“Tommy! This is my personal life here! Do not laugh at it.”
“Calm down. Breathe. If he’s a player and was just playing, he’ll lose interest and move on. If it was love, true love, he won’t give up, even if it takes a while. Be patient. Sometimes true love takes a bit.”
“Mom said she knew the minute she shook your hand.”
“And I contend I knew it before, the second she walked in the room. I just felt this magnetic pull to her. Like gravity.”
“That’s not what she says. She says it took you a while to figure it out.”
“No, I knew. I just didn’t want her to think she had me whipped. And I sorta couldn’t believe it was happening to me. After all the women I’d been with. And then, boom! I tried to pretend it wasn’t real at first. And don’t forget, I’m a good actor. She couldn’t figure me out. Hey, it’s late there. You should be asleep.”
“I know. . . . Tommy?”
“What, baby?”
“Do you think the stalker will forget about me?”
“Garrett seems to think things will get worse before they get better.”
“Get worse, how?”
“He’ll get frustrated that he can’t find you. If he gets frustrated, he might become more scary.”
“Maybe we should just let him find me. Set him up. Then once we have proof that he was trying to kidnap me, they could arrest him.”
“It sounds good in theory, but if something went wrong we’d never forgive ourselves.”
I sigh loudly.
“But the good news is we had security trailing him when we left for New York. He didn’t follow us, so you’re safe for now.”
“Tommy, you’re a big star. How do you know who your real friends are?”
“That can be tough sometimes. Usually I know someone is a friend if they tell me the truth. In this industry, a lot of times people tell me what they think I want to hear.”
“They don’t want to piss you off?”
“Exactly. A true friend would want to piss me off.”
“There’s a mean girl here. She’s apparently telling everyone the only reason I have money is because we hit the lottery.”
Tommy laughs. “That’s funny. I suppose that makes your money not good enough?”
I laugh too. “I don’t know. Who cares? Money is money. All it’s good for is buying stuff.”
“Your mom raised you right. A lot of people think money is the most important thing in life.”
“I lost my dad, Tommy. I’m pretty sure I know it’s not.”
“Yeah, I know, baby. So are you behaving at school?”
“Uh, mostly. Kinda, yeah.”
“Mostly, kinda, yeah?”
“I’m not doing drugs, getting drunk, or having sex, so I guess I’m being pretty damn good.”
“Good to hear. Get your beauty sleep. Mommy and I love you.”
“I love you too, Tommy. Thanks, really.”
Wednesday, August 31st
Seven minutes until class.
7:48am
Stayed up way too late last night.
Note to self: stop staying out until 2:30 with Dallas. Must have beauty sleep or some kind of decent sleep.
I’m so tired, there’s no way I’m going to get breakfast before class. I’ll be lucky to be dressed in today’s uniform combo, which is the plaid skort, white long-sleeved tee under a red sweater vest. Little girl white socks with ankle bows, Charlotte Olympia red Kitty flats, Miu Miu red patent leather headband, and straight hair. I look like the perfect little preppy schoolgirl today. The girl who is probably going to have to sprint across campus to make it to History before the bell rings.
I guess that makes the flats the perfect fashion choice!
I text Riley.
Me: You still at breakfast?
Sex God: Yuuh, where are you?
Me: Hung with Dallas last night. Very tired :(
Sex God: I hate you. Invite me next time!
Me: Okay :) I’m soooo late, will you bring me food to class?
Sex God: Sure. What do you want?
Me: Skinny soy chai latte, maybe some of that pound cake? Or a banana or a whole grain bagel. I’d be grateful for anything, really.
Sex God: I’ll see what I can scrounge up.
Me: You are THE best friend ever!!!
Sex God: My brother’s becoming obsessed with you.
Me: Haha!! No, he’s not!
Sex God: Um, yeah. You serious about him? I thought you were in love with the hottie god. Dawson doesn’t need to have another girl string him along, you know?
Me: Your brother still loves Whitney. That’s why we are just being friends.
Sex God: Friends who kiss, apparently. Btw, you have 7 minutes to be at class.
Me: Shit!!!
Watching a car wreck.
French
Annie plops down in her seat a few minutes before class is ready to start and beams at me.
“Okay, so I was up all night editing, and, oh my gosh, these are some of the best pictures I have ever taken! I can’t wait to show you!”
As she turns on her computer, Aiden sits in his desk behind me.
I realize I forgot to check the back of my hair after lunch. And Dawson was messing with it. Teasing me. Whispering in my ear. He is really pretty freaking cute.
But then there’s Aiden.
Aiden is beyond cute.
Like Buzz Lightyear says, To infinity and beyond.
Aiden is cute to infinity and beyond.
And even though he is sitting behind me and I can’t see his mouth, I still feel his magnetic pull. Like my heart and soul know things my mind doesn’t.
Is it like those birds that migrate back to the same spot every year? Their bodies just know where to fly. Does my body just know that Aiden is where I belong?
OMG!
Stop it!
Stop thinking these stupid, stupid things.
Maybe I should drop French. I think you can still switch classes this week. And, really, I can speak better than the teacher. Plus, do I really need to be tortured by having a god sitting behind me every day?
I tell Annie, “I’m thinking about dropping this class.”
From behind me I hear Aiden say, “Why would you do that?”
“Speak to me in French,” I tell him.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Ask me where the bathroom is. Tell me you want to order chicken. I don’t care, just tell me a simple sentence.”
“Um, vous êtes une fille.”
“Yes, you’re right, I am a girl. You got anything else?”
“Uh, très jolie?”
“Very pretty? Who is very pretty? You have to make a complete sentence.”
“I’m trying to say you’re very pretty. I just don’t know how.”
“And that is why I’m thinking about switching classes.”
“No, stay. You can tutor me. I suck at French. And, worst case, you get an easy A.”
I rant. “Tutor vous? Comme je pouvais m'asseoir que près de vous et de ne pas être tiré dans votre rayon tracteur. Sérieusement?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind,” is what I say to him, but what I actually said was, Tutor you? Like I could sit that close to you and not be pulled into your tractor beam. Seriously?
But then I think, maybe tutoring him wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I could see that he’s not really a god. That he’s just a stupid boy. Because shouldn’t the God of all Hotties be able to speak French a little better? I mean, it is the language of love. Shouldn’t he be pre-programmed for that or something?
“I’d really like it if you tutored me.” He sounds both sweet and sincere when he says it and, somehow, I find myself agreeing.
Annie says excitedly, “Here! Look! These pictures turned out so good! Wait! Let me show you my favorite first. I showed it to my teacher this morning, and she says it’s so good, so full of emotion, that I should enter it in the state photography competition. Would you be okay with that? I told her I thought you would be. And, oh, Keatyn, I didn’t tell you! Ace texted me last night after the game! Can you believe that? Isn’t he just so cute?”