I just wave.
I’m feeling a bit sleazy leaving with Dawson early, knowing they all know what we’re going to do.
But in my head, I tell myself we’ll just talk, kiss some.
Yes, it’s our anniversary, of sorts, but that doesn’t mean we have to.
We already did it earlier today.
We’re not.
We’re definitely not.
When we get to his car, he pushes me up against the door and gives me a hot kiss.
“I’ll never forget how excited I was when you showed up at the Hamptons, in that bikini. I felt so lucky and happy. And that night. God, that night was amazing. Really. Of course that was probably pretty obvious. Like, how much I wanted you. And then it was so good. Every time is so good. It’s been the best month of my life.”
I slink away from him and get in the car, so he doesn’t attack me right here.
But what he said totally makes me melt, so I lean over, unzip his pants, and slide my hand inside while he drives to the lake.
Wednesday, October 5th
The people that you love.
Lunch
I offered to go help Dawson work on his cheer, but he doesn’t want me to see it until Friday. So I sit down between Riley and Ace, who has stopped sitting at Whitney’s table and started sitting here with Annie.
Annie shoves a tabloid magazine in front of my face. “Look at this! Abby is having an affair with her bodyguard. The hot one that was with her on Saturday.”
I read the headline.
Abby and the Hot Bodyguard’s Secret Affair.
Underneath that is a large photo of Mom and Ryan. Mom’s head is down and Ryan’s hand is on her back, guiding her. It’s not unusual for Ryan to do that when there are a lot of people around. He’s trained to keep her close. To shield her if necessary. Off to the side is a photo of Tommy. He’s wearing a ball cap and sunglasses and his head is down. The photo is not a new one. He’s wearing a shirt that I know he gave to charity over a year ago. The little headline above it says, Friends Say Tommy Distraught Over Affair.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in these kinds of magazines,” I tell Annie.
But even though I know it’s not true, I’m worried.
I leave lunch, get to French early, and text Mom.
Me: Saw what the tabloids are saying. Are you doing okay?
Mom: Of course, we are. Our publicist was going to release a statement that it’s false, but sometimes when you do that people assume you’re trying to cover it up.
Me: So it’s better to not say anything? Does it upset you?
Mom: Of course, it’s upsetting when people say stuff about you that’s not true. But it’s part of the business. Don’t worry about the tabloids. Remember, the only people you should care about what they think, are the people you love.
Me: That’s good advice. I love you, Mom. I have to go. The bell just rang.
Mom: We all love you too.
Aiden sits down behind me. He’s dressed for Western Day in a way that reminds me of my grandpa. He’s got on a soft cotton western shirt with pearl snap buttons, Rag & Bone jeans, and a pair of brown leather cowboy boots. The boots are scuffed and well-worn. I can picture him riding a horse around their vineyard, wearing the boots, stopping to have a glass of wine.
“Guess what?” he says.
“You like my boots?” I say, holding up my feet to show off my faded red boots.
“I do like your boots. They look cute with the lace dress.”
“Thank you. I noticed your boots are worn. They your favorite pair?”
“Actually, they are. I wear them nonstop when I’m back home. But that’s not what I was going to tell you.”
“What were you going to tell me?”
“I’m going to be competing against your boyfriend for Mr. Eastbrooke.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Got picked by the soccer team.”
“You’ll probably make a good looking girl. You and Peyton look a lot alike. So are you going to dance for everyone? Finally show them how good you are?”
He shakes his head. “No. Guys never dance. They all do a cheer.”
“And I thought you weren’t like all the other guys?” I tease.
“I told you. No one has ever seen me dance like that. Everyone would think it’s weird.”
“I wouldn’t think it was weird. I’d think it was awesome. Besides, the only people you should care what they think are the people that you love.”
“And those people will be seeing me do a cheer.”
I think about the cheerleader comment from last night. About how Nick said “lived it.” How cheerleaders must be his thing.
The dream girl must be a cheerleader.
That’s probably the real reason he wants to a cheer. So he can ask her to teach him.
“Whatever. I’m just saying, you dance like you can, you’ll win.”
“Have you ever seen a Mr. Eastbrooke competition?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know if I’d win or not. And you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about how I can dance.”
I shrug my shoulder. “You’re secret is safe with me. But you break out the dance moves you have and your competition does a stupid cheer, you’ll win. Common sense tells me that.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not the dance that wins, it’s how you look.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
Thursday, October 6th
A little skimpy.
1:30pm.
I don’t attend very many classes today. No one does, really. We all get out of class for different reasons. Some get called back to their dorms by their dorm advisors to make their rooms spotless for the alumni tours. Others are finishing up the floats for the parade. Others get out of class to take pictures for the yearbook. Most of the band goes off to practice marching.
Today is officially Sports Day, so I’m wearing Dawson’s football jersey, a red sequined skirt, and tall white athletic socks with stripes of red sequins at the top.
I take Dawson to the drama department to find him a wig and do a test drive on his makeup for Mr. Eastbrooke.
“Here, try this,” I say, putting a pirate hat on his head.
He does a Captain Morgan pose then grabs me. “Ahoy, my little matey. Want me to show you my sword?”
I kiss his neck and then giggle. “Stop that. We need to be serious about this if you want to win.”
He grabs a teeny little costume off a rack. “You should put this on, be my little cowgirl.”
“You’ll actually get to see me in that costume in the play. I’m a cheerleader for a professional football team.”
He narrows his eyes at me.
“Don’t be mad. It’s a little skimpy, but it’s a short scene.”
“I’ll make you a deal. Borrow it and wear it for me in my room, and I won’t give you shit about the play.”
“Hmmm. Deal.”
I rummage through a cabinet and pull out a long blonde wig and a shorter brunette one. “Which way do you want to go, blonde or brunette?”
He puts the blonde wig on his head. “Blondes have more fun. You’re fun.”
I look at the blonde wig on him. “Um, they maybe do, but I don’t think you’re very convincing as a blonde. Is the goal for you to look pretty or funny?”
“Pretty. Do you want to see my cheer?”
He leaves the blonde wig on and starts a cheer. “Be Aggressive. B-E Aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E. BE AGGRESSIVE.” He uses a high-pitched voice that sounds hysterical coming from such a buff guy. “Gooooo Cougarssss!”
I can’t help but laugh.
“You totally butchered that cheer.”
“Yeah, I need a little more work on the motions. I can remember football plays, but these stupid arm motions are just confusing.”
“Do you want me to help you? I know that cheer.”
“Maybe you can come teach me in my room. I’d probably learn it better if we were naked.”
“If you were naked, there wouldn’t be any cheering going on.”