Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  Like, sexually. Not everything, but some stuff.

  Okay. Fine.

  Most stuff.

  And he’s really adorable. He’s older than me. I just turned 15 a few weeks ago, and he turned 17 in July. He has shaggy blonde hair and the eyes the color of the ocean. He’s tan, about 6 ft, and has the strong core of a surfer.

  As in abs to freaking die for. (This, of course, stayed the same. I had a very clear picture of Brooklyn—and his surfer boy abs— from the start.)

  Drool over.

  He could have about any girl he wanted, I think. At least they all seem to come up and talk to him whenever we’re at the beach, but he doesn’t seem to notice much. That or he doesn’t care. He says he’s in love with me, but I think that’s just cuz I’m easy to get along with and appreciate his love of waves, weed, and indie rock bands. He decided since I was leaving this fall, that he and his dad were going on tour. Like he has a list of all the places they want to surf and are planning on experiencing them all. His dad is a retired internet mogul, who likes to party and surf, so they are two peas in a pod pretty much. I can’t wait to hear all about their adventures, and I am really hoping my own adventure is a successful one. I’m really going to miss my family and mostly, Brooklyn. I thought, well, I kinda hoped, he would tell me not to go. That I should stay with him, marry him and have little surfer babies, but he’s got that zen attitude that is scary to me. That whatever’s meant to be, will happen kind of thinking. As in, he believes I do need to go out and find myself, experience life.

  Tomorrow morning I fly to Connecticut, go to orientation, and move into my dorm. I’m packed and ready to go. All of my dorm room stuff and most of my clothes were sent out last week and will be waiting for me.

  Tomorrow, I start becoming who I am going to be.

  But for tonight, I’m still me, and Brooklyn is waiting for me on the beach. (Awww!)

  Thursday, August 25th

  Don’t worry, everyone will love you.

  9am pst

  So I’m sitting here with my Mom and Tommy. In our plane. Flying with four kids under the age of five is tough enough, without having to fly commercial. Add to the fact that they are photographed practically every time they try to take a pee, and well, you can see why a private jet is a must. Normally the jet is a flying toy box. But today, thankfully, it is just the three of us, and there is not a toy in sight. I told the little munchkins goodbye this morning, and they all gave Kiki (as in Key-Key, which is their adorable name for me) kisses and drawings with all sorts of unidentifiable cute things on them.

  I’m alternately thinking about last night with Brooklyn, and what my plan of attack is for today. Brooklyn, although he is very into zen-ness, is a avid reader. He reads all sorts of books that he thinks make him more worldly. And I will admit, when he starts quoting Keats poetry to his Keats, (his nickname for me) I don’t feel very zen like.

  I feel more like I want to attack him.

  And last night. Well.....let’s just say that this was the Keats quote he recited to me, Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced. (Keats, which as you know becomes a big part of the story. Both Aiden and Brooklyn quote it to her. And random fact, Jillian has a Keats tattoo.)

  Mom interrupts my thoughts, or reads my mind, I’m not sure which and says, “So, Kiki, are you excited for your new adventure?”

  I nod my head yes.

  Then she gets to what she’s really dying to know.

  “So.....how was your night with Brook last night? James (head of family security) told me you didn’t come in until 7am.”

  “It was good,” I say, sort of glossing over last night. Although my mom and I are pretty tight and can talk about anything, I don’t know if I want to tell her about what happened. I’m still not completely sure how I feel about it. “And yeah, we decided to watch the sunrise, and then we decided to go out surfing. One last time together.”

  “One last time together. Hmmm. You do anything else, since, you know, you won’t see each other for awhile?”

  “Just hung out.”

  I wanna tell her. Really, I’m dying to tell her. But I have other things I need to think about. Things the zen master told me to do at my new school. But she’s not giving up.

  “Oh my gosh, Kiki, did you sleep with him or what?” (It’s driving me nuts hearing her call her Kiki constantly.)

  I look at her, slightly embarrassed and then roll my eyes toward Tommy.

  Tommy has been fully engrossed in a new script he’s been reading, but what mom said caught his attention. And now he’s looking at me. Even though I am not his biological daughter, Tommy is still pretty protective of me.

  “Why don’t you go back and take a nap, Tommy?” my mom hints.

  Tommy gets up and does as he is told, but I doubt he’s going to be napping.

  Mom gets up too, grabs some champagne for both of us and says, “Here’s to first times and cute boys. Cheers.” Then she clinks my crystal flute and takes a sip.

  “What makes you think I did it with Brooklyn last night? Just because we spent the night on the beach. We’ve done that a million times.”

  “You look different today. You seem happy about leaving him, and I thought you would be sad, so something must have happened! Did he tell you that he loves you? And will you pleaseeee stop making me guess!!”

  “Well, I’m kinda dying to tell someone about it.”

  “OH!!! I knew it.”

  “He did tell me he loves me, but he’s told me that a lot this summer. And even though we kissed and stuff a lot, it’s like maybe more of a best friend kind of love. I think. He says I don’t hassle him, that I don’t make him take me out, that I’m chill, that I like his music, his literature, his surfing. I think he likes hanging out with me because for a guy that is all about catching big waves, he doesn’t want any waves in his life. He wants calm, easy, chillness. He doesn’t want to work for it. Being with me is easy for him. And I love him, I do. But is it bad that I want a boy to want to take me out? To have to work for it a little. That I don’t just want him to love me because I’m easy.” Then I look at mom, who has a very worried look on her face. (It was my original plan to have her lose her virginity to Brooklyn, but then I added Cush to the story. Because Brooklyn was an ass and ditched me—I mean, Keatyn.)

  “Oh, I don’t mean easy, like sex. I just mean easy to hang out with. I don’t demand anything of him. And I can’t decide if that means we’re like destined to be together, or if it means we don’t care enough.”

  “That’s a hard one,” Mom says, scrunching up her famous nose. “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure. I know he was upset that I’m going away to school, but he also was very encouraging. Shouldn’t he have said, Please don’t go, I can’t live without you?” (Yes, he should have! I feel a little like Vanessa here, but Keatyn, you know the answer to that question! You are definitely thinking with your heart and not your head here!)

  “I think what you and Brook have is special. And time will tell if he’s the one. You’re fifteen, you have a lot more boys to meet and love before you can figure all that out.”

  “That’s almost exactly what he said. He said this is all about me growing into who I’m going to be. Once again, I’m not sure if he loves me so much, he’s letting me go be a free bird, or if he doesn’t love me enough to care one way or another.”

  “Kiki, you have known him for the past three years, and you’ve been pretty much inseparable this summer. I’m pretty sure he’s letting you be the bird.” (Maybe more like giving her the bird? LOL)

  “Yeah, I don’t know. So he gave me all sorts of advice on what to be at my new school. How I should behave, who to be friends with, how not to get involved in drama, how to not be afraid to be noticed, how to be confident, how to not care what people think. So....do you have any advice for me? You made it through high school, were prom queen and all that. What do I need to know?”

  She runs her hand across the top of her perf
ectly coiffed hair and says, “Just be yourself, Keatyn. And be confident. You’re worldly, mature, well traveled, well spoken, and confident. You have always acted older than you are. Kids are drawn to that. And if I was you, I would make friends with a few boys first. It takes some time to figure out how girls are going to behave. And I know you think you remade yourself this summer. And sure, we got rid of the glasses and the braces, but you are still you. The you you’ve always been, with your father’s gorgeous eyes, my killer smile, and your own individual grace. You are unstoppable, baby. Don’t worry, everyone will love you.”

  “Mom, seriously?”

  “What?”

  “You just told me what Reece Witherspoon told her dog when they got to Harvard in Legally Blonde.”

  Mom’s mouth starts out in a little smirk and then beams into her famous mega watt smile. And then she laughs. “You’re right. I just did. Well, everyone will love you. And I love you very much. And um, sooooo are you gonna tell me about it or not?”

  “Not. At least not yet. I need to process it all a little.”

  “So you did have sex with him?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  Mom looks concerned. “Was it bad? I mean, it’s not that unusual for your first time to be kinda bad, but it gets better, really.”

  “No. It wasn’t bad at all. It was perfect. A little uncomfortable, yeah, but he’s amazing. And I can’t imagine having anyone else be my first, you know?” (**cough** Cush, anyone? And by the way, you are probably wondering where the heck is the Cushman? Well, he doesn’t appear in this version and was added later. Cush was sort of a prelude to Aiden.)

  “Yeah, I know. Well, actually I don’t know. My first time was with a guy that was a jerk. So um, not to ask too many details, but were you like on the beach?” (Abby says like a little too much here.)

  “No. His dad was out for the night, so we were in the hot tub, on the deck, in his room.”

  “You did it all those places??!!”

  “Okay, Mom, I think that is too many details and no, we didn’t. We just, okay, Tommy is getting restless. So our conversation about this is over.”

  She gives me a little snivel.

  I drink some more champagne and tell myself to relax.

  Brooklyn told me last night not to worry. He said, You have a plan. No one knows you. Your mom is a great actress, your dad was a model and actor, so it only stands to reason you should have a little bit of the acting gene in you somewhere. So act. Act confident. Act like you have it all together. Act like you don’t care what people think of you. Act like you have a guy back home who adores you. Then he kissed me for the thousandth time that night and said, Actually you don’t have to act that part. You do have a guy at home that adores you.

  Except you aren’t going to be home, I told him.

  Doesn’t matter, he said, pointing to his heart, you’re in here, in my heart, and you always will be. I love you Keatyn Elizabeth Monroe. Always. Then he quoted Keats again. Touch has a memory. I will never, ever forget you, forget this perfect night. (He’s still got all the quotes! Love them.)

  And that’s when he led me to his bedroom. Things had been hot and heavy in the sand, and then on the deck, and in the hot tub. And they got even hotter in his bedroom. And I wasn’t lying when I told my mom that my first time was actually pretty amazing. And I’m not talking the mechanics of it all, like I said, that was still a bit awkward for me, but Brooklyn has been around some. So he knew what he was doing and how to make me not feel awkward. Or maybe it was because he made me feel loved. Either way, I couldn’t wait to do it with him again. And so I’m not saying one way or another, but um, maybe we did again this morning.

  Um, well, maybe twice.

  And it wasn’t awkward at all.

  Kiki is a stripper name.

  4pm est

  I have been dropped of at the airport, hugged, and made a scene over. Thankfully, they agreed to let a driver take me to school and for them to head to NYC for their meeting. I’m not trying to hide who I am, but I don’t want that to be like the first thing people think when they see me. Oh, that’s so and so’s daughter. I wonder if she can get me an autograph, or a job, or a screen test, or into a premiere.

  I look around and am shocked at how many trees there are, and I am super excited to spend the winter here. To maybe see snow like every day and not just for a week of skiing in the Alps. The school’s campus is beautiful and is really similar to a college campus. Dorms, classrooms, and athletic fields. There are a million trees, and they look like they are maybe just on the verge of changing to their brilliant fall colors. Something else I can’t wait for. (You can see that her reaction to Eastbrooke is much different here than in the final version. By adding the stalker, Eastbrooke not only felt like home, it felt safe, which was a huge deal.)

  I check in, drop my bag off at the student center, as we were instructed, and head over to the large gym. I’ve been standing back a bit and observing everyone, just like Brooklyn suggested.

  Doing a little recon. (Notice Jake didn’t take her bags and wasn’t the first person she met at Eastbrooke in this version!)

  Really, I have decided to find the two cutest guys and sit with them. Make friends with them. Let them introduce me to their friends. A few of the kids seems to know each other. Mostly guys. I remember reading something about them coming a week early for football camp. So they probably have gotten to know each other.

  Then I spy a guy that is too cute for words. He looks, well, like Brooklyn did when I first met him. Sandy blonde hair, gleaming blue eyes, and I instantly feel a connection to him. When another tall, dark haired cute boy walks over and fist bumps him, I know I’ve found my pair.

  I wait for them to sit down.

  I try to decide if they were good boys, as in the kind to sit right up front, or if they were naughty boys, who prefer to slack in the back. They go straight towards the back, high up in the bleachers, and I follow.

  For most school days, we have to wear uniforms. Well, sort of uniforms. Have you ever seen those perfume ads with the preppy looking boys and girls in some form of prep school uniforms? Well, that’s sorta how it is. The boys have to wear navy blazers, a polo shirt or oxford, and on most days they have to wear ties as well. The bottoms are either khaki or navy shorts or pants, and it seems there is some leeway in this because the day I visited, there were boys in striped and plaid shorts as well. The girls have plaid skorts and skirts the are a combination of navy, black, white and red, with just a little yellow, along with navy blazers, colored vests or cardigans. There’s some rules about how long the skirts have to be, but I noticed that only the freshman girls seemed to follow this rule and it made them stand out as freshman. I had one of my mom’s designer friends custom tailor all of my skirts, skorts and blazers, so that they fit like couture. And all my skirts can be pulled down on my hips to pass a length test, but were made to be a shorter than they are supposed to be. Today, most everyone was traveling here, so they told us we could dress casually. I picked my outfits for the next few days out very carefully, including the ways I would be accessorizing my uniform. Well, I had a stylist help me. I mean, why not let the experts dress you?

  So today, I am wearing a cute strapless dress that fits me like a glove on the top, but flows out into a layered short ruffled skirt, a necklace loaded with charms, and with it, my favorite cowboy boots. I have some gorgeous boots that are like things you would find in LA, not on in East Texas farm town. These boots were purchased at a boot store in Texas and are legit. I love them.

  So I try not to make too much noise in my boots, as I clomp up the bleachers after the boys. I do notice a few girls looking at me. And then at my boots. I’m thinking East coast girls maybe don’t wear a lot of cowboy boots. At least I don’t think so. And I have to admit, I’m kinda glad about that. I don’t want to be like everyone else. I see a combination of designer heels and Sperry topsiders. The boys are sitting down with a group of about six or so nice looking boys. I
march up to them and point at a sliver of empty bleacher between them.

  “Is this seat taken?” I ask politely, boldly pointing down at the sliver.

  They look at each other, slide apart, and the blonde one says, “All yours, darling.”

  At first I thought he was making fun of my boots, but then he says, “Hey, I’m Dallas, and this here is Riley,” using an unmistakable southern drawl. The kind that you only get from growing up there, not working with an accent coach. (Meeting Dallas and Riley is one of my most favorite scenes. And knowing how it laid the foundation for their life-long friendship gives me happy goosebumps!)

  Because I’ve spent a lot of time in East Texas, Brooklyn tells me I have a little twang in my own voice. I respond with, “Nice to meet y’all. I’m Keatyn.” And I sit.

  “Great boobs, uh, I mean boots,” the boy behind me says.

  I laugh.

  And I’m not offended in the least.

  I am not a virgin. I have done it three times, and I think that makes me more worldly than all my travels have.

  Okay, so yeah, I might have said two before, but we actually did it like three times. He kept telling me it would get better. And he was right. It did. The first time was like uncomfortable, the second time was awkward, the third time was good.

  I coo, “Thanks, what’s your name?”

  All the boys introduce themselves. There’s Dallas, the adorable blonde from Tennessee. Riley, the dark hottie, says he’s from New York. Carson from Rhode Island, skinny and a bit nerdish looking, but I notice the under the skinny is all muscle, he must be a runner. There’s Parker from Connecticut, who also has darker skater boy hair, and really nice teeth. Ryan from Pennsylvania has the short muscular body of a running back or a wrestler. Jordan from Virginia, has a lost, I’m really high look on his face. And then there’s Lance and Zane, twins from New Jersey, who totally look and talk like the Italian Jersey boys they are. (Um, hello? Who are all these people and how in the world would we ever remember them all? All these random people got the literary ax. Chop chop.)