He starts reading freshman and sophomore names off a list. "Riley, why did he stop and look at you?"
Riley whispers, "Remember I told you I got kicked out Freshman year?"
"Uh, huh."
"It may have been due to an incident during Homecoming."
" . . . Junior boys: Aiden Arrington, Logan Pedersen, and Nick Cosse. Junior Girls: Maggie Morgan, Keatyn Monroe, Ariela Ross. And lastly, our Senior Court: Jake Worth, Dawson Johnson, and Brad Stewart. And our lovely Queen candidates: Whitney Clarke, Peyton Arrington, and Mariah Sauer. Remember, if you are a football player, you will wear your uniform on the field during half time. And, as per tradition, all girls will wear a formal gown. All members will be accompanied on the field by their parents. Congratulations to this year's Homecoming court, and Go Cougars!"
I watch Whitney ball her hand into a fist and shake it when they call her name. She must really want this. She never shows such excitement over anything.
Dawson hugs me. "Congrats, Keatie! I can't believe you made it. You've only been here a month!"
Whitney says, "Why you think she's dating you, Dawson? She wants to be popular."
I want to leap over the table, grab Whitney by the shirt, and wipe the smug look off her face.
But, I don't.
"I'm not dating Dawson to be popular, Whitney." I say. "I'm dating him for hot sex."
Dawson drops his head onto my shoulder to hide his snickers.
"Classy."
"Hot sex isn't supposed to be classy, Whitney. But speaking of classy, I heard how Jake asked you to Homecoming last night. How he tied a note to a certain body part."
Rachel and the other minions look at Whitney in surprise. I have a feeling she didn't tell them the complete truth.
Whitney recovers quickly. “He wrapped it around his ankle."
I laugh. “So I heard. I also heard that wasn't the first place you looked." I turn to Dawson. "Come on, my future Homecoming King. Walk me to class."
"My pleasure," he says, getting up and escorting me out of the café.
As I'm sitting in French class, waiting for the bell to ring, I'm thinking about texting Kym and asking her to find me a gown. But I decide that it might be fun to go shopping in New York this weekend instead. Dawson will be out of town, so I'll ask the girls if they want to make a weekend out of it. I’m also wondering who in the world I’m going to get to escort me on the field.
Me: I need your help.
My phone rings.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett asks me.
"Um, nothing. I made Homecoming Court. My parents are supposed to escort me. It's a big deal here, so I just thought maybe . . ."
Aiden and Annie sit in their desks next to me. ". . .Um, maybe, my uncle could come."
"I'm sorry. Your mom is planning a trip, so I have a lot on my mind."
"Is something going wrong with the trip?"
"It's my job to make sure nothing goes wrong."
"Oh, okay. So it's next Friday night. Will that work?"
His voice softens. "I'll make it work, Keatyn."
I smile. "Thank you."
Annie screams, "Congrats on Court! Oh my gosh, Keatyn, I'm so excited for you. And a little jealous, too. I wish I could get a gorgeous long gown.”
Scripted out her perfect life.
Soccer.
We're finishing up soccer practice when Peyton smiles and whispers to me, "Done."
"What's done?"
"I have a date who is hotter than Jake and, no offense, hotter than Dawson."
"Who?"
"Dawson's older brother, Camden. But don't tell anyone. I want it to be a surprise. I've been telling Whitney that I don't have a date. That I'm probably going stag. She's been pitying me."
“Why don't you want her to know?"
"Because that's who Whitney really wanted." She leans in close and speaks quietly. "Dawson doesn't even know this. He thought she was a virgin when they did it, but her first time was really with Cam."
As we jog into the locker room, I think about Dawson. How hurt and disgusted he would be if he ever found out the truth.
While I’m changing out of my soccer clothes, Peyton is still spilling. "He totally used her then ditched her. So she settled for Dawson. Told me that she knew he'd grow up to be almost as hot and planned their perfect senior year in detail."
"She scripted out her perfect life?" Wow. Whitney and I aren’t really that different.
I mean, except for the whole bitch part.
Peyton nods, "Exactly."
"So you're taking Cam to rub her face in it?"
"Yep," she says proudly, tightening her ponytail. "I'm tired of her crap. Tired of her telling me who I should date. What I should do. How I should dress. I'm going on record right now." She stands in the center of the locker room and yells out, "I hate square-heeled grandma shoes!" Then she takes a pair of sensible navy pumps out of her locker and whips them into the trash.
I can't help but flash back to Cush taking off the boots that were trying to kill me and how freeing it felt. How it was about more than just a pair of shoes that didn't fit. I was trying to free myself of Vanessa.
She goes on. "I'm popular. I'm in every freaking activity there is. I should just make my own group. Tell her to fuck off."
I scrunch up my nose. "Um, yeah, that might not be the best idea."
She wraps her arm around my shoulder. "And you are just the girl to be my new best friend."
"Um . . ."
She holds up her hand, shushing me. "No. Please. Don't say anything. Let me revel in the freedom."
"Uh, okay," I say, but I'm thinking, Shit. What did I just get myself into?
Be a rock star.
4:45pm
I stop to get hot chocolates for the girls after dance practice and when I get to our room, Katie, Maggie, and Annie are surrounding Katie's desk.
Katie turns to me. "Keatyn, come here! You have to listen to our new favorite song. And you should see the video. Hang on, I’m going to pull it up. The lead singer. Holy shit. He is so freaking hot. But, like, dreamy. And, I swear, it feels like he's singing to you. Like you're the only girl in the world."
As she pulls up the video, I see the name Twisted Dreams dance across the screen.
I slowly drop down onto her bed.
"It's not a real video," she continues. "Apparently, they played this song for the first time at a concert in Stockholm and the crowd went crazy. So the next concert—well, watch. You'll see."
The big stage is completely dark except for a spotlight shining down on Damian, who is sitting on a stool holding a microphone. His guitar strap is across the front of his chest; his guitar pushed around to his back. His head is down and his dark bangs are shagging over his closed eyes. The song starts out slow with only his soulful voice.
She's the kind of girl
Everybody wants be.
But no one sees what's inside,
Or that she cries herself to sleep.
But I see, baby, yeah, I see.
She's Miss Popular,
Floating with the crowd.
But it all feels so empty
That she wants to scream out loud.
But I see, baby, yeah, I see.
Suddenly, the stage lights up. The band starts rocking as Damian stands up, kicks the stool away, and sings loudly.
So forget about them,
Come surf the crowd with me.
It ain't the water,
But, baby, it's plain to see.
You gotta do your own thing.
Forge your own path.
Climb up to the top.
Any way you can.