“You know why I get mad, don’t you?”
“Yes. You jump to conclusions about things that you shouldn’t. Half the time you don’t let me finish my sentence before you go storming off. And then you pretend punch my head.”
He bends down and kisses the top of my forehead. “I’m sorry. I promise not to pretend punch your head ever again.”
I smile at him. “Thank you.”
He looks at his phone. “It’s my sister. She’s called me four times. Hang on.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t realize it was that late. It’s fine. Don’t worry. And yes, she’s with me.”
“Are we in trouble for skipping French?”
“We didn’t just skip French, Boots. School’s out. You’re supposed to be in the dance locker room and I’m supposed to be getting ready for the game.”
I sit up quickly. “What time is it?”
“5:45.”
“Ohmigosh! Are we going to be in trouble?”
“Tell you what. I’ll go talk to the dean. You go get ready for dance.”
I clean my face up as best as I can, straighten my red game day skirt, pull the short Cougars jersey down, and run to the field house. My hair is still damp around my face from all the tears that fell into it, and it’s chilly in the cool air.
Just as I open the door to the field house, Dawson confronts me.
And he’s pissed.
“Where have you been?”
“I was in the chapel.”
“With Aiden?”
I try hard not to start crying again. “Yes.”
Dawson closes his hands into tight fists. He looks ready to punch anyone who comes near him. “Were you hooking up with him?”
“Do I look like someone who’s been hooking up? Look at my face, Dawson. I have no makeup left on. I’m sure my eyes are all red. Do I look happy to you? You have got to stop this jealous bullshit and trust me. I had a horrible day, thanks for asking. And now I’m late.”
I push my way past him and into the dance locker room, where freaking Peyton meets me at the door.
She looks pissed, but then she really looks at me, sees the mess that I am, and pulls me into a hug. “Are you okay? Did you and Dawson break up?”
“Dawson and I aren’t going out, so we can’t break up.”
She steers me out of the dance room and into a field house bathroom and says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Flavor of the week.
7:30pm
I screw up every single dance number I do. I can’t concentrate. Can’t keep one train of thought.
I want to check my phone, but our dance advisor makes us leave them in our lockers during the game. I’m the first one into the locker room at halftime. We have exactly eight minutes before we have to be on the field to perform with the band.
There is one message from Garrett.
Garrett: We’ve tapped into Vincent’s phone records. (Don’t ask.) He only made one call last night to his office number. We assume that’s when he told them he wouldn’t be in. Haven’t seen or heard from him or Vanessa. RiAnne responded to your Facebook message. She asked a bunch of questions about you, but said she is really worried about Vanessa. She said she even tried to reach Vanessa’s dad, but that he is not answering his phone. She says she is “freaking out worried.” We are in the process of running their credit cards. We’re proceeding as if it’s a kidnapping at this point. It’s been nearly 24 hours.
My throat drops into my stomach.
Me: If she’s not found by tomorrow morning, I’m getting on a plane and coming home.
Garrett: You will do nothing. Understand me. Nothing. Please do not compound this situation for me.
Me: I can’t sit here in hiding while my friend is wherever with him. I can’t.
Garrett: I am sending someone to sit outside your school. If you attempt to leave, you will be detained. Do you understand me?
“Come on, girls! Move!” Peyton yells and I’m hustled out the door.
It takes everything I have to put on a smile and perform at halftime. I focus on the dance. Try to lose myself in the music. Try to forget everything and focus on the steps. The moves.
The rest of the halftime show is a blur and pretty soon we are lined up with the cheerleaders to cheer for the team’s return to the field.
Dawson runs by me without touching me. He always hits my skirt playfully when he comes on the field. I know he’s mad at me. He’ll be even madder when I tell him I’m not going this weekend.
I’m shaking my pompoms but lost in thought about how I can get out of here without Garrett knowing.
A big body in a uniform stops in front of me and faces me.
It’s Aiden. I can see those gorgeous green eyes peering out from his helmet.
He grabs both my arms gently. “Have you heard anything?”
I’m too shocked that he stopped in the middle of their big entrance to respond. I just shake my head no.
He leans his helmet against my forehead and says, “It’ll be okay. I promise.”
Then he runs toward the rest of the team.
When he gets to the players’ area, Dawson grabs him by the facemask.
I don’t know what they are saying, but I can tell by Dawson’s body language that he’s pissed. Aiden grabs Dawson’s hand and pulls it off his facemask then he shoves Dawson away. Dawson is just getting ready to throw himself back at Aiden when Jake steps in between them and appears to get in Dawson’s face. Then he pushes Dawson away from Aiden and over to the bench.
I run with the cheerleaders and the dance team to our assigned spots for the start of the second half, where I say a prayer that Aiden is right.
After we come off the field from our third quarter dance, Whitney is standing by the fence. She waves Peyton over. Who then waves me over.
I walk over thinking, Now, what?
Peyton runs back to the edge of the field as Whitney says, “Keatyn.”
“What did you need, Whitney?”
She sighs a big fake sigh. “This is kind of awkward, seeing as you were sitting at the table when I invited everyone, but you know that you’re not invited this weekend, right?”
Wow. She’s telling me this now. About an hour before we’re set to leave. She so planned this.
But I don’t care.
“I have no desire to spend a weekend with you, Whitney.”
“You know that he’s just using you. You’re just the flavor of the week. He and Rachel are hooking up this weekend. He’s been texting her all week. I’m just telling you that now, as a friend. I don’t want you to be all upset come Monday and embarrass yourself by trying to sit with us at lunch. That little ticket has been revoked too.” She stops, gives me a big fake smile, and then pats my hand sympathetically. “Okay. Good talk.”
The rest of the game I wrestle with what to do. I want to go home and find Vanessa. I want to tell Dawson what Whitney said. I want him to tell her that he likes me and that he doesn’t care what she thinks. I want him to stand up for me. I want him to commit social suicide for me.
But then I realize that we really haven’t talked about it. He didn’t actually invite me to go with him this weekend. He said he would go, but he and I haven’t talked about it once. I just assumed.
Does that mean it’s true? That he’s going to hook up with Rachel?
Has he really been texting her?
I want to fight Whitney. I really do. I want to tell her off in front of everyone. I want to wipe that smug little smile right off her bitch face.
But I can’t.
I have a much bigger battle to worry about.
After the game, I call Garrett to get an update. He doesn’t have much for me. He asks me to please sit tight tonight. Not do anything stupid and call him in the morning. That if she’s not back, he’ll meet me in New York and fly home with me.
I grab my bag. I was all packed and ready to leave right after the game. Whitney told everyone the limos would pick them up straight from the field house. I’m running late after talking to Garrett. I want to be able to talk to Dawson before he leaves. I’m still not sure what I’m going to say, but I want to at least talk to him.
As I come out of the door, I see one limo pull away and another with the door open. Whitney is standing outside it with Dawson standing next to her. Rachel is right behind him. I slide over into the bushes. I don’t want Whitney to see me standing here.