by Jillian Dodd
Page 4
I think fireworks are so romantic. Maybe I need to try again.
I turn around and give Sander a deep kiss.
He kisses me back, but just when things start to heat up a little, he says, “Sweetheart, you know the rules. ”
The rules.
His rules.
No making out in public.
I get it. I do. My mom has to be very careful of what she does in public. She’d die if someone took a photo of her picking her nose or pulling her underwear out of her butt. But Sander hasn’t been in the public eye for the last two years. No one is taking pictures of him anymore.
I turn back around and watch the fireworks light up the sky.
Is it wrong to want some fireworks of my own?
Early on in our relationship, he gave me some speech about his religious beliefs, which would be fine, except he’s not a religious guy. He never goes to church. So, I’m not sure I believe his I-want-to-wait-until-I’m-married excuse. While I appreciate that he respects me, lately I've just been feeling very frustrated.
Frustrated with him. Frustrated with my friends.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
I recently tried to seduce him. He came over to watch movies, and I came out in a sexy black nightie. He told me I looked pretty, but that I should get dressed while he made popcorn. I’ve worn sexy bikinis, skimpy tight outfits, and sinful dresses. Still nothing.
I know I’m nothing like my mom. Heck, half the boys I know have beat off to her pictures on more than one occasion.
So I tried the bolder route. Went straight for his pants and tried to unzip them. He got mad at me, gave me a big talking to about respecting each other’s boundaries, and left mad.
I want to break up with him, but I like our life. We’re the perfect couple that everyone wants to be, and I have everything I always thought I wanted.
I’m just not sure if I want it anymore.
My little laid-back surfer girl.
2am
The limo pulls up to my house. Prom was fun; not what I dreamed of, but better than I expected in one way: Sander didn’t get drunk. He’s been particularly high strung this week because he tried out for the part of Danny in the upcoming remake of Grease, and he really wants the role. I can’t imagine him not getting it. He has amazing dance skills, sings like an angel, and morphs into any role he wants to play.
He walks me to my front door, gives me a chaste kiss, and bids me goodnight.
And now I’m feeling a little high strung too.
I want to scream at him. Where are the fireworks? Where is the passion? You are the FUCKING PROM KING! It’s PROM NIGHT!! The night every red-blooded American male is expected to drink too much, take their date to a hotel, and have sex!!!
Instead, I watch the limo pull away.
I let myself into the house quietly, so I don’t wake up the family. I grab a Corona out of the fridge, madly kick off my heels, then walk out the back door and onto the beach.
I’m still wearing my gorgeous dress, but I don’t care about getting it wet and sandy. I never want to wear this stupid dress again.
In all the screenplays I’ve ever written, prom night is always the climax. That pivotal night when everything changes. The night I’m supposed to lose my virginity to my perfect boyfriend. The boy who’s been dying to have sex with me, but who says I’m worth the wait. The boy who would know prom night is the night.
In the limo, he’d wag the hotel key in front of my face and kiss me passionately. He’d tell me I’m beautiful and he can’t wait any longer. At the hotel, there would be rose petals, candles, and champagne. He’d kiss me and tell me I’m beautiful again. Then he wouldn’t wait any longer. He’d slide the straps of my dress off my shoulders and carry me to the bed, where he’d ravish my body.
I plop down into the sand and let out a big sigh.
Obviously, the casting director screwed up. Sander is not willing to do all that is required for his role.
I think it’s time to cut my losses and scrap the project. Start over.
Earlier this week, I mentioned to RiAnne that I was considering breaking up with him. She said, You’re the perfect couple. Why would you do that?
But I know she’s wrong.
The perfect couple would be doing it in a hotel room right now.
I look out at the ocean glittering in the moonlight and wonder where he is.
Where is my perfect boy?
Could he be staring at the moon at this exact moment, wishing for me, too?
Sometimes I swear I can almost feel him.
Oh, for God’s sake, Keatyn. What the hell is wrong with you?
Both of us staring at the moon?
Obviously, I’ve read too many freaking fairytales to my sisters and watched too many stupid romance movies with my mom.
Or, maybe I’ve heard the story of how Mom and Tommy fell in love at first sight too many times.
But it’s sooooo romantic.
I love hearing Tommy’s version of it the best. He’s so damn dreamy when he tells it. His eyes light up and he lowers his voice, like he’s telling you the world’s best secret. He talks about how their eyes met. About how he felt instantly tongue-tied. How, when he shook her hand, he could see their future. How he knew she was the one.
I was on the same movie set. I’d been being a little brat about Mom dating, and I wanted to hate Tommy.
But I couldn’t.
We were on location in France. Mom’s character was a liaison for the American Ambassador to France, who gets caught up in a murder investigation and falls in love with a French investigator. Tommy had a cameo role as a French businessman who was dealing weapons to anyone with the money to buy them. Their big scene was when they dance together at a benefit. When you watch the movie, you can practically see the sparks flying.
Tommy had been on set for only two days. Both times I had seen him, he was coming out of makeup just as I was coming out of my dance class. Mom had a former French prima donna teaching me ballet. The ballerina insisted I wear a pale pink tutu with a black leotard and matching tights. I didn’t mind the tutu, but thought it was boring. So I got one of the costume designers to help me tie dye it in multiple shades of pink and sew sequins all over it. The ballerina had just chewed me out for my American lack of respect. Tommy told me my tutu was beautiful at the exact moment I needed to hear it.
I’m pretty sure I fell in love with him right then and there.
I walked back in the room, where the ballet teacher was still stretching, and told her that Tommy Stevens liked my tutu, that I was going to keep wearing it, and that if she wanted to teach me, she’d have to learn to appreciate my artistic expression.
Later that afternoon, after my schoolwork was finished, I got to sit very quietly on set next to the director, Matt Moran. Even as a very little girl, the process of making a movie intrigued me, and I wouldn’t make a peep because I wanted to be allowed to watch.
After Matt yelled cut, Tommy walked up to me and asked me if I’d like to go see a real ballet with him.
In Russia.
Then he asked me if it’d be okay to take my mom along.
I remember looking at Mom to see if she wanted to come with us. I still remember the tears in her eyes, the big smile on her face, and her nodding yes at me.
Kym found both Mom and me beautiful dresses to wear, and Tommy took us to Moscow in his private jet.
It was the best first date ever.
For both of us.
I feel a little sorry for the boy that falls in love with me. He’s gonna have really big shoes to fill.
I think about Brooklyn. How he looked walking down the beach the first time I saw him. How cute it was when he swam out and taught me how to surf. It was my fifteenth birthday. We had just moved into Tommy’s Malibu beach house, and I got the present I’d been asking for: Mom and Tomm
y told me I could stay here, even when they were traveling, and go to high school. Then Tommy told me if I was gonna live on the beach, I needed to learn how to surf. He gave me a bunch of tips, but he told me the best way to learn was to just get out there and try. So I did. Over and over again. I fell so many times, but I wanted to learn so badly. Brooklyn paddled out after a couple hours of my feeble attempts and taught me.
The second our eyes met, I knew.
Knew I was in love with him.
Knew it was love at first sight.
But then I found out that love at first sight doesn’t work out so well when the person you fall for doesn’t fall back.
"S'up, Keats?" I hear Brooklyn call out. I turn to see him walking up the beach toward me. “You just get home?”
I stand up. My beautiful dress is wet and sandy, but I know it still looks pretty blowing in the breeze.
“Yeah, I just came out here to think. "
He walks closer to me. "You look really pretty. What’s wrong? Did Cinderella not have fun at the ball?"
Ohmigawd! Did he just say I look really pretty?
“Prom was fine,” I lie.
We sit back down in the sand. I take a drink of beer then hand it to him. He takes a swig and hands it back.
"So why do you look upset? Come on, Keats. What’s up? Someone wear the same dress to the party?"
I sigh. Brooklyn doesn’t think much of Hollywood-type parties, high school parties, my friends, or my boyfriend. He thinks they are all shallow and vapid. Which means he’s probably not the best person to say this to.
"I'm thinking about breaking up with Sander,” I say quietly.
“You should. He’s an arrogant asshole and a whiner. ”
“He only whines about how much time I spend with you and the guys, and everyone at school will think I’m crazy. "
"Why do you care so much about what people think? He's not the right guy for you. And look at you. You'll have guys standing in line to take his place. "
Did he just give me another compliment?
I look into his eyes. I’ve written so many scenes about those ocean blue eyes. I glance at his lips. The lips I’ve been dying to kiss.
"I don’t think guys will be standing in line,” I say, shaking my head.
“Keats, you’re a very pretty girl. Trust me, lots of guys will. ”
There’s the key word in the sentence. Girl. Brooklyn still sees me as the fifteen-year-old girl he first met.
I want so badly to say, Would YOU be standing in line?
But I don’t.
“My friends will get mad at me. ”
"If they were your real friends, they’d want what's best for you. He’s not what’s best for you. ”
I know he's right, but still, I like being popular.
Although, I’m embarrassed to admit, sometimes being popular kinda goes to my head. Like the other night at Cush’s party, these sweet freshman girls showed up. Vanessa immediately had her claws out. She made fun of their sundresses and told them they should go home. I just laughed in agreement instead of being nice like I should’ve been.
"I don't know what's best for me anymore, B. What do you do when you get your wish, but then you realize you wished for the wrong thing?” I sigh loudly and lean back in the sand. “There is a guy who I wish would be excited if I broke up with Sander,” I say, sort of to the moon. “But I doubt he will be. ”
Ohmigawd!
Did I just say that out loud?
I can't believe I just said that! I'd like to blame it on the alcohol, but I can't. I only had two glasses of champagne.
Brooklyn slowly takes a sip of my beer, licks his lips in the sexiest way ever, and leans back in the sand next to me.
"Maybe if you didn't have a boyfriend, the guy would think he had a shot. "
He leans closer to my face. I can't help but look at his mouth. God, I want that mouth. Please let him kiss me. Lying in the sand, under the moonlight, in a beautiful gown, would make for the perfect first kiss scene.
Instead, he gently rubs his thumb across my cheek and looks deeply into my eyes.
“I know you, Keats. You're not the same when you're with your friends. You turn into a high-strung, power-hungry, popularity whore when you’re with them. That's not you. You're my little laid-back surfer girl. "
His girl?
Awwww! OMG!
Wait . . . little girl?
Ack! No!
"I don't know who I am anymore. Or even who I want to be. Sometimes I feel like I live two separate lives. When Sander and I started dating, it was my dream come true. All I ever wanted was to be popular, have lots of friends, and date the most popular guy. Now that I have it all, it just feels . . . um . . . ” I search for the right word.
“Fake?”
“Kinda. It's like I'm living the movie of my life based on some script I wrote when I was twelve. Actually, I am. I still have the script I wrote. When I thought the best thing in life would be to have a boy kiss me. When I thought being popular and dating the hottest guy would be the key to high school happiness. "
I sit back up, fidget with my beer, and pop my toes in and out of the sand. I feel like I’m at a turning point in my life, and I’m just not sure which way I should turn.
He pulls a joint out of his pocket, lights it, and hands it to me.
“You seem really uptight. ” His eyes get big, and he grabs my arm. "Did he hurt you? Is that what this is all about?"
“Ha. ” I laugh pathetically. “Don’t I wish. ”
"You wish?"
I take a hit and then another. Then I start to get tears in my eyes.
Just what I want. The guy I totally crush on to see me all weepy.
He sees my tears, puts his arm around me, and is concerned. “Keats, tell me now. What happened?"
I slam one of my hands down in the sand in frustration. “I just don’t understand it. People say I’m pretty. Guys hit on me at parties and whistle at me on the beach. So why doesn’t Sander want me?”
