by Jillian Dodd
“Well, I took ballet when I was little, and some other dance classes in middle school, so yeah, but mostly now I do yoga and kick boxing.”
“Just try,” she says, and puts my name on the paper. Her enthusiasm is catching, and she has all of her girls signed up for all sorts of clubs that fit their individual interests.
That and the tours took up most of the morning, we went to lunch, but I couldn’t eat a thing. I can never eat before a soccer game. And I’m not that nervous for soccer tryouts, but yet, I am.
Apparently since the school is smallish, everyone makes the team. Which makes me feel better. At least I know if the competition is really stiff, that I won’t look like a loser that didn’t make it. And I know if I work hard, I will play. So basically tryouts are just to determine your level of ability, and for the coaches to decide what team they want you on. Freshman, JV or Varsity.
I’m all suited up and jogging a few laps around the field, when the hottie comes strolling down the bleachers with some friends to watch tryouts.
Dammit. Doesn’t he have anything better to do?
But Peyton, his sister is helping with tryouts, as are a few other older girls from the team that are here to help with orientation.
So it’s not like he’s here just to watch me.
Except he is staring at me, then gives me a little wave.
Shit. Focus.
Do not let the hottie distract you. (How could he not?)
He's a player.
He's a player.
But I can’t quit thinking about how he looked last night. His eyes with that hurt puppy dog look when I was telling Dallas about his lameness.
I close my eyes and picture myself on a surfboard, slicing through the water. I’m instantly calm. And I don't look back in the bleachers because I don't want to know if he is still there or not.
Pretty soon, I’m in the zone. Focusing on the technical drills the coach has us doing. She times us running the 40 yard dash, then kicks us one ball after another that we are then to kick into the unguarded goal. We do penalty shots, headers, dribbling, and then she splits us up, and we scrimmage. I was told to play the center attack position against a very solid looking girl. The kind of girl that looks like she could tear my head off and spit it out before lunch.
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.”
But here's the thing. I might not have brute strength, but skinny minnies can run wayyyy faster than 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 a defender and passes it back to me, and boom, I score.
And made it look easy.
I feel pretty good about tryouts. I'm really hoping to at least make JV.
I drag my sweaty ass toward the locker room. I have exactly thirty seven minutes to regroup, eat, change, and get to dance team tryouts.
As I round the corner to enter the field house, there is Hottie again.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask with a laugh.
God, he's cute.
I hope to hell he’s stalking me. And that’s probably the right place to hope to, since I will probably end up in hell when I fall in love with him, and he dumps me. (I didn’t include this line since in the published version she was more sensitive about being stalked. But I love the line about hoping to hell and ending up there.)
He holds up a sack. And grins.
“What's that?”
“Well, my sister told me she talked you into signing up for dance team, and I know tryouts start pretty soon, so I brought you some lunch, since I know you didn’t eat anything earlier.”
How did you know that?? That’s what I want to ask, but what I say is, “Really? Wow. That’s really nice of you.” I sit down on a bench with him.
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 them I will have to call you by your slutty name.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“So do all new freshmen get such a welcome?” (She was a freshman in my original version. I had thought I would do one book for each year of high school. But way too much happened every day to do that! Plus, the sex.)
“Only the hot ones.” But then his eyes get big when he realizes he pretty much admitted he does this for any girl he deems hot.
Like we thought, total player.
“I bet that means you have a nice full dance card then, and probably won’t have time to dance with me.”
“That didn't come out right,” he sighs. “It was supposed to have been a compliment. I really am way more smooth than this. Like 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.”
“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 that has to do like everything. Like those super overachievers.”
I know exactly what he means, but I say, “Yeah, I'm pretty much just happy slacking.”
“I, uh, God, I didn't mean to suggest you're a slacker.”
“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time, and uh, 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, um, so do you play goalie full time, or is it just a hobby?”
“Full time goalie. I'm also a tight end and kicker on the football team, and I play basketball too.”
“That’s cool. So what do you like to do for fun, besides sports?”
He stares into my eyes, says, “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 love 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 is just right they look almost purple. Are they real?”
“Last time I checked.”
This guys 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 just me.” I shove the rest of the turkey and swiss sandwich down my throat and say, “Hey thanks, but I gotta go change into dance clothes.”
“Okay. Well, hey, good luck.”
I walk into the field house, rush into the girls locker room, and quick brush my hair back into something resembling a 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 rush out and run smack into Aiden.
He says, “Sorry,” looks at the ground, and then back up at me. He's holding a small green leaf in his hand. “Here, I found this. I thought you should have it. Open your hand.”
I do, and he lays a perfect four leaf clover in it.
“Good luck,” he says, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. (Swoonnnnnn!)
It’s really quite adorable, and I can't decide now if he's a jerk or not.
I'm leaning toward not, as I bounce happily over to the gym for dance tryouts.
Tryouts aren't really that hard. They had the group of us memorize one simple dance routine and then made us perform it in a group. We spent about two hours learning it and about 15 minutes on the tryout.
I have no idea how I did. I knew the routine. And I know big smiles are important for dance performers, and all I know is that I could
n't fake the smile on my face no matter how good of 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 thinking I'm really looking forward to the all school mixer tonight. (Me too!)
A Cheap Imitation of the Real Thing
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 has only unpacked her bedding. And I’m kinda surprised by this because she does seem like one of those annoying overachiever types. (Was Morgan her name in the final version? I can’t even remember.)
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 are going to wear to dinner and the mixer?” I ask her.
She stares at my gorgeous ocean poster and says, “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. “Well, yeah, but some cities, like Miami have both.”
She sighs at me. She doesn’t like to be wrong. “I also don’t think I can live with Malibu Barbie.”
And I was like, “How did you know I’m from Malibu? I don’t remember telling you that.”
And I realize that is the second time in two days I have had a quote from Legally Blonde thrown at me.
“It was kinda a slam. Gee, you’re dumb. 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?! Oh my second day? How totally uncool am I?
“I talked to the student 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. “So I’ll introduce you to your new roommate tonight. She tried out for the dance team too, so you’ll probably get along just fine.”
And I’m thinking well, maybe she will be better. And all of a sudden, I’m excited to meet her.
Morgan, I’m kinda impressed that she 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 am anything more than that. Besides, I have to finish getting dressed, do my makeup perfectly, and go stalk the God of all Hotties.
And Dallas. And maybe even that hot guy Peyton is always hanging out with. He is freaking gorgeous. (She’s already crushing a little on Dawson here.) I need to find out if that’s her boyfriend because I haven’t seen them like kiss or hold hands or anything, maybe they are just bffs. I hope.
While I’m getting ready, I get a text from Riley, well he put his number in my phone and the name he put was Sex God. I haven’t had time to change it.
Sex God:
Me: Whats that for?
Sex God: You’re supposed to make out with me, not Dallas
Me: whoops :) (Only Keatyn could get away with this line.)
Sex God: I’m outside your dorm, walk you to dinner?
Me: I’m not quite ready.
Sex God: Then I’m coming up.
Me: Cool. 16A
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 down and shaggy, and he reminds me a bit of Nate, from Gossip Girl. He also looks much older this way, and damn, if I don’t like it.
My makeup is done, but I’m still wearing just my really short, little silk pink robe with just my bra and panties underneath.
He grabs my waist with his huge hands and says, “Damn. You look sexy. This what you’re wearing tonight?”
I’m close to him. He smells amazing.
“I don’t think this is probably appropriate.”
“Maybe we should skip dinner, I wanna take this off you.” He starts to reach for the robe’s tie.
“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 take a few steps over to 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 kinda a 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?”
“Some. 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 amazing boyfriend?”
“That’s Brooklyn, yeah.”
“So if he’s so amazing why were you making out with Dallas last night?”
“Well, we have an understanding, I guess. Maybe, I don’t know. Basically, he told me I should experience all my new school has to offer and that includes boys.”
“So he broke up with you? You don’t have a boyfriend? You lied?”
“Um, no, I just, he still is my boyfriend, we’re just taking a break. I don’t know what we’re doing, really. It’s sorta confusing. I miss him, but I know he’s right.”
“Good. Glad we got that cleared up.”
He walks up behind me. I’m still standing looking in the mirror. Trying to decide if I should add more eyeliner.
He leans his head down and starts kissing my shoulder. Then he kisses up the side of my neck. (Um, yeah. In this version, she and Riley kiss. And she even thinks about having sex with him. Right now. Hot, yes. But no, Keatyn. Just say no.)
And I’m not sure why, but I don’t stop him.
Then he pulls his lips off my neck, glances at me in the mirror, looks down at my shoulder, grins, and slides the robe off my shoulder.
And I know I should stop him. I really should.
He turns me around to face him. And then he leans in and kisses me.
He has the softest lips. Ever. Seriously. Which is really a shock because he is big and kind of rugged looking. And he also kisses very well.
Very, very well.
Different than Dallas, more um, impatient. I think Dallas would have been happy just kissing me for days, but Riley, I’m pretty sure, has other things on his mind.
I’m pretty sure Brooklyn kissed me like this just the other night, like right before we finally did. These are he wants me now kind of kisses.
He grabs my waist and literally picks me up off the floor, takes a few steps, and lays me on the bed while still kissing me.
How is a freshman in high school so freaking strong?
And somehow in that move, he also managed to untie my robe. (Go, Riley! I have such mixed emotions about this scene I went back and forth on. To
do Riley, or not to do Riley? That is the question. Personally, I wanted to, but it wasn’t right for Keatyn. Sorry.)
But then his hand starts rubbing down the top of my thigh, and I realize I can’t do this.
Not with him anyways.
At least not now.
I barely know him!
“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.”
He gives me another deep kiss.
“Go to the dance with me. Be my date tomorrow night.”
“I was under the impression the dance was supposed to be a way to like 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 could care less. I only want to dance with you. And then sneak you back to my dorm room.”
“I think you’re moving wayyyy too fast.”
“Fine. You’ll dance with me though?”
“Yeah. Let me up.”
He still has me pinned underneath him. And I, uh, can feel that he likes it.
“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 is that?”
“Uh, never mind. Forget I said that.”
He kisses me again and run his hand back up my thigh, basically threatening me in a very sexy way, “Tell me, or I will be forced to keep kissing you. And possible torture you with my tongue. I need to know who my competition is.”
“I don’t remember his name. He’s that goalie guy.” I say, and then I grab the back of his head, pull him into a long kiss. I am also running my fingers through his hair roughly.
I know that I am totally sending him mixed messages. (And he loves it!)