by Jillian Dodd
Dawson: I’m surprised you’d want to set me up.
Whitney: We’re friends, Dawes, and you need someone worthy of your status. You’re still one of the golden boys here, and I assume you want to stay one. Dating beneath you will not be good for you. It’s practically social suicide.
Dawson: It’s really nice of you to worry about me, but I like Keatyn.
Whitney: I know you’re not over me, but parading around with a girl of her caliber isn’t going to make me jealous. It’s just pathetic.
I process all that she managed to say in a few sentences. Her texts sound similar to what Vanessa told me about Brooklyn.
Only now, I’m social suicide.
I find that kind of ironic, honestly.
And kind of funny.
But I’m not sure how Dawson feels about it.
“Look, Dawson. I know what it’s like. The pressures of being and staying popular. I understand if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.”
“Is that what you want? For Whitney to set me up with Rachel?”
“No, that’s not at all what I want. But it’s not my decision. It’s something you have to decide.”
He grabs my face in his hands, pulls me into a kiss, and murmurs, “I want you, Keatie. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
And his sweetness kinda makes me cry.
Dawson feels my tears on his cheek and stops kissing me. “Why are you crying?”
“I was one of the most popular girl at my old school and here I’m social suicide,” is what I say. But really I’m thinking about home. About how I was willing to give up everything. Every part of me for Brooklyn. But how he didn’t really love me. Then I think about Cush. About my boots. About how they made me love him.
Dawson brushes my tears away and says, “Go out with me.”
I shake my head. I can’t go out with anyone. I’m an emotional wreck. Who starts crying when a boy is sweet to them?
“Not yet, Dawson. Neither one of us is ready for that. Can you honestly say you’re ready for another relationship?”
He looks up at the sky. “Probably not. But I want you to know where you stand. I want you to know that I really like you.”
I smile at him. “I already know that. And I really like you too.”
You look ridiculous.
11 pm
But I am still not sure of a few things. First, I’m not sure he is in actual love with me. I think he likes me a lot, but I’m not sure about the rest. And I didn’t say I love you too because I don’t know if it’s love. Like I thought I was in love with Brooklyn, well I was. I guess it would be better to say I thought he loved me, but then poof that changed. And then I thought I was in love with Aiden, and well, honestly, like if I am truly honest with myself, I think I maybe still am a bit in love with Aiden.
But when you know it won’t work, then you put that love like away, on the back burner, like Mom said, and you look at what’s in front of you, what’s good. And I think I love Dawson, actually, I do love Dawson, I just don’t know if I am in like seriously love with him. Yet. (All of the above also got cut. She explains her thoughts here, but ugh. We get it. So I just made it a fun scene with her and Dallas and Riley.)
I drink the redbull that Dallas gave me, then have another one, and then I was still tired, so I had a third. And by the time midnight rolls around, I’m bouncing off the walls.
When I get to the Cave, Dallas is waiting for me.
“I’m soooo hyper!!! Let’s dance! I feel like dancing. Come on, dance with me!”
I grab my headphones out of my jacket pocket, put one in each one of our ears, hang on to Dallas, and then turn on some wild dancing music. Bass Hunter, electronic music, great dance beat. We jump, and dance, and laugh, and dance. I haven’t had so much fun in a long time, doing something so really stupid.
We’re jumping around dancing like maniacs, when someone grabs me from behind.
I scream. “Ahh!”
It’s Riley, I discover after screaming and practically having a caffeine and adrenaline induced heart attack.
He pops the headphone out of my ear. “What are you two doing? You look ridiculous!”
“Yeah, you can look ridiculous with us.”
Friday, September 9th
Kill, Kick Ass, Destroy.
7:14 am
I’m up way early for this social club meeting. Yeah, I want to be on it, but no one remembered to mention that they meet at 7am on Friday mornings. And I knew I had to get up early, but during our red bull dance off last night, which I didn’t come in from until 3am, this didn’t seem important. I drug my butt out of bed at 5:45, got in my game day dance outfit, which consists of skin tight black boot cut yoga pants with red and gold glittery stripes down the side, a sleeveless glittery gold v neck t-shirt, and gold dance shoes. My hair is in big bouncy curls.
I look like an Oscar award going to the gym. (Can’t remember if I mentioned this, but I was not a dancer or a cheerleader in high school, but my son’s girlfriend was. I asked her a ton of questions about dance, different songs, and watched some of her performances and shows so I would get it all right. I also created fourteen different dance and spirit day outfits in the book and on the clothing boards, along with a school logo, mascot, school colors, and cheers.)
I walk in and see there are only about eight people on this committee.
And yeah, I maybe am a couple minutes late, but my hair looks good, so whatever.
Peyton says, “What are you doing here?”
“Um, I guess I’m on this committee.”
Some guy I have seen, but do not know says, “Hey, I’m Brad,” to me and then turns and introduces me to the group. “Everyone, this is Keatyn Monroe.”
I smile and give a little wave.
They are discussing normal school things, like homecoming and other events.
I was like, “Uh, so I thought this committee was supposed to do like cool stuff?”
They all look at me.
Like I was an alien that just landed his spaceship in front of them, but I keep going.
“Like most kids are here on the weekends, and there isn’t much to do. Why don’t you have like mixer type things every weekend?”
I guess we never thought of it.
“You could have like different themes, make it fun.”
“That would cool. Like what kinds of themes?”
“I don’t know. Like in LA, all the parties have some kind of theme, so there’s tons to choose from. Mexican, Moroccan, Roman, French, Eighties. You can have people like dress in the theme, you could ask the cafe to like cook stuff that night that fit the theme, maybe music and stuff.”
“Like how would we get the money to do stuff like that?” Peyton says, making fun of me.
“Do a fund raiser? Make people to pay to get in?”
“I don’t think people would come, they would think it’s lame,” some idiot pipes in.
“Hmm, well I think I misunderstood this committee, so I should probably go.” I get up out of my chair to leave.
“What do you mean?” Brad says.
“I was under the impression that y’all were the most influential kids at the school. But hey, you can’t pull it off, I understand.” (I love how she challenges them here.)
And pretty soon, they decided they could do it. Because I’m pretty sure I’m in a room full of competitors.
“Well Newbie, we’ll appoint you liaison between the committee and the staff on this little project. You get it approved, we’ll do it.”
They think I’m gonna balk at this, but I don’t. If there is one thing I have learned growing up in LA, it’s how to throw a good party.
After the meeting, Peyton pulls me aside.
“What’d you do? Buy your way on here? They never nominate freshman.”
“Well, actually, it was offered to me by a teacher. Someone needs my help on something, and this is sorta my reward.”
“That’s bullshit. The rest of us had to w
ork for it.”
“You had to work to get nominated by a teacher?”
“Uh, well you know, by being a leader in class and that sort of thing. I really can’t imagine what a teacher would need your help for.”
“I’m fluent in French.”
“So?”
“They asked me to tutor your brother. I didn’t want to. So this is what they came up with.”
Her face goes white. (Even though in this version Peyton is the mean girl, in the published version, this was the beginning of what put Peyton between a rock and a hard place. It is the first arena (besides the lunch table) where Keatyn and Peyton have to interact with Whitney.)
I continue. “You know, I can always change my mind. He could probably get another tutor. So, ya know, I’ll leave it up to you. You can support me and help, and we can have fun and do some really cool stuff this year, or I’ll quit both this and your brother. Up to you.”
Brad says, “Hey, Keatyn, come walk with me. I want to talk to you a little more.”
I say, “As long as you’re walking straight to coffee. I’m in dire need of some caffeine.”
“Dude, me too.”
We’re standing in line for coffees when Dawson comes up from behind me, grabs me around the waist, pulls my back into him, kisses me on the side of the neck, and says, “Damn Keatie, looking good.”
I giggle. Dawson says to Brad, “Hey, you got a good speech planned for the pep rally?”
“Speech?” I ask.
Dawson says, “Yeah, the football captains have to speak today. I’m offensive captain, and Brad is the defensive captain. We gotta pump up the team and the fans.”
“Wow. Cool. Good luck.”
“I’m gonna need it. I have no idea what I’m gonna say,” Brad says looking worried.
I think back to Tommy’s last movie. He played a seemingly average football coach, who was really a kick ass espionage spy.
“Aw, that’s easy....remember these words, kill, kick ass, destroy, annihilate, win, and of course, GOOOOOO COUGARS!!”
Dawson grabs my ass, “I think maybe we should just let her talk for us.”
“Or bring her out there with us. No one will even be looking at us.”
“Y’all are silly. I gotta go to class. Nice meeting you, Brad. I’ll email you some ideas.”
I got to first period and sat down by Riley, asked him what he thought of the idea of themed weekends or activities.
“Sounds like a lot of work,” was his reply.
When I frowned he added, “But fun. Very fun.”
I start an email and brainstorm ideas. Lets see, what are some of the studio parties I’ve been to?
There was a Moroccan themed bash, complete with belly dancers. How fun would that be? Have someone teach us to belly dance. There was great food, lots of pretty bright colored fabrics, oh and someone was doing henna tattoos, and the music was very chill. People smoked from elaborate hookah pipes and drank different kinds of bold teas. Embroidered pillows scattered around low tables. Colored lanterns. I wore a turquoise blue dress with golden embroidery, I think I was about twelve, and I remember feeling extremely grown up.
Then there was the classic beach luau Tommy and Mom had at our house in Malibu. Drinks served in pineapples, floral leis as everyone arrived, tables laden with exotic fruits and flowers, a whole pig roasting in a pit in the stand. (Truth: it was a fake pig, a stage prop, not sure how it was flammableish, but whatever. Mom is a big supporter of animal rights and although she eats meat, seeing it roasted whole in front of her was not appetizing.) There was a combination of Hawaiian music and beach boys. Surf boards out front. Surfers were “performing” as in surfing before sundown, the beach was lit with tiki torches, hula girls dancing and some big sumo wrestling looking guy that could eat fire on a sword or a stick. I’m not sure. I couldn’t watch. I think this theme would be good when we are all sick of the snow. Guests wore bikinis, floral shirts. It was chill, laid back.
Mom did a themed baby shower for one of her real best friends, actress Milly Rodriguez, who was having a baby with her Laker’s husband. It was Parisian themed. Wandering artists in berets, a chocolate replica of the Eiffel tower (a little overboard, if you ask me) pink and black awnings, amazing french foods, cigarettes in long holders, waiters in black tails. Old French black and white romance movies playing on a big screen across the back yard.
So I send these ideas in an email to Brad. I even suggested that we get other clubs to help us, if we decide to do this. Like maybe let the art department, either teachers or the art club raise funds by henna painting or drawing characters. I also suggested that each week there is some kind of contest, to get the competitive spirit going, and that each theme we do we have a charity we raise money for. I was also thinking the girls will probably really get into it, but I’m not sure about the boys, so maybe the competitions are fun, sports related somehow. I told him I would defer to him on that. I mean even lawn darts and croquet can be highly competitive.
If nothing else, I told him, it will look great on our college applications, and we’ll have some fun doing it.
Vote for Boots, she likes to knock boots.
French
I plow through the rest of the day, buzzed on caffeine and getting surprisingly nervous about the pep rally. I’m not even nervous to go to french class today. I mean I survived pizza and studying with Aiden without letting his lips touch mine.
I can however feel the exact spot where his touch practically burnt my skin. It’s right here, across the top of my pinkie and across to my middle finger. There’s no noticeable scar or anything, but I can feel it still.
But then he made me worry. “Don’t screw up at the pep rally today. My sister said you guys don’t really have the dance down very good.”
“I have the dance down just fine. I won’t be screwing up.”
Uh, I hope. Oh. I should have paid better attention yesterday. Damn him, for distracting me when with his, its tutoring with food crap.
Then I remember what I am supposed to do this weekend, and why maybe I should postpone the NY trip til next weekend.
Annie, who has become my unofficial Student Council campaign manager, says, “Okay, so we can start putting up campaign signs Monday morning at 6am. So we’re going to have to work on them all weekend. And I was thinking something fun and girly, lots of purples, pinks, silver glitter. But I haven’t come up with a good campaign slogan yet.”
Aiden behind me says, “How bout, Vote for Boots, She likes to knock boots.” (Can you imagine this poster hanging on the walls of Eastbrooke? LOL)
I turn around, so totally and completely offended. My face is probably screwed up looking, but I don’t care. “Are you effing me?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, that’s probably a bad idea. I was thinking like knocking boots as in like kicking a soccer ball with the boots, not uh, like oh gosh. I’m sorry. Shit.”
“Merde.”
“What?”
“It’s shit, in french. At least I should be able to teach you to properly cuss in french. Whatever. I have a campaign idea. I wanna use school colors. All the signs will be red, yellow, lots of gold glitter and leopard. I was thinking about saying, Vote for Keatyn Mon----roaaaarrrrr. Like we roar at football games? What do you think?” (Is that not super cool or what? Even though I planned all the high school stuff, until I was actually writing this scene, I didn’t know her name would work like that.)
Aiden whispers in my left ear, “Rawwwrrr.”
And holy merde. He growls soooo sexy. The thought crosses my mind that I would like to make him growl for real.
In bed. (Bad Keatyn.)
Annie says, “That’s adorable and using school colors is brilliant. We will make some cool signs for you.”
“I might be going to New York this weekend. Would you mind doing them?”
“No, not at all. We’ll have fun!”
Then if my mind wasn’t already in the gutter, Aiden whispers from behind me, “So what about
fuck?” (**Fans self.)
And for a second, I thought he asked me to, well, you know.
My face got all hot, I felt like I was going to faint. I grab Annie’s diet coke from her desk and down some of it.
Regain my senses.
“Well, there isn’t just one word. And it sorta depends how you mean it. How do you mean it?”
“Um, what if I wanna tell your boyfriend to fuck off?” (For this scene, I actually bought a book called Dirty French. It’s also the book that Keatyn later gives to Aiden as a gift when he gets a good grade. And he starts learning the words and using them on her.)
“He’s not officially my boyfriend, but you would say, Casse-toi! which really is a nicer way to say it. It’s more like saying, piss off.
Miss Praline starts the class and is blabbering on about french club and not actual french class, so Aiden passes me a note saying,
What if I get mad, like stub my toe and wanna yell, fuck?
My hottie god even has perfect penmanship.
I reply: Then it would probably be more like, Pute!
Annie grabs it, writes: What about - I don’t give a fuck?
Something like, je m’en fou.
She reads it, hands it to Aiden.
What if I wanna fuck?
I stupidly turn around and look in those green eyes, see that naughty grin.
well to fuck would be, Foutre, or Niquer, which is a shortened form of the french word for fornicate.
And if you wanna brag to your friends, after you do that with a girl, you know, assuming you’re into that and not boys, you would say, Je l’ai niqué, which means, I effed her. I’d have to look up the correct terminology for gay boy slang. Fraid I don’t know that.
I drop the note over my shoulder on to his desk. And smile to myself.