Текст книги "Hate Me"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2ND

Confidence and swagger.

7am

“You awake enough to drive back to school?” Cooper asks me, putting our bags in the car.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He sits in the passenger seat until I get about a half mile from school, then he hops in the back and hides.

I go through the school gates, pull into my parking spot, hop out of my car, leaving it unlocked, and then walk to the dorm and straight into my shower.

I’m forty-five minutes late for our 7 am Social Committee meeting.

“Sorry I'm late,” I say, my entrance interrupting Logan.

“That’s okay. We're just finishing up,” he says.

“You’re our last report. Is the French Club ready for tomorrow night? Will the baskets all be ready?”

“Yeah, The Market was happy to do them. They even gave us a nice discount, so the club will earn money for the state competition this spring.”

“Perfect,” he says. “That completes our list.”

Peyton does a little clap. “This is going to be so fun.”

Logan holds up his notebook and says to the group, “So, here's to a great event and an entire weekend where we can’t get in trouble for French kissing!”

“Hear, hear!” everyone exclaims.

I'm thinking about French kissing Aiden when Whitney says, “Peyton, Keatyn, a word. Alone,” she adds, looking straight at Aiden, who is walking toward us.

“We’re gonna discuss our periods,” Peyton says, teasing her brother.

He winces and says to me, “I'll meet you outside.”

Whitney says, “I overheard Chelsea trash-talking you to one of the only friends she has left, and saying that she’s going to get even. I think you should start sitting at our table again. It will make her think twice.” She holds a single finger in the air as I start to speak. “And before you say anything, Aiden's welcome. Riley, whoever you'd like. The more the merrier. Right, Peyton?”

“Right.”

Peyton folds her hands in prayer, begging me behind Whitney’s back.

“That's really nice of you,” I say to Whitney.

She grins, wraps her arm around me, and says, “Shark’s gonna sit with us today too. Try not to have a heart attack.”

“I think you and Shark together is awesome. He was totally flirting with you at Homecoming.”

“He's been flirting with me for two years and I wouldn't give him the time of day. But then he told me the odds of us getting together were a hundred to one, but that he'd take them any day. It was romantic, in an unusual way. He keeps getting cuter and he just has . . .”

“Swagger,” I say.

“Yeah. Confidence and swagger. You can tell he's going to be successful in life. He’s already working on building what will be the hot new social media website. He’ll be an internet mogul by the time he’s twenty-five.”

“I think all that matters today is what are the odds he's a good French kisser?”

“They’ve been doing plenty of that,” Peyton says in a sing-song voice.

“I have a plan,” Whitney says. “I need a pedicure and we have,” she makes air quotes, “some French errands to run. Let's go get pedicures together. Have a girls’ morning.”

“Sounds great!” I say, mostly because I didn't get my history homework done. “I’m gonna talk to Aiden. Why don't you ask Miss Praline for a note?”

“Already got the note,” Whitney replies, waving it in her hand. “We'll go turn it in. Meet us at my car in ten minutes.”

I find Aiden in the hall. “How's your uncle?” he asks.

“He's good.”

“You look tired.”

“We stayed up late talking about my mom.”

“What did he say about her? Is she doing better?”

“Well, they just got to France, so it's hard to tell yet.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“Uh, well, apparently the Vancouver project was really stressful. A lot of negotiations and stuff. And she was working long hours and spending too much time away from my sisters. So that upset her. And I guess Vancouver sort of, like, consumed her. But the good news is that she's taking a whole month off. At least from traveling. Although, I’m sure she'll work some from home.”

Shit. Why did I say that? Next he’s going to ask . . .

“What’s her next project?” Aiden asks, responding exactly the way I was praying he wouldn’t.

Shit.

Uh . . .

Improvise, Keatyn. Make something up!

“Uh, well, part of the reason she agreed to France is because her next job is, uh, it’s in the Ukraine.”

Where the hell did that come from?

Is the Ukraine close to France?

Do they even have oil in the Ukraine?

“So, that's good, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I’m glad you got to see him while he was in town.”

I think of the look on Vincent's face when he saw me at the club. “I’m really glad I got to see him too.”

He pulls me in for a sweet kiss. “So, what are you girls planning?”

“Officially, we’re going off campus to check on some last minute details for the weekend, but, really, we’re getting pedicures. Which is good. My polish is a mess after being in the sand. You wanna come too?”

“Ah, no. I’m busy with the Hawthorne house project.”

“What are you doing?”

He flicks his tongue across my neck. “I can't tell. You said you’re making your dorm like like store windows. What’s going to be in yours?”

“We’re only doing it on the front facing rooms, but I helped Maggie plan hers. It will be a springtime in Paris theme. A pretty pale blue dress with a tutu skirt, pastel flowers, and a big art frame to make it look like you walked into a Degas’ picture.”

“Very creative.”

“Are you really not going to tell me what you're doing?”

“You'll see it later. Depending on how it goes. Right now, it's walking a fine line between cool and ridiculous.”

“What if I give you a French kiss, monsieur. Will you tell me then?”

“Depends on how good a kiss it is,” he flirts, sliding his hands into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck and move my lips slowly toward his. Then I stick out my tongue and rub it sloppily across his cheek, laughing.

He quickly stops my giggles with his own powerful tongue. Moving it with the grace of a Degas ballerina.

Until the first bell rings.

“I better get going,” he says. “What color are you going to get on your toes?”

“What color do you think I should get?”

“A sexy red, maybe?”

“I was thinking a soft pink.”

“That would be pretty. Is the dress pink?”

“No, but my bag is.”

“Makes sense. Have fun.”

“I will,” I say, prancing away from him.

But he grabs me by the waist, pulls me back in, and gives me a kiss that leaves me reeling.

All that sunshine.

8:30am

I meet the girls at Whitney’s car and we head to a posh day spa.

We’re quickly taken back to a private pedicure room with three chairs.

“What color should I get?” Peyton asks, holding up a bright red and a hot pink.

“I like the red for me and the pink for you,” Whitney teases, pulling the red out of Peyton’s hand.

Peyton laughs. “That’s always what we get. Maybe we should go crazy and switch it up. You get the pink, I’ll get the red.”

Whiney laughs too. “You’re right. We do always get the same thing. Maybe we should get something funky. Keatyn, what would you suggest?”

“What color are your dresses for tomorrow night?”

“Mine is black and Peyton’s is an icy blue.”

“Oh, pretty.” I grab a sparkly, metallic charcoal and hand it to Whitney. “This is for you.”

“Really? I won’t look Goth?”

“No, dark nails are totally acceptable. Besides, this has glitter, so it will sparkle.” I elbow her. “You know, in case Shark sees your toes in soft lighting.”

She grins. “I usually make boys wait, but I don’t think I’m going to with Shark.”

“Really?” Peyton says, turning away from the polish wall and giving me a surprised look.

Whitney shrugs. “Sometimes you just know when it’s right.”

Peyton, who is standing behind her, pretends to stick her finger down her throat and gag.

I try not to laugh.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” I say to Whitney. “All right, Peyton, what color for you?”

I stand next to her and stare at the wall of polish.

“Pedicures are supposed to help relieve stress, but choosing a polish totally stresses me out!” she says.

I scan the silver polishes, choosing one that is a soft color but also has an iridescent shimmer to it. “This one.”

“Oh, I like that. My shoes are silver, too.”

We get situated and soak our feet in the warm water.

I turn the massage chair on, lean my head back, and close my eyes.

This feels so good.

“Do you want something to read?” Peyton asks, tossing a paper into my lap before I can respond.

I’m about to throw it back at her when I see a headline at the top with Mom’s photo underneath.

I quickly open the paper to the Entertainment section and scan the article.

The headline reads, Crowds Line Up To See To Maddie, With Love.

I scan the article.

“This is the kind of rare movie that both critics and fans alike will be raving about,” movie critic Tim Steward proclaims. 

Fans outside the packed midnight showings were excited to see if Mr. Steward was right. We did our own poll among those exiting the theater, and fans had a lot to say about this film and how Maddie’s story touched them. 

“Abby Johnston’s movies usually make me laugh and fall in love,” local resident Alice Truluck said. “This movie made me cry, physically ache, and feel completely uncomfortable. But it still made me fall in love. This is an amazing story of redemption. Abby has to win an Academy award for this.”

Rumors are flying as to why Abby hasn’t attended any of the premieres held around the world this week. Also notably absent from Abby’s life is her long-time beau, Tommy Stevens. Inside sources say a split is imminent.

There’s a photo of Tommy and Bad Kiki getting on a private plane with the caption, He’s moving and taking the dog with him!

Abby left earlier than planned from Vancouver where the movie she and Tommy were filming together has wrapped. Tommy’s publicist said in a statement: “Abby and their adorable children plan to join Tommy in New York, where he will be filming the third movie in the blockbuster Trinity series.”

But a day earlier, Abby’s publicist contradicted that statement. “Like many on the Vancouver movie set, Abby has come down with the flu and won’t be attending the premieres.” And, when pressed further about the health of the couple’s relationship: “Abby will not accompany Tommy to New York. She’s taking some time away from the movie industry.”

Those of us who have seen the frightening photos of a too-skinny Abby hope she’s planning on eating during her break. 

“I got accepted to Brown yesterday,” Whitney says happily, causing me to stop reading. “Did you get a letter, Peyton?”

“No, not yet,” she says. “But I don’t care. I applied to some more schools this week.”

Whitney looks surprised by this. “You did? I thought we were going somewhere together? We’ve talked about it since freshman year. We go to the same college. Join the same sorority. Party it up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure the East coast is where I want to be.”

“Where else could you possibly want to go?” Whitney says in a snide voice. Like anything other than an Ivy League college would be unacceptable.

“I applied to a few California schools. I’d like to be closer to home.”

“California? Seriously? I’d hate to live in California. All that blonde hair and sunshine would piss me off.”

I purse my lips in defense of my favorite state and am just about to say something when Whitney turns to me. “No offense.”

“I love the feel of the sun shining on my face,” Peyton says, dreamily. “And I’d like to trade my car in for a convertible. Drive around with the top down all the time. Never have to deal with the snow again.” Peyton sighs. Then she tosses a magazine toward me. This one is rolled open to a certain page.

I flip it over and see a photo of Damian and Troy coming out of a club with a chesty blonde in a tight dress who’s hanging onto Damian’s arm. Could this unidentified blonde be the girl to finally snag Damian Moran, the son of mega-hit director, Matt Moran, and lead singer for the band Twisted Dreams, whose studio was mobbed by tweens earlier this week?

I take my phone out and text her, not wanting to say anything in front of Whitney.

Me:  She’s with Troy.

Peyton:  I know. I was just showing you the pic.

Me:  California, huh?

Peyton:  Yes!! We talked about it in St. Croix. I’m so happy!! Stop texting me though. I don’t want Whitney to get suspicious.

“Which colleges did you apply to in California, Peyton?” I ask.

“Pepperdine, USC, UCLA, and Stanford, but I’m leaning toward Pepperdine,” she says with a big smile. “It’s right across from the beach. How awesome would that be?”

“It sounds amazing. They’re all good schools.”

“Stanford is pretty good,” Whitney says. “But it’s the only one I would consider. I’m setting my sights a little higher. Shark already got accepted to Yale. That’s where I’m planning to go as well. Just waiting to hear from them. Then I’ll make my big announcement.”

“What big announcement?”

“Of where I’m going to college,” she says in a tone that is supposed to make me feel stupid for asking.

“How will you announce it?”

She gives me a wide smile. “Well, most people just tell their friends. I was thinking of something a little more grand. Like at Winter Formal.”

“Cool,” Peyton says. “I’m sure the school is on pins and needles waiting to hear your choice.”

“I know I am,” I say quickly, hoping to distract from Peyton’s snotty comment. “How cool to announce it at Winter Formal.”

Peyton rolls her eyes at me while Whitney favors me with a wide smile. “Thank you. I thought it would be very cool, too. And Shark is dying for me to reveal my choice, so it will be fun for him.”

“That’s a really cute way to tell him,” I say.

Most romantic city.

11:40am

When we get back to school, we find that most of the students are out of class, helping their various clubs or dorms.

I’m not really sure if Whitney is trustworthy, but she has been really nice to me, and all of us being friends seems to make Peyton happy, even though I’m not totally convinced that she wants to be friends with Whitney anyway.

And, since it’s my fault she can’t tell anyone about Damian, I figure it’s the least I can do.

Whitney has a long list of things we actually do have to check on for the weekend.

“Top of the Eiffel Tower, Sunset is going to be even better than Greek weekend!” she exclaims as we tour the campus.

“Let’s go check on the awnings,” Peyton says.

We walk to the front of the social center and watch as an alumni-owned rental company adds pink and black striped awnings to the outside of the building and sets up black iron bistro tables and chairs. They’ve even brought in portable heaters to make sitting outside more comfortable.

“Wow!” I exclaim. “It looks so good! Everyone will love it!”

“You fit right in, too. I love your outfit,” Whitney compliments me.

I love my outfit today, too. In honor of French weekend, I have on Louboutin black fringed ankle boots and am carrying their black spiked tote bag. I’m wearing an Alice + Olivia black leather box pleat skirt, pale gray knee-high socks with kitten faces on them, and a white fleece pullover with Magnifique! scrawled across the front.

“Thanks, Whitney. It’s too bad we couldn’t import some French shopping. Chanel. Dior. Lacroix. Gaultier, Louboutin, Chloe, Laurent. All lined up in a row.”

“That would be amazing. Maybe instead of going to the beach and partying with boring frat boys, the three of us should go to Paris for Spring Break and do nothing but eat croissants, drink café crème, and shop the boutiques and Parisian flea markets,” Whitney suggests.

“Oh, that would be fun!” Peyton gushes. “Paris is the most romantic city.”

“Yeah, maybe you could meet someone there,” Whitney says, getting in a little dig.

Peyton looks at Whitney with puppy dog eyes, but as soon as she turns away she gives me a little wink. She and Damian have talked every single night. He told her that they needed to keep their relationship under wraps for the time being. And, honestly, I probably shouldn’t feel too bad because I think the secrecy of it is just adding to her excitement.

The bell rings, signaling the end of fourth period and the beginning of lunch.

“Perfect timing,” Whitney says. “We’ll check out the café and then get everyone to sit at my table.”

We wander into the café.

It’s already been mostly transformed into a riverboat with porthole windows showing colorful scenes of the French countryside and Parisian landmarks.

“The drama and art clubs outdid themselves,” she says, checking them off the list.

“And you can smell the croissants baking,” I add, breathing in the wonderful aroma.

Peyton, Whitney, and I sit at the table, stopping all our friends and inviting them to sit with us. I never realized it before, but they didn’t even fill up a whole table. Now it’s crowed and noisy.

And fun.

Particularly when Aiden squeezes next to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“How’s the project? I didn’t see anything when we walked by your dorm.”

“It’s not quite finished yet.”

He puts his hand on my thigh as he whispers, “When it’s done, you’ll be the first to see it.”

“When will that be?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Logan says to Whitney, “We should start the announcements.”

They stand in front of the café and Logan clears his throat. “Hey everyone. If I can have your attention . . .” When the room quiets, he continues. “The Social Committee wants to give you a little update on the events for French weekend. The dorms will, once again, be competing for a dress-down day. Entries will be voted for on Sunday. Tonight’s café dinner will be steak frites and, afterward, everyone is encouraged to attend the basketball home opener. The coffee shops will be open late, serving pastries and drinks, and curfew will be extended to twelve-thirty.”

He hands Whitney the microphone. “Since we’re hosting a wrestling match on Saturday, be sure to go support our team,” she says. “The café will be open all day on Saturday, serving French grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, or croques monsieur, French pastries, and chocolate soufflés, as well as holding hourly French cooking classes. Then, Saturday night, everyone will get dressed up for the Seine River Dinner Cruise. Who knows what will happen on the river?!”

Logan finishes up. “Sunday afternoon, you can get involved in some games of boules and see a French film at two. Hope you enjoy all the activities we have planned! And a big thank you to all the clubs involved in making this weekend a reality.”

After they finish, Aiden whispers, “I need to get back to the shop. Are you going to French?”

“Probably not. I should go back to the dorm and help finish up the windows. Are you coming to dinner?”

He shakes his head. “No. I have to be in the locker room at six and there’s no way I could eat a heavy meal like that before the game.”

“I’ll miss you,” I say.

He grabs my hand and gazes into my eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Will I see you before the game?”

“You gonna wish me luck? Offer up some dances?”

“I don’t know. How many points do you usually score?”

“Last year I didn’t start and I averaged eleven.”

“So, how many will you score this year?”

“Not sure. Twenty, thirty, maybe. Hopefully. It might depend on how motivated I am.”

“One of the dancers said that she gives her boyfriend a—” I whisper the word in Aiden’s ear. “For every dunk he makes.”

Aiden’s fingers graze the skin just under my skirt, giving my goose bumps.

I swallow, wishing his fingers would move higher and give me something else.

“Are you offering me that?”

“Can you even dunk?”

“You doubt my skills?” he says with a laugh.

“I probably shouldn’t. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do.”

“I can dunk. Never have in a game, though. I don’t want sexual favors for my game performance, but if I dunk, what if I get something I want?”

“Uh, what do you want?” I ask, my mind going all kinds of sexy places.

He stands up, pulling me up with him and leading me out of the cafeteria.

Once we’re away from everyone else, he backs me up against the wall, his chest pressing into mine, his knuckles pushing my chin up toward his mouth. “I want a night alone with you in my room. No parties. No hanging out. Just you and me dancing before curfew, then you sneaking over to my room after curfew and spending the night. Sleeping with me.”

I’m not sure what his definition of sleeping with him is, but I’m totally game.

“I’d do that even without a dunk,” I say, pressing my lips to his.

He grins. “I know. Maybe I just want to impress you.”

When he goes to the shop, I go to my dorm and order a huge candy gift basket and a whole bunch of chaos glow-in-the-dark temporary tattoos to send to the dancers at The Side Door with my thanks for letting me dance with them.