Текст книги "Stalk Me"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“Rich enough to skip school, buy my own jet, and travel the world?”

“How bout you go to school, be safe, and let us deal with this mess.”

“Okay.”

“Take care, hotshot. Grandma and I love you.”

“Thanks for setting everything up in such a short time, Grandpa, and I love you both too.”

I open the envelope and look inside.

There’s another copy of the legal document stating I am emancipated.

And there’s a black American Express card. Tommy doesn’t even have one of those, and he’s rich. I pull out the financial statement and I have to blink a few times.

Did I read that right?

I turn to Mom and hand her the statement. “Did you know about this?”

She and Tommy look at it. Their shocked looks answer my question. “Wow, baby,” Tommy says. “You wanna finance my next movie?”

Mom shakes her head. “I had no idea, Keatyn. I knew your grandfather was wealthy, but I had no idea.”

All of a sudden it dawns on me. Why he gave me the money now. Why my very conservative grandfather would tell me life is too short. Why he would suggest I spend irresponsibly. “You don’t think I’m going to make it until I’m eighteen, do you?” I cry out.

Mom looks horrified and wraps her arms around me. “We don’t think that, honey. I promise. Grandpa is just trying to keep you safe. If you have your own money, he can’t find you through us.”

I’m not sure if I believe her.

Garrett says, “Tommy, we need to get you and Abby off the plane as scheduled. We need to make this look as normal as possible, so say your final goodbyes.”

Mom stands up, then sits back down. Then her eyes fill with tears again. I stand up and pull her into a hug.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mom. I’ll text you. It’ll be just like when you go film a movie, but I’ll be somewhere new. Off on a new adventure.” I try to be brave for her. I try not to cry, but when I say adventure, it makes me think of the girls. And I can’t help it. I start to cry too.

Actually, I kinda bawl.

Mom hugs me tightly while I cry into her shoulder.

I try to soak in the feeling of her hug. The hug I’m going to need to remember. The hug that’s going to get me through this. The hug that gives me the strength to go on.

Tommy says quietly, “Abby, we need to go.”

Mom nods her head, lets go of me, and kisses me on the forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Tommy gives me a big hug and says, “I love you too, baby. Be safe.”

And then they are escorted down the stairs and off the plane.

I’m used to Mom leaving, traveling, but this feels very different.

I suddenly feel very alone.

I told them I’d be okay, but I’m not really sure if I will be.

Garrett sits down next to me. “They are going to park the plane like they normally do. You and I will get off shortly and board a different plane. It’s time to get you to school.”

Keatyn Douglas is no more.

2:15pm

“Kym dropped some things off for you earlier,” Garrett says to me as we board another plane. He points to a couple suitcases sitting by the leather couch. “Everything else already got shipped to school and should be in your room waiting for you. She said you’d need these things right away.”

I glance down and notice a note attached to one of the suitcases with my name on it. It says there is an outfit for me to change into hanging in the closet.

I go change, fix my makeup, and join Garrett back in the main portion of the plane. He hands me another manila envelope, and I try not to shudder when I take it from him.

I let the contents fall out onto the table.

I now have a fake, but apparently legal, passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, and social security card. I put the license in my wallet next to my new ATM and credit cards and run my fingers across the raised name.

Keatyn Monroe. 

I am now Keatyn Monroe. Keatyn Douglas is no more.

I practice my lines. Hi, I’m Keatyn Monroe. Nice to meet you. My parents? Oh, they moved to France. I refused to go with them, so they sent me here. 

No, that sounds bitchy.

Hi, I’m Keatyn Douglas. Shit. I mean, Monroe. 

Monroe. Monroe. Monroe.

Me? Oh, I’m not that exciting. Tell me about you. Do you like going to school here?

No, that sounds lame.

I am exciting. I’m amazing!

Like not in a bitchy popular way, just in a confident way.

Hi, I’m Keatyn. 

That’s it.

I’m Keatyn. That’s all anyone needs to know.

After we land, Garrett drives me to school.

“Notice the security features,” he says as we pull up to a gated entry.

I expected it to look prison-like, the way everyone described it, but instead it looks like the kind of grand gated entrance you would find going into a private country club. It has a thick black iron gate and a pretty bricked guardhouse. I look closer and notice more detail. A tall, prison-style fence is mostly obscured by trees, as are the security cameras I see aimed at the fence and beyond.

We wait in line behind a couple of other cars, then pull up to the guardhouse.

“Student’s last name?” the guard asks.

Garrett looks at me, but I’m busy staring at the bank of security televisions that I can see inside the guardhouse. They all appear to be for protecting the perimeter of the school, not for monitoring activity within the fence.

“Name?” the guard says again.

“Monroe,” Garrett finally answers.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “Is that fence electric?”

Apparently the guard has very good hearing because he replies, “You already planning your escape?”

“Uh, no, I just wondered.”

“It is electric,” he says. He stands up straighter. “We have a senator’s son here this year. We take security very seriously.”

“Excellent,” Garrett replies. I can tell he’s ready to get on with it.

As we’re waiting for the gate to open, he says, “I personally picked out your dorm room. It’s on the first floor, backside of the building, next to the fire exit. Don’t change rooms with anyone. You have multiple escape routes from that room. The window, the fire exit, and the main hallway. It’s also next door to the boy’s dorm that I’m told houses many of the male athletes. It should be the first place you run to if you’re in danger, okay?”

“Okay.”

He grins at me. “It’s also been newly remodeled, has it’s own bathroom, and a small walk-in closet.”

“You’re a man after my own heart, Garrett,” I laugh. But then I say seriously, “Thank you. Really. For all you’ve done.”

The big gate opens, and we drive through. The road winds through some trees and then you see it. All sprawled out like a college campus. We pass a golf course and athletic fields. Farther up the hill is a large field house, recreational facility, tennis courts, and more playing fields. We pass brick colonial homes that I know are the dorms. Beyond that I can see the big pillar-fronted library, a chapel, and classroom buildings. We stop in front of a modern glass building with a discreet sign that says, J. Huffington Social Center. 

“This is it,” Garrett says. “Your new home. It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

My door is opened by a very cute guy with adorable freckles and really nice shoulders. He’s wearing a red polo shirt with a cougar embroidered on it.

“Welcome to Eastbrooke. Name?” he says without even bothering to look at me.

I slide my legs out of the car and notice that all of a sudden he’s looking at me. Well, looking at my legs anyway. “I’m Keatyn Monroe.”

He gives me a crooked grin. “Monroe. Very nice to meet you.” He reaches out to shake my hand.

“Nice to meet you too. You always so formal here?”

He chuckles and points to his shirt. Under the cougar are the words, Senior Prefect.

I laugh. “What is this, Hogwarts?”

Garrett pops the trunk, and I walk around to retrieve my bags.

When we’re standing by the trunk, he whispers to me. “Prefect means I have to be on my best behavior.”

“Does that mean you usually misbehave?”

“You know it.” His arm muscles flex as he pulls my bags out of the trunk. “I’m in charge of getting these to your room.”

“And what am I in charge of?”

“You, Monroe, need to check in at that table over there. Cute boots. Where are you from?”

“California.”

He nods his head like that explains it all. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

I watch Garrett and my old life pull away, turn around, and walk to the check-in table. I get a big packet of information and am told to head to the small gym for New Student Orientation.

I glance at my phone and see I have a few minutes to spare, so I walk down the wide pathway and take it all in.

My first thought it that the campus is even prettier than the pictures.

All the trees look like they’re just on the verge of changing to their brilliant fall colors. I can picture the grounds covered in snow and feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of spending a winter here. Getting to see snow every day, not just for a week of skiing in St. Moritz.

I glance around and don’t see anyone who looks remotely like Vincent.

There are no memories of him anywhere.

I take a deep breath.

I’m standing on a sidewalk in the middle of a campus where nothing is familiar, but I feel like I’ve come home.

Like I belong here.

And for the first time in days, I feel safe.

Kiki is a stripper name.

3:45pm

I remind myself of my new name and check in at New Student Orientation.

New Student Orientation is mostly for incoming freshman, but all new students have to go through it. I hope I’m not the only new upperclassman here—but, I guess, worst case scenario is that I meet a few freshman.

My plan is simple. I’m going to find a couple guys who look nice and see if I can sit with them. In reading every scrap of information I could find about the school, I learned that the football players came here for camp two weeks ago, so even if they’re new, they’ve probably gotten to know each other.

I spy a guy that is too cute for words. He looks, well, like Brooklyn did when I first met him, with sandy blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes, and I instantly feel a connection to him. When a really hot, tall, dark-haired guy who looks way too old to be a freshman walks over and fist bumps him, I know I’ve found my pair.

I wait for them to sit down, while hoping they aren’t the kind of guys who like to sit up front. I watch them walk high up in the bleachers.

We have to wear uniforms at Eastbrooke—well, sort of uniforms. The boys wear matching navy blazers with khaki pants or shorts. They also have to wear Oxford shirts and ties, but they get to choose whatever kind they want. Some days they wear a polo with the school’s crest on it, but I’m not sure when those days are. The girls have to wear plaid skorts or skirts that are a really cute navy and black plaid. Mixed into the plaid are stripes of white, red and yellow. The girls also have navy blazers, but they have more options, like colored vests and cardigans.

I’m actually kind of excited for the uniforms.

Since everyone traveled here today, we were allowed to dress casually. I changed into the outfit that Kym packed for me on the plane. I’m wearing a cute knit dress with an appliquéd rose front and an asymmetrical lace hem. Brown suede Proenza Schouler tote, braided belt, and the cowboy boots Cush gave me.

I wasn’t allowed to bring a whole lot from home, but I did bring the boots, a few of my favorite shoes, the book of Keats poetry, and a few other things I didn’t think I could live without, including a dress of Mom’s to wear to the Welcome Dance on Saturday night. And I might have borrowed the black Gucci platform boots that we always fight over. They were in my closet, and I’m pretty sure possession is nine-tenths of the law.

Boots are noisy, I realize, as I clomp up the bleachers after the boys. A few girls look at me.

Make that, stare at me.

And then they all look down at my boots.

I’m thinking maybe East coast girls don’t wear a lot of cowboy boots?

Shit.

I hope the boots weren’t a mistake. Kym actually packed a pair of pretty platform wedges to wear with the dress. Why didn’t I listen to her?

But then I remember that I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be me. And me likes the boots. And, more importantly, wearing these boots makes me feel like Cush is with me, reminding me to be me. To let people get to know me; to let people in the way I did him.

Besides, I can’t change them now.

I notice either designer heels or Sperry topsiders on most of the girls.

The young Brooklyn clone and the dark-haired hottie are sitting with a group of boys who look like freshmen. I try to decide how to play this.

I could use the make-them-come-to-me-approach. March up there and sit just a couple rows in front of them, hoping they will see me sitting alone, take pity on me, and talk to me. That’s sort of a passive approach, though, and I’m going to be bold.

Why the hell not?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being friends with Vanessa it’s that confidence and boldness are king. And it’s not like I can embarrass myself too badly. No one here knows me. And since I am now officially in charge of the script of my life, why not be bold and take a few risks?

There’s a butt-sized gap between the two boys. I’m going to walk up to them, point at the gap, and say, Is this seat taken?

Then I’m going to pray they don’t laugh at me.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask politely, boldly pointing at the sliver of seat between them.

They look at each other, slide apart, and the clone says, “All yours, darling.”

At first I think he’s making fun of my boots, but then he says, “Hey, I’m Dallas, and this here’s Riley,” in an unmistakable Southern drawl—the kind you only get from growing up in the South, not from working with an accent coach.

Because I’ve spent a lot of time in East Texas, both in my real and fake lives, I respond with, “Nice to meet y’all. I’m Keatyn.” And then I sit.

“Great boobs, uh, I mean boots,” a boy behind them says.

I laugh.

I’m not offended in the least.

It’s not like I’m some freshman virgin. I’m an experienced woman, and I think that makes me worldlier than all my travels have. Like, kinda.

I turn around and look at the offending boy. “Thanks, what’s your name?”

The boy looks embarrassed and ignores me.

Great! I’m off to a great start. I’m being ignored by a freshman boy. Twelve minutes into my time here, and I’m already a loser.

I ignore the boy and turn to Dallas. He looks sweet. And the way he sorta looks like Brooklyn makes me feel comfortable talking to him. “So, you don’t look like a freshman.”

“Me and Riley here are juniors, how about you?”

“I’m a junior too.”

The boys tell me they all met last week during football camp.

“So what are you gonna do here?” Riley asks me.

“I’m not sure. You guys like to party? Or are you serious athletes?”

“I’d say we’re both,” gorgey dark Riley tells me. “And my brother is a senior, so I pretty much have the place wired.” His easy way reminds me of Cush.

“You’re a good guy to know, then. You can introduce me to your hot brother and all his friends.”

“How do you know my brother is hot?”

“Cuz you are,” I flirt. Why the hell not?

I’m single. You’re single. Let’s mingle.

Just because I’m not going to fall in love doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun. That was one thing I was always kind of jealous of RiAnne about. She told me she loved kissing boys. She slept with some of them, but she loved kissing them. She’d go on and on for hours about the merits of this boy’s technique or lips versus another boy’s.

I should add that to my list of things I want to do.

I want to kiss a lot of boys. I don’t want to be slutty, but it’s the first time I’ve been completely single. I should enjoy it. Is kissing a lot of boys considered part of working on me? I’ll have to ask Kym that, but I’m pretty sure it qualifies. It’s like self-improvement. Practice makes perfect and all that.

“Naw,” says Riley, “I think we’re gonna keep you to ourselves.”

“Uh, not to burst your bubble or anything, but I prefer older guys. I’ve never dated a guy my age.”

Just as the words leave my lips, it’s like I’m on a movie set, with a script in my hand about immature boys, and they’re all following along. A boy up front rips out a loud fart, and they all laugh.

“My point, exactly.”

“That dude may be immature,” Dallas tell me. “But we’re not. Notice he’s not sitting with us.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Riley asks, “So how come you’re not trying to meet some girls? I heard there’s a couple other new junior girls. You could find your new bff.”

“Notice how all the girls are trying to get as close to the front as they can? Trying to make a good impression?”

“Yeah,” both Riley and Dallas say.

“Why are you in the back?”

Dallas laughs. “Because we don’t give a shit about good impressions. We just wanna goof around.”

“I’m not into all that either. Plus it’s been my experience that guys are a lot easier to get along with. No drama.”

Riley raises his eyes at me. “We’ll get along just fine. You don’t need girls for your bffs anyway.” He throws his arm around my shoulder. “I’m your new bff, and I think I’ll be your new boyfriend.”

“Um, I kinda have a boyfriend.”

Shit. That sort of came out wrong. I don’t have a boyfriend. I tried to come up with an appropriate relationship status for me and Brooklyn on the plane. It’s more like friends with benefits. I thought about what he said about letting fate decide if we should be together, but I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in fate.

At least until some guy tells me he’s been talking to the moon.

“Not for long.” Riley says. “I promise, I’ll make you forget all about him.” He grins a very seductive grin at me.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Oh, you underestimate me,” he says, his eyes smoldering.

Eyes that make me know I'm not the only one who’s not a virgin. This boy is clearly not new to the game. And you know what? He might be right. I may have underestimated him.

Riley continues. “Plus, I can get us in all the good parties. My bro and I are tight.”

He and Dallas fist bump each other.

“Hell yeah, bro,” one of the boys from behind us says. Riley and Dallas roll their eyes at the freshman. I’m thinking he won’t be invited.

The headmaster, principal, dean, whatever they call him, gets up and starts welcoming us. He’s telling us a bunch of boring history about the school, and I’m really not all that interested. Plus, I already know it.

I turn to Riley. “You sure your brother feels that way?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, do you really think your older brother wants his baby bro tagging along with him?”

Dallas laughs. “SLAAAAMMMM.”

“You’re cute,” Riley tells me.

“Thanks, I think.”

“And my reputation clearly does not precede me.”

“You have a reputation? Ha! Did you make one up? You haven't been here long enough to get a reputation. I mean, unless you’re gay. You been hooking up with all the boys during football camp?”

“I’m not gay, and the boys have heard all about the Johnson brothers’ summer in the Hamptons.”

I hear a chorus of Hell yeah, You’re the man, Dude, and Bro, from the freshmen behind me. It’s obvious by their enthusiasm that Riley has shared way too much about his summer and they are in awe of him. Or what he did, more likely.

Dallas says lazily to Riley, “You are the man.”

I cough. “Bullshit.”

Riley laughs at me. “Just you wait and see. You can come play cowgirl with me anytime.”

“Save a horse; ride a cowboy, huh?”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

I laugh.

He’s funny.

The dean guy is droning on about being special and chosen to go here and what an honor it is. And he may be going over rules. I’m still not listening. I’ve never been much of a rule follower. Well actually, I’ve never really had any rules to follow. I’ve never had a curfew. Really, my only real rule is that I have to wear a helmet if I ride rollerblades, skateboards, longboards, or Brooklyn’s motorcycle. But that’s about it.

Riley snaps his fingers. “I have a great idea. Keatyn is a boy’s name. Let’s dress you up like a boy. You can be my roommate by day, and then be my hot little plaything at night.”

I roll my eyes at him, like I’m so bored.

But I’m not.

I’m actually having fun, and I haven’t thought about the stalker in almost twenty minutes. So I give him some shit, like I used to give to Cush. I think he likes it. “Seriously?”

“Forgive him,” Dallas says. “He thinks all the girls want him. He’s been going on and on about all the hot girls that came to his brothers’ parties this summer that he slept with.”

I raise my eyebrows at him like I don’t believe a word of it.

“It’s all true, baby.” Riley says.

“So basically you either had your brothers’ sloppy seconds or girls who were too drunk to know better?”

“Oh, I’m gonna like you.” Riley nods. His eyes run from the toes of my pointy boots up to my tan collarbones. “You gonna be my first real challenge?”

“Sounds like I’m probably much too young and much too inexperienced for you.”

He glares at me. At first he was trying to impress me with his experience, now I just turned it around and made his experience seem like a bad thing.

“I think you’re faking a boyfriend.”

“Oh really?” I grab my phone and pull up a picture of Brooklyn and me. One of only two that I was allowed to download to my new phone. We’re standing facing each other, swimsuits on, boards stuck in the sand next to us. His arms are casually around my waist, and he’s getting ready to lean in and kiss me. The sun is glimmering on the ocean as it’s getting ready to set, and the sky is a brilliant shade of fiery oranges, pinks, and reds. Brooklyn is looking at me in the dreamy way he always does.

Not that you can see that in the photo. I wasn’t allowed to have a picture of his actual face.

“See?”

The boys pass the phone around.

I hear a freshman say, “Dayummm, look at the bikini. Nice.”

Then they all huddle around my phone. You’d think I just handed them a centerfold.

I try to grab my phone from them. “Oh my gosh, you’re not supposed to be looking at my body.”

Riley has my phone now. “What are we supposed to be looking at?”

“At us. Can’t you tell how happy we were?” Were being the key word in that sentence.

“All guys look like that when their arms are wrapped around a hot bikini.”

To prove his point, he puts his phone in front of me and scrolls through about a million pics of him with bikini-clad girls posing next to him, hugging him, kissing him on the cheek, kissing him.

“See. I’m not in love with any of these girls. It means nothing.”

Oh my gosh, he frustrates me.

“Fine then. I mean nothing to him.”

The dean guy is going on now about the activities for this weekend, how we should each join at least two extracurricular activities, how sports tryouts are tomorrow, and some other stuff that was all online.

I don’t understand why we need to hear it all. It’s pretty obvious that everyone has either read it or doesn’t give a shit because no one is even paying attention to him. Well, except for a few girls down front, who are pretending to be rapt.

Or maybe they are. Who knows. Who cares.

My phone is passed to Dallas. He stares at my bikini, then jumps slightly when it vibrates in his hand. “Ooooh, you just got a text from B with a heart.” I try to grab the phone. “It says, Miss you already. Last night was amazing and well, this morning too. Winky face. Then, Love you, heart. Oooh la la.”

Love you??? What’s that all about? And when did he add a heart next to his name? See, it’s this kind of stuff that’s confusing. Sex can really confuse the issue. Actually, I think sex makes you kinda forget that there even are issues.

“See, I’m not making him up.”

“What did you do last night that was so amazing?” Riley arches an eyebrow at me and there’s a stupid grin on his handsome face.

I look at him a little puzzled. “What do you think?”

“I take it you’re not a virgin?” Riley says smoothly. “Me either, but most of these douches are.” He points back at the freshman boys.

“You have no idea what he’s talking about. Maybe we made pancakes this morning. Or maybe we caught a great wave, and it was amazing.”

“Doubtful. My vote is that he’s talking about hot sex with you.”

We are now being told that we’re dismissed and to get in line, pick up our schedules, and get our dorm assignments and roommates. We’re supposed to go to our dorms, meet our roommates, and go to dinner in the dining hall together. Then, tonight there is some kind of new student mixer where we’re going to play stupid icebreaker games and get to know each other.

Ought to be interesting.

Probably more like lame.

All I know is there are a whole bunch of football players here with nothing to do tonight but workout. So, one would assume they’re having a party. Or they should be.

I’d like to meet a few of them because I could seriously stand to party.

And because I’m single.

The boys and I walk toward the commons area, where we’re supposed to go next. As we’re walking, I spy a group of boys out in the big green lawn kicking a soccer ball around.

A crazy idea pops into my head.

Something I would do if I were the cool/crazy girl in a teen movie.

THE SETTING: BOARDING SCHOOL

A group of boys are playing soccer in a big green lawn in front of the path to the commons area. commons area. They are split up into shirts versus skins because half the boys. . .

What am I doing?

Screw it.

The scenes I write never seem to happen. I’m done planning it all out. Planning for every contingency. That’s the old me. That’s the me that Vanessa liked. The girl that always behaved exactly how she was supposed to.

I’m going to live in the moment, because if this doesn’t work and the stalker finds me, I might not have that many moments left.

This is the script of my life, and I’m in charge of living it. I don’t care what crazy teen girl would do.

This is about what I want to do. I’m wadding up the script and throwing it in the trash.

Right now I want to run down there, steal the ball, and kick it in the goal.

And I’m gonna do it. I don’t care what anyone thinks.

I’m confident. I’m good at soccer, and it’ll be fun.

I look down at the boots Cush gave me. They make me feel confident. Not that cowboy boots are the best for kicking a soccer ball. They’re good for shit kicking, Grandpa says, but what the hell.

The ball is heading toward me as we walk closer.

Here goes nothing.

I take off suddenly, run down the little hill, intercept the ball from the gorgeous, shirtless boy it was getting passed to, dribble the ball down the field, and kick the ball straight into the goal.

Right around the extremely—and I mean super de duper, super extremely hottie hott hot—hottie.

Like he is seriously the God of All Hotties.

I don’t say anything and neither do the boys on the field. I think I sorta shocked them.

The goalie for sure.

I give the Hottie god a big grin. A Haha, I just totally scored on you grin. Then I jog back up the field to my new friends, who stopped to watch me.

Then I think, why in the world did I just do that? I didn’t look like some cool girl! I probably looked like some freaking lunatic.

Shit. I’m such a liar. I do care what people think.

I’m gonna go hide in my room, cut my hair and dye it, and pretend to be someone new tomorrow. I wonder if the Garrett will let me change my name again?

But when I walk up to Dallas, he high fives me. “Dude, that was awesome! And in cowboy boots to boot. Haha!” He laughs at himself. “To boot, get it??”

Inwardly, I sigh with relief. Thank goodness, I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.

“Yeah, we get it,” I laugh.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. We’re gonna have some fun this year. I’m so glad you came up and hit on me.”

“I did not hit on you.”

“You asked Is this seat taken, and there was like this much space.” He puts his hands out and shows the others that there were like two inches.

“Maybe I just wanted to meet some boys. Some nice, fun to hang out with, boys. I figured the boys in the back were a good place to start. But if you had all turned out to be losers, then I woulda had to ditch you.”

“We still might ditch you.”

“No way,” Riley counters.

Dallas agrees, ruffles my hair, and says, “Yeah, now you’re, like, our mascot.”

“You have a nickname?” Riley asks.

“Um, my little sisters call me Kiki. Like key, key.”

“Kiki is a stripper name,” one of the freshmen boys chimes in.

“Uh, you’re not gonna call me Kiki.”

He scowls. “Fine. What’s your last name?”

I go blank. Forget my line. Shit. What is my last name?

If this were really the movie of my life, a stagehand would whisper it to me. Would it be weird if I wrote it on my hand?

“Um, Monroe.” I finally remember.

“K-mon?” a freshman suggests.

“That’s dumb,” Dallas tells him.

Riley says, “Well, Kiki it is then.”

 Omg!

Seriously? Why did I open my mouth about Kiki? It totally sounds like a stripper name. And yeah, I want to get noticed, but I don’t want the boys to think I’m some strip tease slut.

My next girlfriend.

5:15pm

I get my room assignment and meet my roommate. Her name is Morgan. She’s also a new junior. She told me some story about a nasty divorce, that she plans on trying out for the debate team, that she plays a mean clarinet, and that she hopes to get on the student council.

It said in our packets that election campaigns start soon. I think I just decided to run. For president, maybe.

Crazy teen movie girl would do that.

And she’d win, and we’d all sit there in theater thinking, Yeah right; that never happens in real life.

But maybe it can. I can do it. I was always interested in Student Council, but Vanessa told me it wouldn’t be cool to run for something like that. She said men are threatened by powerful woman.

I didn’t really want to be powerful—I just wanted to help plan some dances and parties. But then Sander decided to run so, instead, I became a trophy and looked good on his arm.

I threw him a big Sander Volleyball Tournament. Get it . . . Sander: Sand? It was cute. We brought in all sorts of hot, bikini-clad girls and buff, shirtless guys to serve food and flirt with the guests. He won President by a landslide.

I think I will run. Worst case, I lose and get to know some people in the process.

Brooklyn’s zen shit must have rubbed off on me.

Morgan and I go to dinner together, but she ditches me for some girl she met earlier today. Which means I’m the loser who’s standing in the food line all by herself.

A girl walks up to me. A girl that is so freaking beautiful, her skin belongs in a Cover Girl ad.