Stalk me. (The Keatyn Chronicles)

by Jillian Dodd

  But the girl is surprisingly cool.

  She shakes my hand and says, “Good luck.” But then she adds, “You're gonna need it, skinny minnie.”

  So here's the thing. I might not have brute strength, but skinny minnies can run way faster than people with brute strength. I pretty much embarrass her by stealing the ball, dribbling it down the field, and passing it to an open teammate. The teammate shrugs off her defender, passes it back to me, and, boom, I score.

  And make it look easy.

  I feel pretty good about tryouts. I think I will make Varsity.

  I drag my sweaty ass toward the locker room. I have exactly thirty-seven minutes to regroup, change, and get to dance team tryouts.

  Part of me is afraid to try out, but the other part is really excited to have the chance to make it this year. Being on the dance team was not considered cool by Vanessa and RiAnne. They thought it was one thing to work out to keep your body fit with a personal trainer or in your home gym, but another thing to be seen doing it.

  As I round the corner to enter the field house, there is Hottie again.

  He holds up a sack and grins at me.

  “What's that?”

  “Peyton told me she talked you into signing up for dance team. Tryouts start pretty soon, so I brought you some lunch. I noticed you didn’t eat anything earlier.”

  How did he know that? Was he watching me? Did he take pictures?

  The thought of him watching me momentarily freaks me out.

  Calm down, Keatyn. The boy is not a stalker.

  I don’t think.

  “That’s really nice of you,” I say politely as I sit down on a bench next to him.

  Now that I’m done freaking out, I’m thinking, Oh. My. Gosh.

  Is that not the sweetest thing evvvverrrr?

  “I have an ulterior motive.”

  “I'm not stripping for you after the dance,” I tease.

  “Well I would hope not, or then I will have to call you by your slutty name.”

  I roll my eyes at him and giggle.

  Oh, please, stop with the nervous giggling. Be cool.

  “So do all new students get such a welcome?” I ask him.

  “Only the hot ones.” His eyes get big when he realizes he pretty much admitted he does this for any girl he deems hot.

  Like I thought, total player.

  I wonder how many other lunches he’s handed out today? I want to bare my teeth and growl at him.

  “I bet that means you have a nice full dance card and probably won’t have time to dance with me.”

  “That didn't come out right,” he sighs. “It was supposed to be a compliment. I really am way more smooth than this. Usually.”

  “Then stop trying so hard. Just tell me about yourself, get to know me. I'm a lot more than some girl that can kick a soccer ball with her boots on.”

  Oh. Shit. Why did I say that? I don’t want to get to know him.

  I just want to make friends. Meet some nice people.

  I’m avoiding boys like him.

  “My sister said you signed up to run for student council officer. That takes guts to do on your first day, and you don't strike me as one of those girls who has to do everything. Like those super overachievers.”

  “Yeah, I'm pretty much just happy slacking.”

  “I, uh, didn't mean to suggest you're a slacker.”

  “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time, and I’m so sorry about last night, at the cave.”

  “It’s okay, I probably deserved it. I did sound pretty lame. Um, why don't you ask me some questions?”

  “Okay. So, do you play goalie full time or is it just a hobby?”

  “Full time goalie. I'm also a tight end and kicker for the football team, and I play basketball too.”

  “That’s cool. So what do you like to do for fun, besides sports?”

  He stares deep into my eyes. “I think I'd like to do nothing but stare into your eyes.”

  Seriously?

  This guy is full of freaking lines. I hate him!

  I roll my eyes at him. “Okay, so lunch was great, thanks.” I start to get up.

  “Wait. I just mean they are such a cool color. They are so blue, but then when the light hits them they look almost purple. Are they real?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  This guy’s a dick, gorgeous or not.

  “I just meant, gosh.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks frustrated. “They’re such a cool color. I thought maybe they were colored contacts.”

  “Nope, all me.” I shove the rest of the turkey and Swiss sandwich down my throat and say, “So, thanks, but I gotta go change.”

  I walk into the field house angrily, rush into the girls’ locker room, and quickly brush my hair back into a new ponytail and pull my bangs out of my face with a barrette. I wash my soccer sweat off with a wet towel, and throw on some powder and a bit of mascara. It’s gonna have to do.

  Or I'm gonna be late.

  I bang through the door and run smack into Aiden.

  He says, “Sorry,” looks shyly at the ground, and then back up at me. He's holding a small green leaf in his hand. “Here, I found this. Open your hand.”

  I put my palm up toward him, and he lays a perfect four-leaf clover in it.

  “Good luck,” he says, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  It’s really quite adorable, and I can't decide now if he's a jerk or not.

  I'm leaning toward not.

  “Thanks.” I gently place the clover in my bag, see the two Hershey’s kisses Gracie gave me, and grab them. “Want one?”

  Aiden smiles and says, “My favorite,” and pops it in his mouth.

  I eat mine, while feeling slightly jealous of the kiss that just melted in Aiden’s mouth, and bounce happily over to the auditorium for dance tryouts.

  Tryouts aren’t really that hard. They have us memorize two simple dance routines, one with pompoms and one without. Then we perform both individually and in a group. We spend about two hours learning them, and about fifteen minutes on the actual tryouts. Luckily, I am one of the first girls picked to do my individual routine, so I don’t have to sit there and wait nervously.

  I have no idea how I do. I know the routine. And I know big smiles are important for dance performers. Besides, I couldn't fake the smile on my face no matter how good an actor I might ever be.

  The kiss on the cheek and four-leaf clover from Aiden has me grinning from ear to ear.

  Still.

  And I’m finding myself really looking forward to the all school mixer tonight.

  A cheap imitation.

  5:15pm

  I go back to my dorm, take a quick shower, do my hair up, and am thinking about getting dressed when my roommate, Morgan, comes in and sits on her bed. She’s only unpacked her bedding, which I’m kinda surprised by, because she does seem like one of those annoying overachiever types.

  I mean, I’m fine with being an achiever; she just seems like she tries too hard. But I figure I’ll make the best of it and be nice to her.

  “So, have you figured out what you’re going to wear to the mixer?” I ask her.

  She stares at my gorgeous ocean poster. “I hate the water.”

  “You hate the water? Did you, like, almost drown or get bitten by a shark? Everyone loves the water.”

  “No, I just prefer the electricity of a big city.”

  And the anonymity, I would think, as well. But I don’t say that. I’m not going to be bitchy. “Well, yeah, but some cities, like Miami have both.”

  She sighs at me. “I also don’t think I can live with Malibu Barbie.”

  I panic! How could she know that? Does everyone know? I’m supposed to be from L.A. This could be any beach. Shit!

  I gulp. “What makes you think I’m from Malibu?”

  I also realize this the second time in two days I’ve had a quote from Legally Blonde thrown at me.

  “It was kind of a slam. Gee, you’re du
mber than I thought. So I’m moving in with a girl I’m going to be in band with. She isn’t happy with her roommate either, so her roommate is going to move in with you.”

  “Uh, no. They said we can’t switch roommates. You can’t just ditch me!”

  I’m getting ditched by a four-eyed band geek?! On my second day? How totally uncool am I?

  “I talked to the advisor about it, and she said we can switch if all four of us agree. And since when are you a rule follower anyway? You came in a half hour after curfew!”

  “I was in the dorm before curfew, but there were a few girls still up, so we were talking a little. Getting to know one another. You should try it.”

  She ignores my snarky comment. “I’ll introduce you to your new roommate tonight. You both tried out for the dance team, so you’ll probably get along just fine.” Then she walks out the door.

  And I’m thinking, well, maybe she will be better.

  I’m kinda impressed that Morgan had the balls and the resourcefulness to get all this figured out. I’m thinking maybe I should try to be friends with her, but then I realize she’s already biased against me. Against the beach, against my tan, against my late nights, and I don’t really think I want to take the time to convince her I’m anything more than that. Besides, I have to finish getting dressed and do my makeup perfectly.

  The God of all Hotties better watch out!

  I’m also starting to realize that Brooklyn might’ve been right. I might want to date a boy here.

  Oh, crap. No. No dating boys here.

  Well, maybe I could date a few boys, but absolutely no falling in love.

  I’m done with love.

  While I’m getting ready, I get a text from Riley. Well, he put his number in my phone as the Sex God. I haven’t had time to change it.

  Sex God:
  Me: What’s that for?

  Sex God: You’re supposed to make out with me, not Dallas.

  Me: Whoops :)

  Sex God: I’m outside your dorm, walk you to dinner?

  Me: I’m not quite ready.

  Sex God: Then I’m coming in.

  Me: Cool. 6B

  There’s a knock at my door, and I open it.

  Riley is standing there. He looks really good. He’s wearing a deep blue dress shirt with black pants and shiny Italian loafers. I’m talking very expensive, Tommy-has-three-pairs-and-bitched-about-the-price-the-whole-time-he-was-buying-them loafers. His dark hair is slicked back instead of swooped down on his forehead, and he reminds me a bit of Nate from Gossip Girl. He also looks much older this way, and damned if I don’t like it.

  My makeup is done, but all I’m wearing is my short pink silk robe with my bra and panties underneath. The way he looks at me makes me suddenly feel naked.

  He grabs my waist with his huge hands and says, “You look sexy. This what you’re wearing tonight?”

  I’m close to him. He smells amazing.

  “I don’t think this is really appropriate.” I laugh.

  “Maybe we should skip dinner. I wanna take this off you.” He starts to reach for the robe’s tie.

  I should be appalled, but I can handle him. Cush used to tease me like this. “You’re very subtle, huh?”

  His dark eyes glisten. “I find the direct approach to be most effective.”

  “It probably is, but it’s not very romantic.”

  “I’m not really looking for romance.”

  “And I’m not really looking for sex.”

  He lets go of me, and I step in front of my mirror. I finish running some straightening balm across my hair and then pull my bangs back into a pouf. I add some big hoops, and I like the way I look. I have a kinda seventies vibe, which will be perfect with my dress for tonight.

  Riley sits on Morgan’s bed and stares at the ocean on my wall. “That’s gorgeous. I love the ocean.”

  “Yeah, me too. Do you surf?”

  “I try. We have a house in the Hamptons, so I spend most of my summers there.”

  “I love the beach. In case you can’t tell. That’s actually me out there surfing.”

  “Really?” He gets up and walks closer to my wall. “And the guy,” he says, pointing at Brooklyn, “that your boyfriend?”

  “That’s B, yeah.”

  “B? What kind of name is that?”

  “It’s just what I call him. His name is really Br-uh- it’s Bradley.”

  “So why were you making out with Dallas last night?”

  “We have an understanding, I guess. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “So he broke up with you? You don’t have a boyfriend? You lied?”

  “I don’t know what we’re doing, really. It’s sorta confusing.”

  “Good. Glad we got that cleared up.”

  He walks up behind me. I’m still looking in the mirror, trying to decide if I should add more eyeliner.

  He leans his head down and kisses my robed shoulder.

  “Don’t do that,” I tell him.

  “Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll do this.” He grabs my waist and literally picks me up off the floor, takes a few steps, and lays me on the bed.

  How is a junior in high school so freaking strong?

  “Uh, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  He murmurs through my hair, “Oh, I think it’s a very good idea.”

  “I can’t, okay. I barely know you. And we need to get to dinner.”

  Plus, he reminds me of Cush, and it kinda makes me want to cry.

  “Go to the dance with me. Be my date.”

  “I was under the impression that the dance was supposed to be a way to meet people, dance with different people, get to know them. There’s a lot of girls here you’ve never met. Surely you want to meet them and dance with them?”

  “I couldn’t care less. I want to dance with you and then sneak you back to my dorm.”

  “I think you’re moving way too fast.”

  “Fine. You’ll dance with me?”

  “Yeah. Let me up.”

  He still has me pinned underneath him.

  “I don’t know if I should believe you.” He gives me a grin. “What if someone else asks you to the dance?”

  “Someone else already did, and I said no. And he’s like the god of all Hotties.”

  Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

  “The god of all Hotties? Who’s that?”

  “Uh, never mind. Forget I said that.”

  “Tell me, or I will be forced to kiss you. And possibly torture you with my tongue. I need to know who my competition is.”

  “I don’t remember his name. He’s that goalie guy. Now get up.”

  He does as he’s told, gets up, grabs my hand, and pulls me up off the bed in one easy, effortless motion.

  It’s really kinda hot.

  I run into my closet and grab my dress, and walk back out, holding it in front of me. “So, what do you think? Oh, wait, let me grab my wedges so, you know, you get the full effect.” I dig down in the bottom of my suitcase, grab a pair of Jimmy Choo leopard-print whipstitched wedges, and slide them on my feet. Then I hold the dress in front of me. “Okay. So? You think this will be okay? Be, like, appropriate for tonight?”

  “What I think is that you better put that dress on really fast, or we’re not going to make dinner.”

  I run back in the closet, shut the door, and throw my dress on as fast as I can.

  I come out and do a little twirl, showing off the dress. It’s a Free People fit and flare mini-dress, with a cute daisy chain cutout that details my waist. The red mini-floral plays off the red whipstitching on the leopard wedges and looks adorably funky.

  “It’s appropriate. We better go, before you get me all hot again.”

  I’m trying not to think about how he might torture me with his tongue but, I’m ashamed to admit, that is exactly what’s on my mind as I walk into the dining hall with Riley.

  Even though he is obviously looking for sex, I can’t help but like his honesty about it. I
would much prefer to know where I stand than play games with some player.

  Riley and I go through the buffet, and then he chooses us a spot at the end of a table all by ourselves. Which is kinda weird. It’s like he’s sending a message, She’s here with me; we need to be alone, which is not the kind of dinner I was thinking about. It makes it look like we are on a date.

  And we’re not.

  Because I have no intention of ever dating again.

  But then the gorgeous dark-haired boy who hangs with Peyton and Whitney walks over with a couple of other guys. They all set their trays down next to us. Gorgeous says, “Bro,” and slaps Riley on the back. Both Gorgeous and Riley have their hair slicked back in the same way, and I realize I’m looking at an older version of Riley.

  Damn.

  Riley is going to get even hotter.

  Gorgeous throws his arm around my shoulder and says, “Riley is just a cheap imitation of the real thing. I’m Dawson.”

  Riley’s face drops a little.

  Dawson is super cute, but the way he just slammed his brother in front of me, well, it’s a dick move, and the zen in me thinks karma is a bitch. So I decide to give him a little payback.

  I remove his arm from my shoulder, turn to face him, and say, “Funny, he felt pretty real in my dorm room a few minutes ago.”

  The other boys at the table are like, “OOHHHH” and “Way to go, Riles!”

  Riley’s face lights back up again.

  “You guys are lame,” Dawson tells us. He sees Whitney setting down her tray at the popular table. “I’m gonna go sit with Whitney. Enjoy romper room over here.”

  God, he’s a jerk.

  I put my hand on top of his, so he can’t go just yet, and decide to really stick it to him. If I’m gonna be me, now’s the perfect time to do it. I’m standing up for the underdog. “I heard Whitney gushing all about her college boyfriend. That must really suck for you.”