The Keatyn Chronicles: Books 1-3: (Stalk Me, Kiss Me, and Date Me)

by Jillian Dodd

  “Well I don’t know, he just sounds good when he talks, and he’s kinda sexy, in that nerdy kind of way.”

  Great.

  I silently curse Bill Gates and all the other rich internet techno whiz geeks for making nerds in vogue.

  Riley’s like, “The guy’s a douche.”

  Dallas interrupts, “Riley and I have an idea that could get you more votes than the douche.”

  “Really, what’s that?”

  “Let’s shoot a video promoting your campaign. We can dress you all sexy, and then you can look like you’re going to undress, like those web domain commercials, and say if you vote for Keatyn, you will get a special access code to get on the web to see what happens next. All the guys would vote for you for sure. And most of the girls, too, just because they would want to see what you did.”

  Riley’s like, “It’s a good plan, Kiki. YouTube’s where it’s at.”

  “So, basically, I could vote for Benjamin, tell you I voted for me, then you’d give me the code?”

  Dallas scrunches up his nose. “Oh, yeah, well, we might have to rework that.”

  “And what would I do in the access code video?”

  Riley says, “Well, uh, we thought maybe take your shirt off.”

  “ARE YOU NUTS?!”

  “Calm down, it was just an idea. We’re trying to help you here.”

  “I’m not buying votes with nakedness. I’d probably get kicked out of school for that.”

  Riley leans over and whispers in my ear, “Wouldn’t be the first time you did something that could get you kicked out.”

  I punch him.

  Dallas scratches his head. “We didn’t really think of that either.”

  “How’s your speech coming?” Annie asks. “I think the speeches will be important.”

  “My speech sucks.”

  “Let me see it; I’ll work on it.”

  So I give her my little cards.

  Dawson comes up behind me and says, “If you’re done, let’s go outside.”

  And I happily do.

  We sit on our bench.

  He kisses me sweetly and then a little not-so-sweetly.

  “Dawes, we can’t kiss like this out here, or we’ll get in trouble.”

  Kissing is pretty much okay, but sitting around seriously making out in public is sorta against school rules.

  “I can’t help it. God, you’re sexy. I’m the luckiest guy at school. The library was amazing. Like, crazy amazing.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what got into me. Well, actually I do. That was payback for what you did to me during the game last week.”

  “When I had my hands under your sweatshirt?”

  “Yeah, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He kisses me. “You liked that, huh?”

  “I did, obviously.”

  “So, I talked to my parents last night.”

  “Oh, what about?”

  “About you.”

  “Why?”

  He kisses me sweetly. “Because Riley and my little bro, Braxton, have been talking. About how nice I’ve been lately. Brax told Mom. They wanted to hear about you. Then my mom got off the phone and my dad was like, So, why are you so happy?

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I just said you are amazing.”

  “And?”

  “He said I seemed more carefree with you, happy. I was finally like, Dad, is happy supposed to be code word for are we having sex and is that what is making me happy?

  And my dad was like, I’m old, I don’t get to date pretty young things, so yes, that’s what I was wondering.”

  “Did you tell your dad?” My eyes get huge.

  “You told your mom and stepdad.”

  “Oh, gosh. I’ll never be able to look at him.”

  “I just told him he was right about you making me very happy. So, he knew. Plus, he and I talked before about how, you know, Whitney never seemed like she wanted to with me, and I wondered if it was me, if I was doing something wrong. Actually, I tried to have that talk with my older brother, but dad overheard us and, since then, he’s been kinda anti-Whitney. They want to meet you soon.”

  “Oh, if he’s anti-Whitney, then he’s my new favorite person. I’d love to meet your parents.”

  I grab his face in my hands and plant a big kiss on him just as the bell rings.

  “Damn classes,” he says, “just when things were getting good. You going to the game with me tonight? Or you hanging with your friends?”

  “Both?”

  “So the guys and I have a little tradition of going to this Mexican restaurant before the Freshman games. Taco Tuesday.”

  “Oh, okay. Then I’ll just hang out with my friends and see you later.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come with us.”

  “No. I’m not intruding on boy night.”

  “They suggested I bring you. So, tonight, if you want, you get to be one of the guys.”

  I smile. “I’d like that.”

  Love the boots.

  1:15am

  Riley, Dallas and I are lying on a blanket, having already smoked a bit and are just big chilling.

  “So, tell me about your new girls.”

  Dallas says, “Well, I got another pair of panties after the game tonight.”

  Riley is like, “Whose?”

  “That Sarah chick in our math class. What’d you and Ariela do?”

  “Just kissed.”

  “Kisses are nice,” I say dreamily.

  “Especially the places you’ve been getting kissed,” Riley says.

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I have a really good imagination. And don’t think my brother doesn’t confide in me, because he does. He and I have gotten closer this year.”

  “What’s he been telling you?”

  “Just that you turn him on. I guessed about the library thing. When it was just us throwing at practice today, he confirmed it. He told me that tonight he wanted to try and make you feel really good. I’m assuming, based on how dreamy you’re acting, and the fact you left at half, that he succeeded.”

  “Wait,” Dallas says. “What happened in the library?”

  “Kiki was naughty in a private study room.”

  “How naughty?”

  “Not all the way naughty, but pretty naughty. My brother is lucky.”

  Dallas rolls over toward me, close to my face. This is usually how he starts to kiss me. Then he just looks at me and says, “Yeah, he is.”

  It makes me want to kiss him. I even grab his face and hold it in my hands, just looking at him. He’s so adorable.

  “So, I’m really nervous about this whole campaign speech thing on Thursday. It just seems so short. How am I supposed to convince people to vote for me when they only give you four days to campaign? What do you think I should say? Part of me wishes I hadn’t done it. With soccer, dance, Social Committee, French club, tutoring Aiden, homework, and Dawson, I’m majorly crunched for time. Plus, I hate not winning. And I’m new. I probably don’t stand a chance.”

  “You have a good chance. How’s tutoring the god going?” Dallas asks.

  “It’s fine. Sometimes I think we might be able to be friends. So, what should I say?”

  Riley says, “I don't think it matters what you say. Just look hot. All the guys will vote for you.”

  “And what do guys find hot?”

  Dallas says, “The boots. Love the boots.”

  I get back in through my window and am trying to quietly get to my closet to get undressed, when I trip over a box lying in the middle of the floor.

  “Keatyn, what are you doing?” Katie says groggily.

  “Oh, I was just . . .”

  “Getting back from sneaking out to see Dawson?”

  “Uh, no, with Riley and Dallas.”

  “Take me next time. Riley is hot. I don’t think I would mind if that boy used me. And Dalla
s is adorable. I think he’d be fun to kiss. Oh, and that box you tripped over was delivered for you today. I forgot to tell you earlier.”

  I take the box into the closet, turn on the light, and open it. Inside are a pair of gorgeous cowboy boots. They are black, navy, and brown, with cut-out designs in red and golden-yellow leather. I look at the name on the box. It’s from the boot shop in East Texas where my grandpa has his boots custom made. Custom boots and a brand new truck every year are his two big splurges.

  Inside one of the boots is a note from Grandpa.

  Can’t let my Hotshot get all uppity out there or turn into some damn, Yankee. Had Javier make these for you. Don’t be afraid to kick some ass and raise a little hell.

  Love you, Papa.

  I get little tears in my eyes. Grandpa had cowboy boots custom-made just for me? It’s way too late to call. I look at what’s inside the rest of the box. There are three more looks to go with the boots from Kym. I decide that on Thursday, I’m going to kick a little ass, East Texas style.

  Wednesday, September 14th

  A fiercer hell.

  8pm

  I’m sitting in the library studying and waiting for Dawson to meet me. I get a wonderful email from my interior designer with drawings, photos, and floor plans for the new loft. I excitedly comment and approve all of it. Then I think about my old closet. I email Kym and ask if she has a photo of it. She quickly emails it back to me. I forward the closet photo to the designer and tell him I’d like my new closet to look as close to that as possible.

  There isn’t really anything going on tonight. Which is good, because I have a long list of homework and projects on my to do list.

  Dawson shows up and starts to work on his homework, but he gets bored and starts messing around with me. He keeps poking my sides randomly, trying to make me scream and get in trouble. Then he grabs my long to do list and writes his name at the top.

  “Very cute,” I say to him.

  My phone buzzes on the table in front of us. There is a text from Brooklyn, who I haven’t heard a peep from in exactly eleven days. Not that I’m counting, I just expected him to try to apologize sooner.

  B<3: I’m sorry, okay? I miss you. I miss our talks. I was stupid. Got caught up in everything. I’m sorry. Really. I love you.

  Dawson sits and stares at my phone, like it’s a snake coiled up, getting ready to bite him. “How come his name still has a heart by it?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since Labor day weekend, or looked at his name. I forgot it was like that. Here, I’ll change it.”

  “So what are you going to say to that?”

  “I’m not even going to reply.”

  “I think you should reply.”

  “Why? I don’t have anything to say to him.”

  “Tell him you have a boyfriend and to leave you the hell alone.”

  “Is that what you would do if Whitney texted you and told you she was sorry?”

  “Is that why you wouldn’t take the necklace? Are you still hung up on him?”

  “No. I’m not hung up on him at all. I hate him.”

  “Then why?”

  “The necklace has nothing to do with him and everything to do with us. I’m not ready to have someone’s heart yet. Especially the heart of someone who isn’t ready to give it. I like you. I don’t want to rush it.”

  He touches my hair. Looks into my eyes and says, “Keatie, I swear, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I get little tears in my eyes, cuz he is seriously so sweet.

  He takes the phone out of my hand. “I’ve got this.”

  Me: This is Keatyn’s boyfriend. Leave her the hell alone.

  “Dawson. You’re not my boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, I know, but eventually I will be. We’re good together.”

  B: Tell her to take her phone back and tell me herself.

  Me: Hey, it’s me. What you did hurt. I always thought no matter what we would be friends, but I’m pretty sure you ruined that too with your lack of respect. Hope she was worth it.

  B: “There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.” Keats for my Keats. I’m sorry. Really sorry.

  “I’m not replying to that.”

  Dawson says, “What does that even mean?”

  “It means he’s living in hell because he failed me. Or so he’s saying.” I sigh big, run my hand through my hair. “Shit.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “I miss our friendship. He was one of my best friends for two years. What he did was more than just a slam to our relationship, it was a slam to our friendship, too. I hope that even if you and I don’t work out as a couple that we stay friends.”

  “We’re definitely staying friends,” he says. Then he gives me a sweet kiss.

  Thursday, September 15th

  A sick hazing ritual.

  6:45am

  This morning, I get up with the chickens and do my hair up. I did it big. Lots of big spiral curls, lots of hairspray and fullness. I do my makeup just a bit bolder, still soft and natural, but I add some highlighter to my cheekbones and nose, a little deeper blush at the hollow of my cheeks to add more definition. I add a rich dark purple eye shadow that brings out the purple in my eyes and a simple black swoop of eyeliner.

  My look for today is a red tank top under a white blouse with red western detailing—little embroidery across the cuffs, which stick out just under my navy blazer—the plaid pleated skort, the cowboy boots, handmade silver earrings and necklace, and silver bangles. Now I feel ready to give my speech.

  But, first things first. Gotta call Grandpa.

  I thank him. Tell him about my speech today. He wishes me luck and fills me in on what’s been going on at the ranch. About the horses, the ranch hand’s love life, Grandma’s new apple pie recipe, and his new lemonade drink using pink lemonade rather than the normal yellow kind. I hang up feeling happy and confident.

  I even have time to sit down and eat breakfast.

  Dawson kisses me. “You got my vote, Keatie. Just look at you.”

  And although this is nice, and I want to look nice, cute, and likable, I also kind of decided this morning after talking to Grandpa that I don’t want to win because of how I look. I want to win because of what I say in my speech. I do want to try and make a difference. I don’t want to just look pretty.

  So I completely redid my speech. And have my new lines all memorized.

  Now, I’m at the all-school convocation. We have to give our speech in front of the entire student body. I’m pretty sure this is some sick hazing ritual. If you manage to give the speech without throwing up then you’re in.

  I’m standing in the hallway with the other candidates, who are nervously pacing and rereading their note cards. I’m really not that nervous. I never been one to get stage fright, but usually when I’ve performed in the past it has been at soccer games and dance recitals. I’ve never spoken to a large group before.

  Aiden walks toward me and does a little motion. He has something in his hand that he wants to sneakily put into mine.

  How I know what his little glances and gestures mean is a bit astonishing to me but, then, I’m pretty certain some sort of mind control is part of his god power package.

  I move closer to him and he slides something small into my hand. Then he puts a finger up to the side of his mouth, making the universal sign for shhh.

  I don’t open my hand.

  I’m afraid to.

  Plus, I want to savor it.

  I hear my name being called. It’s my turn to go up.

  I get up to the podium, lay down my note cards, turn my hand over, and open my fist. There nestled in my palm is a green glass four-leaf clover. And I feel . . . I don’t even know.

  Lucky.

  I feel like Harry Potter just put liquid luck in my butterbeer before Quidditch practice.

  I feel unstoppable.

  I speak eloquently and from the heart. I talk about what Student Council i
s, what it should be able to do, how it should not just be about social agendas or a popularity contest. That it should focus on the students and their rights. Their right to change the dress code. Their right not to get their phones put into jail. Their right to be served something besides empty calories and fried foods at lunch. Their right to stay out later. To have more all-school activities. And I end it with a loud, cheerleader-style, Vote for Keatyn Mon-ROARRRRRR, and, luckily, lots of people roar with me.

  I don’t know if I will win or not. But I did good, and I’m proud of myself. And I think my lucky charm will be proud of me too.

  Did you see those boots of hers?

  French

  Somehow, Aiden ends up walking me from lunch to French class.

  “Your speech was really great,” he says.

  “I didn’t look at what was in my hand until I got up there and was ready to start speaking.”

  “You like it?”

  “I did. It gave me an extra boost of confidence. I felt lucky. But why did you?”

  “Well, I might have a little crush on my tutor, but don’t tell her. It will go to her head. And she already thinks she’s the shit. Did you see those boots of hers?”

  I laugh. “Very funny. Do you like my boots?”

  He looks at me with his dreamy eyes. “I love your boots. You in boots is my favorite. Reminds me of the first day we met.”

  “My grandpa had them made for me to match my uniform. Told me they are to remind me to raise some hell and kick some ass.” I laugh at that.

  “I’d like to meet him someday. He sounds like a good man,” Aiden says very sincerely.

  As I sit down in class, I’m thinking that Grandpa would probably think Aiden is a good man too.

  We take a break at the end of class to talk in French. Annie isn’t speaking French, but is excitedly talking about the speeches: who she thinks did well, how I rocked, and “Where did you ever find those boots?”

  Aiden answers her. “Her grandpa had them made for her.”

  And Annie gives me a look. A look that says, Uh, what’s going on here? Why is he answering for you and, more importantly, why does he know this and I, your best friend, do not?