be there.”

“Why is he coming all the way from California for a surf tournament. Is he in it?”

“Uh,” Shit. “No, he’s just coming . . .” *&^%! Why is he coming?

“To watch?” she asks.

“Yes! To watch. He’s watching. He likes to watch surfing. He’s a big fan of surfing,” I ramble.

“Yeah, but can’t he watch surfing at home all the time?”

“Um, uh, yes, but, uh, it’s . . .”

“An excuse to see you?”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Yes. He’s coming to see me and the surfing.”

As we’re walking out of the library, she says, “We need to be Facebook friends.”

“I don’t have a Facebook.”

“Are you serious? Everyone has a Facebook. Even my grandma has Facebook.” Then she looks at me suspiciously. “Why don’t you?”

Shit. What did I tell Riley? That my parents deleted it? “Uh, I used to have one, but my parents deleted it.”

“Oh, that’s just awful! I would die if my parents did that to me. How are you going to keep in touch with your friends from home?”

Shit, again.

“I kinda got in trouble. I’m not really allowed to talk to my friends from home.”

She nods her head, accepting my answer. “So, everyone here uses Facebook. We’re gonna make you a new page.”

Fuck! Does this girl ever give up? Garrett told me no social media.

“I can’t. My, um, parents always check to see if I’ve made a new one. I’ll get in trouble again if they find it.”

“So you can never have one?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous. And what are they gonna do? They’re in France. It’s not like they can ground you from there.”

“Uh, true. But I really don’t want to find out, you know.”

She puts her hand under her chin and thinks. “Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. We’ll be sneaky, so they won’t be able to find you.”

“How are we gonna do that?”

“We won’t put it under your real name.” She hooks her arm through my elbow and drags me toward the door. “Come back in the library, and we’ll do it quick. I’ll set all the settings to private. Will that work?”

“Uh, maybe.”

Will it work? I can’t tell her I can’t be on social media because of Vincent. I know what she’s saying makes sense to her, but Garrett told me about facial recognition software. I can’t risk having a profile photo of me. But on the other hand, if I don’t have one, it’s sort of a red flag. Like there’s a reason I don’t want people to know about my past or something.

“So if we do a page, we can’t use a picture of my face. My, uh, parents might see that somehow.”

She looks at me funny. “Wow, they must be really strict and have a lot of time on their hands. But okay, we can do that.”

She whips out her laptop. “Okay, so give me your email.”

“We can’t use my email either. My parents know my password. They might see that I set it up.”

“Jeez. That’s practically invasion of privacy. Okay, so we’ll make you a new email, not using your name.” She taps away on the keyboard then gets a piece of paper out of her bag and writes down my log in information. Then she adds the Facebook app to my phone and gets me all set up. “Okay, so your name is just Kiki. Kiki Kiki to be exact. Let me look at the photos in your phone.”

She scrolls through my pictures. It doesn’t take long, as there are only two. One of me and Brooklyn kissing, where you can’t see our faces. And one us facing the ocean where all you see is our backs.

“Why don’t you have any pictures?”

“It’s a new phone and when I tried to sync it, it erased all the photos from my old phone,” I say. Hoping that is even possible.

“How horrible. Well, we’ll just use this one then.”

“What one?”

She points to one that Dallas must have taken when he had my phone. It’s me. Well, it’s sort of me. It’s a photo of my ass in the plaid uniform skirt, over the knee socks, and my platform Mary Janes. “Is it okay if I use this?”

I laugh. “Yeah, that will be fine.”

I’m still feeling a little nervous about this, but I think not having one would make me stick out more than having one. And I can’t imagine any way possible for Vincent to track me through this.

Unless he has some kind of special ass-recognition software.

I go back to my room, pull out my laptop, and search for a place in New York. I find a lot of beautiful places. Most a little stuffy for my taste. Then I decide to search just lofts.

And I fall in love.

There’s a gorgeous brick-walled loft with a huge, curved wood-beamed great room, four bedrooms, the coolest outdoor space, and a turquoise kitchen island. I think about the money Grandpa gave me. About how he’s always told me real estate is a good investment.

And decide to buy it.

I send Sam, the guy who is handling my money, an email with a link to the property. I tell him I want to close quickly, like within a week or two, and to offer the owners extra, if need be, to do so.

Then I close my computer and immediately fall asleep.

Thursday, September 1st

Shot heard ’round the world.

lunch

I sit down next to Dawson and overhear Whitney talking to Peyton and her minions. “I just think college boys are overrated. You never get to see them and who knows what they’re doing all week when you’re not with them.” She gives Peyton a sad smile.

Like, poor Peyton. Her college boyfriend is probably cheating on her.

Then she says, “It seems like all they want to do is drink beer and party. I’m over that. I want a guy to walk me to class every day. Plus, Jake has gotten so hot. And since Kate married Will, royalty is very in style.”

She glances at me. Lets her eyes trail down my uniform with disgust. Like I’m destroying the school’s reputation with my wardrobe. And I look really cute today. Plaid skort. Tory Birch silk georgette blouse with black piping. Black cardigan. Black over-the-knee socks. Adorable short black cowboy boots with silver star studs. A black studded cross body bag. Thick black leather cuff with silver and crystals.

I ignore her look and turn toward Dawson. He’s been acting weird today. Almost ignoring me. I want to talk to him about it, but there is no way I’m going to say something about it now, where Whitney can hear.

I look down at the table and wonder why I’m still sitting here.

“Hey, I’m gonna go sit with Dallas and Riley,” I say quietly to Dawson.

As I walk away, I hear Whitney say to him, “Dawson, Dawson . . .”

I can tell she is getting ready to slam him, or probably me. Either way, I don’t want to hear it.

I sit down at the boys’ table next to Riley.

A few seconds later, Dawson slides into the seat next to me and sighs loudly. “Did you see the pictures on Facebook?”

“What pictures?”

“The ones Annie took of us kissing.”

“Uh, no.”

“Everyone has seen them. Everyone is talking about them. I’m kinda freaking out about this.”

“Why are you freaking out? Wait. Are you saying you don’t want anyone to know you’ve kissed me? Is that the problem? Is that why you’re acting so weird today?”

He sighs again. And it pisses me off because I realize what he’s not saying. He’s upset Whitney saw them.

Honestly, if I were smart, I wouldn’t want her to see them either. I really don’t want to battle her.

I just want to go to school, make some friends, and try not to get killed in the process.

Is that so much to ask?

He says, “I, uh, no, it’s not that. She tagged us both. She added titles to the pictures like Cutest couple EVER, SOOOO ROMANTIC!!!!, and Submitting to MTV Awards as the BEST KISS OF THE YEAR! I know that people have seen us kiss and stuff. I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t prepared for it to be quite so public.”

Public?

He’s embarrassed of me?

Me?!

Wow.

I realize now why it seemed like people were murmuring behind me during my classes this morning. Why some girl I’ve never met asked me if I was going out with Dawson.

Who knew that while my head was sleeping happily on my pillow other events were occurring, unfolding, whatever you would call it. These photos are like the shot heard ’round the world. Honestly, I don’t know what the shot heard ’round the world was. Seems like I studied that at some point during History. I can’t remember, but I’m pretty sure that this Facebook post was like that shot.

Remind me to never go to bed so early.

Dawson is looking down at the table. He’s fidgeting, rubbing his fingers together nervously. He knows he’s being a jerk. And I know for sure that he’s not over Whitney, no matter what he says.

I touch his hand and say slowly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. If you’re that embarrassed, untag yourself, and I’ll make sure that we don’t kiss in public—or in private, for that matter—ever again.”

I shove my chair away from the table.

Get up.

Throw my untouched lunch into the trash.

As if I haven’t had enough, Whitney meets me at the trash. She tosses a single napkin in the barrel.

“Great photos on Facebook.” Then she lowers her voice. “Obviously, he’s embarrassed. I told you, you’re just fresh meat. I remember how he always posted pictures of us on Facebook. He still loves me, you know.”

I don’t say a word to her, just storm outside, to a bench far away from the scene of the crime.

I very feel alone. I look at my phone, sigh, and text Brooklyn.

Me:  Sorry for the other night. I’m still kind of reeling from everything that’s happened. From my life being turned upside down. I’m confused. You say things that confuse me. Half the time you act like you want to be just friends. The other half, it seems like you want us to be more. 

B<3:  I’m sure you are. And I’m sorry too. I know you were upset about the tour. I know that I handled things badly. But you’ll always be my friend. I’ll always love you. We’re not over. At least I hope we’re not. But for us to get through this, for us to possibly be together long term, we’re going to have to be flexible in our relationship. I’m trying to keep you in my life. I want you in my life.

Me:  Maybe I should just come back home and face him. I don’t think I can do this here. I miss you. I miss everyone.

B<3:  Do you really miss me or are you just having a rough day?

Me: It hasn’t been the greatest of days :( 

B<3:  Give it some time. 

I read his text then throw my phone in my backpack. What he said was sweet and probably both true and wise but, really, it doesn’t make me feel any better. I lean back and close my eyes. Tell myself to be chill. Tell myself I’m at the beach. Pretend I can feel the salty air, the ocean breeze.

I start to daydream.

FADE IN: A BEACH IN MALIBU BATHED IN MOONLIGHT

A young prince is riding down the beach on a white stallion.

A girl is also on the beach. She’s wearing a gorgeous pink strapless gown with a corseted waist. The skirt of the dress is layer upon layer of pale pink ruffles. Her hair is half up, the rest is cascading in curls onto her shoulders. A tall, dark man dressed in a black suit has a hold on the princess’ wrist and is dragging her up the beach to the dragon’s lair.

PRINCESS KEATYN

Help!

DARK MAN

No one is going to hear you scream.

The prince hears the fair maiden’s scream. He turns his horse around and gallops toward the noise. He sees the girl. And instantly falls in love. He’d do anything to protect her. He jumps off his steed and pulls out his sword. Fights the man to death.

Then he turns his attention toward the princess, who was knocked to the ground in the scuffle.

 PRINCESS KEATYN

(Turns to face her rescuer. And recognizes his handsome face.)

Someone sits down on the bench next to me.

I open my eyes and see Dallas.

“You sure told him,” he laughs.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dawson. How you basically said you weren’t gonna kiss him again. And, by the way, are your panties purple today? It feels like they are.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Dallas is freaking funny. And he has a way of being funny at just the right times.

“Close, they’re pink. Hot pink.”

“Yeah, I told you about lying to me, Kiki. I think you’re definitely lying. I’m gonna have to call for a panty check.”

“I’m not showing you my underwear.”

He leans in closer to me and says quietly, “Well, of course not here, sweetie. I was thinking somewhere more private.”

So done with boys.

Damn, French.

I know we’ve only been in school for four days, but I consider skipping French.

I wonder what happens when you skip?

Seems like I read it in the student guide, but my mind is blank. I start writing another script in my mind. One where I go to the nurse and convince her I have a bad case of cramps or that I’m gonna vomit.

Honestly, vomiting sounds fun compared to sitting in front of Aiden, with his judgmental eyes boring into the back of my head.

He sits down, leans forward in his desk, and whispers into my left ear. “So, I heard you and Dawson are through.”

What!? It’s been—wait, let me check—seventeen minutes since I told Dawson I wouldn’t kiss him again. And Aiden already knows about this?!

I don’t turn around.

I can’t.

I don’t dare look into his eyes or stare at his smile.

I just say, “Where did you hear that?”

“Lunch. Heard he was upset about your stupid Facebook pictures.”

“They aren’t my pictures. I didn’t post them. Didn’t even know that Annie posted them.”

“You know what I mean. The pictures of you two.”

“Dawson and I never even got started, so I’m not sure how we’re through. But I do know that I cannot wait for this weekend.”

“What are you doing? Are you going back home?”

“Nope. Going to see the guy that quotes me Keats.”

“Oh,” he says.

We’re walking out of class when he says to me, “Hey, you coming to watch the JV game tonight? I was thinking about scoring some more points.”

“Good luck with that,” I tell him and leave him in my dust.

Seriously, I AM DONE WITH BOYS.

It’s obvious that I am not in an emotional state to handle any of them.

Wishing it was laced with rum.

7:30pm

Apparently, it’s okay to be done with boys but I still have to go watch them play football. Katie told me I had to go with her to the JV game. Plus, I promised Riley that I would. He told me in History that he’s starting tonight and wants me to watch and cheer for him. He even admitted to being a little nervous about it. Seeing Riley not blazing with confidence was surprising so, of course, I agreed.

Katie and I sit in the bleachers with Annie, Maggie, and Dallas—whose wrist is broken—and some of the freshman boys from orientation.

Riley does really well. He lines up under center, drops back, and throws a perfect long spiral down the field, straight into Aiden’s open hands. Aiden catches it and runs about eight yards into the end zone. We all scream, cheer, and shake paper pompoms. Aiden tosses the ball back to the ref, looks straight into the stands—at me, I think—kisses his glove, and blows the kiss into the stands.

I know I should be thrilled that the god just blew me a kiss, but all I can see is Cush’s face. His dimples flashing at me when he shot me a kiss after he scored during his soccer game. Right before he took me to our perfect night at the hotel.

I wonder what he’s doing right now.

And I pray to God it’s not Vanessa.

Dallas turns to me and says in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, how adorable! Aiden blew me a kiss. Now I just need to find out what color his panties are and we will get married, buy an organic farm, adopt twins, and happily wear pink for the rest of our lives.”

I roll my eyes at him.

Katie grabs my arm with excitement. “Oh my gosh! Did Aiden just blow you a kiss?!”

“I’m not really sure. Maybe he just does that whenever he scores, you know, like blowing them into the stands at his fans or whatnot. Or maybe he has a girlfriend we don’t know about.”

“Or maybe he considers you his girlfriend, and you just don’t know it yet.”

“That is definitely not it. Hey, I’m gonna go get a hotdog. Anybody want anything?”

I threw my lunch in the trash, skipped dinner to sulk, and now I’m starved. Dallas asks me to bring him some Skittles as I clump down the bleachers.

Dawson has been sitting in the bleachers just below and slightly to the left of us with a group of people, cheering enthusiastically for his brother. Which I am really glad to see.

Whitney and Jake are nowhere to be seen. I heard in dance today that they’re going out, but Katie told me it is not FBO, Facebook official, yet, so not to believe the rumors.

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.