Stalk me. (The Keatyn Chronicles)

by Jillian Dodd

  “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.r />
  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.

  “Hey, I’m Peyton. Sweet moves on the soccer field today. You totally scored on my brother. It was awesome.”

  “The goalie was your brother?” I look at her closer and realize perfection runs in the family. I can still see the goalie if I close my eyes. The shock on his beautiful face, the stiffness of that chiseled jaw, the surprise in his brilliant green eyes as the ball sailed right by his gloved hand.

  “Yeah, can you tell? Everyone says we look alike.”

  I laugh. “It all happened pretty fast, but yeah, now that I know, I can tell.”

  “Well, hopefully you can also tell me you’re trying out for the soccer team. I’m team captain this year.”

  “Really? And yeah, I was planning on it. I love soccer.”

  “Cool. See you tomorrow afternoon. Oh, hey, what’s your name?”

  “Oh, sorry, it’s Keatyn.”

  “Cool name. I think you’re in my student advisor group tomorrow. I get to show you all around school.”

  “Can’t wait.” I don’t hide my lack of excitement.

  “Don't worry. I’m not gonna show you all the boring things they want us to. We’ll have fun. See ya tomorrow.” She takes her tray and sits next to the gorgeous dark-haired boy I stole the ball from, an equally gorgeous brunette, and some other very cute boys, one of whom is the Jake guy who opened my car door earlier. I can tell right away: if there’s a popular table at this school, I’m looking at it.

  For a second, I feel a longing to be popular.

  A longing to sit at that table.

  But, no. I’m not doing that here.

  That’s the table I’ll be avoiding at all costs. I am never going to sit there.

  The gorgeous brunette catches my eye, and I get the feeling that I’m being sized up as a threat. Her glare is very calculating, not at all like Peyton’s. And I already know. She’s the Queen of the table. She’s the Vanessa of this school.

  I suddenly feel a little awkward.

  Okay, I feel a lot awkward.

  I try to smile and look confident while I look around and figure out where I’m going to sit. Do I go sit by some people I don't even know and introduce myself? Should I sit by myself? What would cool movie girl do?

  I spot Dallas, and he waves me over.

  I weave my way through the tables toward him. All of a sudden, the God of All Hotties, brother of Peyton, is standing in front of me blocking my way.

  “Sweet moves.” He looks down at my boots. “I don’t think I've ever seen anyone play soccer in cowboy boots.”

  He laughs. He has an easy, sexy laugh.

  It makes me miss Brooklyn.

  He’s so easy to make laugh. Okay, so, granted, he’s high a lot, and that makes him think things are funny. But still, it’s cute.

  I pretend like I don’t recognize him. “Were you out there today? Like on the soccer field?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He looks offended. “I was the goalie.”

  “Oh, wow, so that was you, huh?” This guy is almost too perfect-looking to be real. I doubt he has any trouble getting girls, probably has a huge ego, and probably is heading to the popular table as we speak.

  Don’t want any part of that.

  “Yeah,” he says, just a bit awkwardly.

  “So, wait. You’re Peyton’s brother?”

  “Guilty,” he says, holding up his hands.

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself. And you have a me
an kick. I’m curious. What possessed you to run out on the field like that?”

  Did he just call me gorgeous?!

  OMG!

  Calmness, zenness, chillness, be with me now.

  Please!

  “Oh,” I awkwardly giggle. “I don’t know. Just saw the ball and felt like it. Sorry. It was probably stupid of me. I guess I just got caught up in the moment.”

  “I liked it, even though you made me miss.” He stands just a little closer to me and lowers his voice. “Well, really, you kinda embarrassed me. I don’t usually miss. But you—I couldn’t stop looking at you. I kinda forgot about the ball until it was whooshing by my head.”

  “I think you were just shocked to see a girl running down the field in cowboy boots and a dress.”

  “That’s for sure. Not something you see every day around here. But I hope I get to see you more.”

  “Really?”

  His gorgeous green eyes are practically drilling their way into my soul as we speak.

  I’m not going to swoon. I’m not going to act like probably every other girl acts in the presence of a hottie god. I’m going to walk away before I make a fool of myself.

  But I can’t seem to make my feet move; instead, I stare at him. At the short blonde hair that is perfectly—almost artfully—messed up on the top. At those gorgeous green eyes. At his perfect smile.

  I manage to say, “Hey, it was nice to meet you.”

  I attempt to squeeze around his tall, perfect chest, but my body brushes against his, and I almost jump from the surge of electricity.

  I get around him and quickly walk over to sit in the relative safety of the boys’ table.

  “See you were talking to Aiden,” Riley says.

  “Who’s Aiden?” I’m still in a bit of a daze. I mean, who could blame me? I was just touched by a god.

  “The guy you were just talking to. The goalie from today?”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess,” I shrug.

  “You should know he’s a total player.” Riley tells me this like it’s something I really need to know. Which kinda pisses me off.

  “Really? And you’re not? You’ve been trying to do nothing since we met but convince me of your playing skills, and now you’re condemning him for it?”