Stalk Me (41 page)

I glance around and don’t see anyone who looks remotely like Vincent. 

There are no memories of him anywhere.

I take a deep breath.

I’m standing on a sidewalk in the middle of a campus where nothing is familiar, but I feel like I’ve come home.

Like I belong here.

And for the first time in days, I feel safe.

Kiki is a stripper name.

3:45pm

I remind myself of my new name and check in at New Student Orientation.

New Student Orientation is mostly for incoming freshman, but all new students have to go through it. I hope I’m not the only new upperclassman here—but, I guess, worst case scenario is that I meet a few freshman. 

My plan is simple. I’m going to find a couple guys who look nice and see if I can sit with them. In reading every scrap of information I could find about the school, I learned that the football players came here for camp two weeks ago, so even if they’re new, they’ve probably gotten to know each other.

I spy a guy that is too cute for words. He looks, well, like Brooklyn did when I first met him, with sandy blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes, and I instantly feel a connection to him. When a really hot, tall, dark-haired guy who looks way too old to be a freshman walks over and fist bumps him, I know I’ve found my pair. 

I wait for them to sit down, while hoping they aren’t the kind of guys who like to sit up front. I watch them walk high up in the bleachers.

We have to wear uniforms at Eastbrooke—well, sort of uniforms. The boys wear matching navy blazers with khaki pants or shorts. They also have to wear Oxford shirts and ties, but they get to choose whatever kind they want. Some days they wear a polo with the school’s crest on it, but I’m not sure when those days are. The girls have to wear plaid skorts or skirts that are a really cute navy and black plaid. Mixed into the plaid are stripes of white, red and yellow. The girls also have navy blazers, but they have more options, like colored vests and cardigans.

I’m actually kind of excited for the uniforms.

Since everyone traveled here today, we were allowed to dress casually. I changed into the outfit that Kym packed for me on the plane. I’m wearing a cute knit dress with an appliquéd rose front and an asymmetrical lace hem. Brown suede Proenza Schouler tote, braided belt, and the cowboy boots Cush gave me.

I wasn’t allowed to bring a whole lot from home, but I did bring the boots, a few of my favorite shoes, the book of Keats poetry, and a few other things I didn’t think I could live without, including a dress of Mom’s to wear to the Welcome Dance on Saturday night. And I might have borrowed the black Gucci platform boots that we always fight over. They were in my closet, and I’m pretty sure possession is nine-tenths of the law.

Boots are noisy, I realize, as I clomp up the bleachers after the boys. A few girls look at me. 

Make that,
stare
at me.

And then they all look down at my boots. 

I’m thinking maybe East coast girls don’t wear a lot of cowboy boots? 

Shit. 

I hope the boots weren’t a mistake. Kym actually packed a pair of pretty platform wedges to wear with the dress. Why didn’t I listen to her?

But then I remember that I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be me. And me likes the boots. And, more importantly, wearing these boots makes me feel like Cush is with me, reminding me to be me. To let people get to know me; to let people in the way I did him. 

Besides, I can’t change them now. 

I notice either designer heels or Sperry topsiders on most of the girls. 

The young Brooklyn clone and the dark-haired hottie are sitting with a group of boys who look like freshmen. I try to decide how to play this.  

I could use the make-them-come-to-me-approach. March up there and sit just a couple rows in front of them, hoping they will see me sitting alone, take pity on me, and talk to me. That’s sort of a passive approach, though, and I’m going to be bold. 

Why the hell not?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being friends with Vanessa it’s that confidence and boldness are king. And it’s not like I can embarrass myself too badly. No one here knows me. And since I am now officially in charge of the script of my life, why not be bold and take a few risks? 

There’s a butt-sized gap between the two boys. I’m going to walk up to them, point at the gap, and say,
Is this seat taken?
 

Then I’m going to pray they don’t laugh at me. 

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

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

At first I think he’s making fun of my boots, but then he says, “Hey, I’m Dallas, and this here’s Riley,” in an unmistakable Southern drawl—the kind you only get from growing up in the South, not from working with an accent coach. 

Because I’ve spent a lot of time in East Texas, both in my real and fake lives, I respond with, “Nice to meet y’all. I’m Keatyn.” And then I sit. 

“Great boobs, uh, I mean boots,” a boy behind them says.

I laugh. 

I’m not offended in the least. 

It’s not like I’m some freshman virgin. I’m an experienced woman, and I think that makes me worldlier than all my travels have. Like, kinda.

I turn around and look at the offending boy. “Thanks, what’s your name?” 

The boy looks embarrassed and ignores me. 

Great! I’m off to a great start. I’m being ignored by a freshman boy. Twelve minutes into my time here, and I’m already a loser.

I ignore the boy and turn to Dallas. He looks sweet. And the way he sorta looks like Brooklyn makes me feel comfortable talking to him. “So, you don’t look like a freshman.”

“Me and Riley here are juniors, how about you?”

“I’m a junior too.”

The boys tell me they all met last week during football camp. 

“So what are you gonna do here?” Riley asks me. 

“I’m not sure. You guys like to party? Or are you serious athletes?”

“I’d say we’re both,” gorgey dark Riley tells me. “And my brother is a senior, so I pretty much have the place wired.” His easy way reminds me of Cush. 

“You’re a good guy to know, then. You can introduce me to your hot brother and all his friends.” 

“How do you know my brother is hot?”

“Cuz you are,” I flirt. Why the hell not? 

I’m single. You’re single. Let’s mingle.

Just because I’m not going to fall in love doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun. That was one thing I was always kind of jealous of RiAnne about. She told me she loved kissing boys. She slept with some of them, but she loved kissing them. She’d go on and on for hours about the merits of this boy’s technique or lips versus another boy’s. 

I should add that to my list of things I want to do. 

I want to kiss a lot of boys. I don’t want to be slutty, but it’s the first time I’ve been completely single. I should enjoy it. Is kissing a lot of boys considered part of working on me? I’ll have to ask Kym that, but I’m pretty sure it qualifies. It’s like self-improvement. Practice makes perfect and all that.

“Naw,” says Riley, “I think we’re gonna keep you to ourselves.”

“Uh, not to burst your bubble or anything, but I prefer older guys. I’ve never dated a guy my age.” 

Just as the words leave my lips, it’s like I’m on a movie set, with a script in my hand about immature boys, and they’re all following along. A boy up front rips out a loud fart, and they all laugh. 

“My point, exactly.” 

“That dude may be immature,” Dallas tell me. “But we’re not. Notice he’s not sitting with us.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Riley asks, “So how come you’re not trying to meet some girls? I heard there’s a couple other new junior girls. You could find your new bff.”

“Notice how all the girls are trying to get as close to the front as they can? Trying to make a good impression?”

“Yeah,” both Riley and Dallas say.

“Why are you in the back?” 

Dallas laughs. “Because we don’t give a shit about good impressions. We just wanna goof around.”

“I’m not into all that either. Plus it’s been my experience that guys are a lot easier to get along with. No drama.”

Riley raises his eyes at me. “We’ll get along just fine. You don’t need girls for your bffs anyway.” He throws his arm around my shoulder. “I’m your new bff, and I think I’ll be your new boyfriend.”

“Um, I kinda have a boyfriend.”

Shit. That sort of came out wrong. I don’t have a boyfriend. I tried to come up with an appropriate relationship status for me and Brooklyn on the plane. It’s more like friends with benefits. I thought about what he said about letting fate decide if we should be together, but I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in fate.

At least until some guy tells me he’s been talking to the moon.

“Not for long.” Riley says. “I promise, I’ll make you forget all about him.” He grins a very seductive grin at me.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Oh, you underestimate me,” he says, his eyes smoldering. 

Eyes that make me know I'm not the only one who’s not a virgin. This boy is clearly not new to the game. And you know what? He might be right. I may have underestimated him.

Riley continues. “Plus, I can get us in all the good parties. My bro and I are tight.”

He and Dallas fist bump each other. 

“Hell yeah, bro,” one of the boys from behind us says. Riley and Dallas roll their eyes at the freshman. I’m thinking he won’t be invited.

The headmaster, principal, dean, whatever they call him, gets up and starts welcoming us. He’s telling us a bunch of boring history about the school, and I’m really not all that interested. Plus, I already know it.

I turn to Riley. “You sure your brother feels that way?” 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“I mean, do you really think your older brother wants his baby bro tagging along with him?”

Dallas laughs. “SLAAAAMMMM.”  

“You’re cute,” Riley tells me. 

“Thanks, I think.”

“And my reputation clearly does not precede me.” 

“You have a reputation? Ha! Did you make one up? You haven't been here long enough to get a reputation. I mean, unless you’re gay. You been hooking up with all the boys during football camp?”

“I’m
not
gay, and the boys have heard
all
about the Johnson brothers’ summer in the Hamptons.”

I hear a chorus of
Hell yeah
,
You’re the man
,
Dude
, and
Bro
, from the freshmen behind me. It’s obvious by their enthusiasm that Riley has shared way too much about his summer and they are in awe of him. Or what he did, more likely.

Dallas says lazily to Riley, “You are the man.”

I cough. “Bullshit.”

Riley laughs at me. “Just you wait and see. You can come play cowgirl with me anytime.”

“Save a horse; ride a cowboy, huh?”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

I laugh.

He’s funny. 

The dean guy is droning on about being special and chosen to go here and what an honor it is. And he may be going over rules. I’m still not listening. I’ve never been much of a rule follower. Well actually, I’ve never really had any rules to follow. I’ve never had a curfew. Really, my only real rule is that I have to wear a helmet if I ride rollerblades, skateboards, longboards, or Brooklyn’s motorcycle. But that’s about it.

Riley snaps his fingers. “I have a great idea. Keatyn is a boy’s name. Let’s dress you up like a boy. You can be my roommate by day, and then be my hot little plaything at night.” 

I roll my eyes at him, like I’m so bored. 

But I’m not.

I’m actually having fun, and I haven’t thought about the stalker in almost twenty minutes. So I give him some shit, like I used to give to Cush. I think he likes it. “Seriously?” 

“Forgive him,” Dallas says. “He thinks all the girls want him. He’s been going on and on about all the hot girls that came to his brothers’ parties this summer that he slept with.” 

I raise my eyebrows at him like I don’t believe a word of it.

“It’s all true, baby.” Riley says.

“So basically you either had your brothers’ sloppy seconds or girls who were too drunk to know better?”

“Oh, I’m gonna like you.” Riley nods. His eyes run from the toes of my pointy boots up to my tan collarbones. “You gonna be my first real challenge?”

“Sounds like I’m probably
much
too young and
much
too inexperienced for you.”

He glares at me. At first he was trying to impress me with his experience, now I just turned it around and made his experience seem like a bad thing. 

“I think you’re faking a boyfriend.”

“Oh really?” I grab my phone and pull up a picture of Brooklyn and me. One of only two that I was allowed to download to my new phone. We’re standing facing each other, swimsuits on, boards stuck in the sand next to us. His arms are casually around my waist, and he’s getting ready to lean in and kiss me. The sun is glimmering on the ocean as it’s getting ready to set, and the sky is a brilliant shade of fiery oranges, pinks, and reds. Brooklyn is looking at me in the dreamy way he always does. 

Not that you can see that in the photo. I wasn’t allowed to have a picture of his actual face. 

“See?” 

The boys pass the phone around. 

I hear a freshman say, “Dayummm, look at the bikini. Nice.”

Then they all huddle around my phone. You’d think I just handed them a centerfold.

I try to grab my phone from them. “Oh my gosh, you’re not supposed to be looking at my body.”

Riley has my phone now. “What are we supposed to be looking at?”

“At us. Can’t you tell how happy we were?”
Were
being the key word in that sentence.

“All guys look like that when their arms are wrapped around a hot bikini.”

To prove his point, he puts his phone in front of me and scrolls through about a million pics of him with bikini-clad girls posing next to him, hugging him, kissing him on the cheek, kissing him.