Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  I get little tears in my eyes. Grandpa had cowboy boots custom made just for me? It’s way too late to call. Also inside are some goodies from Kym, three more looks to make with the boots. And Thursday, I decide I am going to kick a little ass, East Texas style.(I absolutely love that Grandpa sends her boots. I also love Grandpa’s vocabulary and how he words things. Reminds me of my grandpa!)

  Wednesday, September 14th

  What does that even mean?

  7 pm

  Sitting next to Dawson in the library. There’s no football games tonight or much going on. I’m looking at the list of homework and all the other stuff on my to do list. I don’t know how in the world I’m going to get this all done tonight, plus get packed to go to Vancouver Friday night. I’m so so excited though, and Dawson seems excited too.

  Dawson is cute, grabs my long TO DO list and types his name at the top.

  My phone buzzes in his hand with a text from Brooklyn. Brooklyn, who I haven’t heard a peep from in exactly 15 days.

  Not that I’m counting.

  Brooklyn<3: I’m sorry, okay? I miss you, I miss our talks, I was stupid, thought I was like hot shit surfer dude, I’m sorry. Really. I love you.

  Dawson sits and stares at my phone, like it’s a snake coiled up, getting ready to bite him. “How come his name still has a heart by it?” (That’s a good question, Dawson. The answer, because even though she’s mad at him, part of her still loves him and doesn’t want to let go.)

  “Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since the tournament, or looked at his name. I forgot it was like that. Here I’ll change it.” And I do.

  “So what are you going to say to that?”

  “I’m not sure. I do miss our friendship, and he did hurt me, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m happy now with you.”

  “I think you should reply to him.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Shit. What am I going to say? What would I say if Dawson wasn’t sitting here next to me?

  “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Tell him you have a boyfriend and to leave you the hell alone.”

  “Is that what you would do if Peyton texted you?” (*Cough* Foreshadowing for when Whitney does the baby, please text.)

  “Uh, ye-ah. Is that why you haven’t told me you love me? You still hung up on him?”

  “No. I’m not hung up on him at all. I hate him. But I, I do love you Dawson, I’m just scared. I don’t want to feel like that again. I felt like that the night you asked me to go out with you.”

  “You didn’t wanna go out with me?”

  “No. It was that I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to be with other girls, and I just felt hurt instantly. And it scares me. That’s why I haven’t said it. I do love you, but I’m afraid to.”

  He touches my hair. Looks into my eyes and says, “Keatie, I swear, I’m not going to hurt you. I love you, seriously.”

  I get little tears in my eyes, cuz he is seriously so sweet.

  He takes the phone out of my hand, says, “Here, I’ve got this.”

  Me: This is Keatyn’s boyfriend. Leave her the hell alone.

  Brooklyn: Tell her to take her phone back and tell me herself. (I love this little bit of fire from Brooklyn. Not something you usually see from him.)

  Me: Hey, it’s me. Sorry. Um, what you did sucked. It hurt. I’m in love with someone else, I think, and he makes me really happy. Maybe we can be friends again, but probably not, I’m pretty sure you ruined that too with your lack of respect for me and my feelings.

  Brooklyn: “There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.” Keats for my Keats. I’m sorry, Keats. Really sorry. (Love that he’s still quoting her Keats.)

  “I’m not replying to that.”

  Dawson says, “What does that even mean?”

  “I think it means he’s living in hell because he failed me. Or so he’s saying.” I sigh big, run my hand through my hair. “Shit.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “I miss us, like our friendship. I mean he was my best friend for almost three years before we did anything. Like we didn’t start being more than friends til last christmas and then a lot more this summer. It’s like that’s what hurt me more than anything. The dating part, him hooking up with girls, it’s not that big of a deal, I knew we weren’t going to be more, it was just such a slam to our friendship. And I thought he at least loved and cared about me as a friend enough to not do something like that to me. Be upfront with me about it, not sneak behind my back, and then expect me to stay there with him for the weekend. That’s what hurts. I hope when you break up with me, it’s like friendly. I want to stay friends with you. I love how we tell each other everything.”

  “Lets get out of the library, Keatie.”

  So we go to his dorm room, and he holds my face, kisses my face, tells me he loves me, kisses me on my face, my neck, sweet adorable, kisses. “I love you, Keatie. You have no idea. And I’m never going to hurt you.”

  And we kissed and kissed and kissed. And he didn't even try to do anything else. And even though I haven't said it to him. I love him. I really think I do. (Can you say, rebounding?)

  Thursday, September 15th

  A sick hazing ritual

  9 am

  So this morning, I get up with the chickens, lol, and do my hair up. I did it big. Lots of big spiral curls, lots of hairspray and fullness. Then I did my makeup just a bit bolder today, still soft and natural, but I added some highlighter to my cheek bones and nose, a little deeper blush at the hollow of my cheeks to add more definition. My eyes I did in a rich dark purple with a simple black swoop of eyeliner. This purple color makes my eyes look purple instead of blue. The look for today is a red tank top under a white blouse with red western detailing. A little embroidery across the cuffs of my sleeves which stick out just under my navy blazer, the plaid pleated skort and the cowboy boots. Some bold slightly Mexican looking silver medallion earrings and matching silver bangles, and I’m feeling ready to give my speech.

  But first things first. Gotta call Grandpa.

  I thank him. Tell him about my speech today. He wishes me luck and fills me in on whats been going on at the ranch. About the horses, the gossip about Jose, the ranch hand’s love life, Grandma’s new apple pie recipe, and his new lemonade drink using pink lemonade rather than the normal yellow kind. I hang up feeling happy and confident.

  Even made it to breakfast this morning and got lots of compliments on my boots. Dawson kisses me and tells me, “You got my vote, Keatie, just look at you.”

  And although this was nice, and I want to look nice, cute and likable, I also kind of decided this morning after talking to Grandpa that it should be about more than being popular or pretty. So I redid my speech. Completely. (This is a big point, actually. That she isn’t making it about being pretty or popular. That she actually gets it!)

  All school convocation. Yeah, that’s right. Even though I’m only being voted on by freshman, I still have to do my speech in front of everyone. Well, we all do. Supposed to give us experience or something. All the upperclassmen voted on student council representatives last spring, and this making us speak in front of everyone is apparently a sick hazing ritual. (LOL)

  I’m just saying.

  I’m standing in the hallway with the seven other freshman running for the three officer spots. Aiden walks up to me, kinda shyly, nods me over toward him, has something in his hand, wants to sneakily put it into mine.

  How I know what his little glances and gestures mean are a bit astonishing to me, but then, I’m pretty sure some sort of mind control is part of his god power package. (Mind control is part of his godly power package. Like he’s a sports car that was designed by the gods.)

  He slides something hard and cold into my hand. Then he puts a finger up to the side of his mouth and makes the universal sign for shhh.

  I don’t open my hand.

  I’m afraid to.

  Plus I want to sav
or it, I think.

  It’s my turn to go up.

  I get up to the podium, lay down my note cards, turn my hand over and open my hand. There nestled in my palm is a green glass four leaf clover. And I feel........I don’t even know. (Also, swoon! Is this not so sweet? Oh, I love Aiden. Love how clovers and luck and fate are so woven in throughout their story.)

  Lucky.

  I feel like Harry Potter just put liquid luck in my butter beer before quidditch practice.

  I feel unstoppable.

  I don’t use my note cards, I memorized it this morning. I speak eloquently and from the heart. I talk about what student council is, what it should be able to do, how it should not just be about social agendas or a popularity contest. That it should focus on the students and their rights. Their right to change the dress code, their right not to get their phones put into jail, their right to be served something besides empty calories and fried foods at lunch, their right to stay out later, to have more all school activities. And ended it with a loud, cheerleader style, Vote for Keatyn Mon-ROARRRRRR, and luckily, lots of people roared with me.

  I don’t know if I will win or not. But I did good, and I’m proud of myself. And I think my lucky charm will be proud of me too.

  Did you see those boots of hers?

  French

  Aiden somehow ended up walking me from lunch to French class.

  “So, you did really great today. You deserve to win.”

  “I didn’t look at what was in my hand until I got up there and was ready to start speaking.”

  “You like it?”

  “I did. It was really sweet, Aiden. And it gave me an extra boost of confidence. I felt lucky.”

  “Yeah, well, just trying to help you not make a fool out of yourself, otherwise I’d have to hear all about it. You complaining to Annie, and me not being able to learn french.”

  “That’s really why you gave it to me?”

  “Well, that and I might have a little crush on my tutor, but don’t tell her that. It will go to her head. And she already thinks she’s the shit. Did you see those boots of hers?” (He’s so cute here!)

  I laugh. “Very funny. You like my boots?”

  “I love you in boots. You in boots is my very favorite. Reminds me of the first day we met.” (And here.)

  “My grandpa had them made for me to match my uniform. Told me they are to remind me to raise some hell and kick some ass.” I laugh at that.

  “I’d like to meet him someday. He sounds like a good man,” he says very sincerely.

  And as I’m sitting in french class, I’m thinking that Grandpa would probably think Aiden is a good man too.

  We take a break at the end of class to talk in french. Annie isn’t speaking in French, but is excitedly talking about the speeches, who she thinks did good, how I rocked, and “Where did you ever find those boots?”

  Aiden answers her, “Her grandpa had them made for her.”

  And Annie gives me a look. A look that says, uh, what’s going on here? Why is he answering for you and more importantly why does he know this and ME your best friend does not?

  She doesn’t say any of that until we’re in my room, a bunch of us girls, getting ready to go to the JV game. We’re all giggling and laughing. I’m ready. I left my boots, tank, and shirt on, but changed into little jean shorts. And I will admit, I’m sorta sitting here thinking about Aiden. He’s been really nice to me, and he mentioned in class that the team they are playing tonight is like the best in our conference, and how he hopes he does really well.

  So I dig down to the bottom of my desk drawer. Mom forced me to bring high quality writing paper, so I could write a decent thank you if needed.

  I grab a piece of the thick creamy paper and a green marker. I fold the paper. Inside write, Points for Dances, round 3?

  And then I drew a big green four leafed clover and outlined it in black marker. (Yay, Keatyn!!)

  I tell the girls, “Hey, I gotta run to the dance room and grab my, uh, socks, I’ll be right back.”

  Then I run out of the door and text Aiden.

  Me: Where are you?

  Hottie God: Locker room. Where do you want me to be?

  Me: Somewhere where I can find you, give you something.

  Hottie God: Walking out of the field house now. Meet me.

  Me: KK :)

  I sprint, well jog, as fast as I can in my boots and see him standing there. He’s got on his football pads and jersey, but is still wearing his athletic shorts.

  God, he is just beautiful.

  “Boots are pretty sexy with shorts too,” he grins, looking at my shorts.

  “Thanks, uh, well, I know you seemed a little nervous about the game tonight and um, I just.....”

  When did I get so tongue tied all of a sudden? (Godly powers will do that to you. Plus, you have a boyfriend?)

  “Just what?”

  “Well, here.” I hold the little note out in front of me.

  “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a little note. Some luck maybe. Just look at it, I don’t know, sometime before the game maybe.”

  “Not now?”

  “Um, up you.”

  “You know, Boots, you’re acting very weird.”

  “I am very weird.”

  He laughs, “True. Okay, so I have to get back in there.” He holds up the note. “Thanks, uh, I think.”

  I walk back to my dorm, wondering what the hell I just did.

  Then I tell myself I don’t really want to dance with him.

  I’m a dancer.

  I’m one of the people chosen to help spread school spirit and to support our athletes.

  I just was wishing him luck, motivating him, so that our school team could win, be proud.

  Rah, rah, sis, boom, bah, and all that.

  That’s just the kind of selfless girl I am. (Sure you are.)

  What the heck is on the football?

  7:18pm

  Sitting in the stands with a big group of friends. My glass four leafed clover in the pocket of my shorts.

  Dawson is being his sweet, snuggly self and teasing me about my boots in front of everyone, but then whispering in my ear about how he would like to see me in just my boots later on tonight.

  I’m not sure if I could do that. Two reasons why I would not float through my head simultaneously. One is that Grandpa would roll over in his grave, if he had one, if he saw me doing those things in the boots he had made for me. The second thing is that boots are kinda me and Aiden’s thing. Like not that we have a thing at ALL. But the way he calls me Boots and said he wanted to meet my grandpa, I just don’t think I could allow my boots to be a part of what Dawson has in mind. I may have to put a blindfold on them or put them in the closet or something. (This so makes me laugh. And I love how serious she is (and the excuses she makes) about boots being her and Aiden’s thing.)

  Jake and Peyton are sitting a couple rows below us, and I notice Dawson doesn’t seem to be affected by this at all. Which makes me very thankful. Bryce says hey to them, then walks up and sits down behind me and Dawson.

  “So, did you take any of our advice?”

  “About my speech?”

  “Uh, no, about making Dawson worship you.”

  This gets Dawson’s attention.

  He says teasingly, “What have you, Bryce and Jake been up to in ceramics?”

  Bryce laughs, “Well so far I’ve made a lopsided cup and an animal that resembles a pig, but was supposed to be a pony.”

  “They may have suggested the library,” I tell Dawes.

  His eyes get big, he gets a big old grin on his face, looks at Bryce and puts his hand into a first in front of him. They do a fist bump and he says, “You can make suggestions like that ANY time, man. Any time.”

  Now Bryce’s eyes get big, “You mean, you like took our advice! Like the library idea?”

  I roll my eyes, “Maybe.”

  “Ohmigawd, can I get a clone of you. Seriously?”


  “Do you know Mallory? She’s a sophomore, on varsity soccer with me.” (Mallory played soccer with Keatyn, but I’m not sure she made the final cut into the book, other than being mentioned possibly once in passing.)

  “I know who she is, she’s cute. Why did she say something about me?”

  “No, but she was telling me about some stuff she did with her boyfriend this summer, and she might be a little naughty herself. They’re broke up now, and she’s pretty, don’t you think?”

  “Not much for boobs, but she’s got that skinny, sexy thing going on, and she has nice hair.”

  “I’ll text her, see if she’s coming up here to the.....”

  Bryce interrupts me and says, “What the heck is on the football?”

  In front of him, Annie says, “Looks like a four leaf clover to me.”

  Dawson says, “That’s like for Notre Dame, like the fighting Irish, right? Why would they put that on our footballs? Shouldn’t they have put like a Cougar paw?”

  I look out and see that Riley is getting ready to toss a pass to Aiden. And on the football is a marker drawn green four leaf clover, outlined in black.

  And I think I just passed out. (Omg. LOL)

  Toying with my forcefield

  9:45pm

  Dawson has a paper due, so I’m walking out of his room after giving him a few kisses. Well okay, we were making out a bit, and his hands were everywhere under my shirt. But I drew the line when he was trying to undo my shorts.

  “We both have homework. You told me to promise to make you do it.”

  “Oh, I wanna do it, alright.”