“Um, well, I'm hoping eventually that will be classified.”
Cooper stifles a chuckle.
“What?” the dean asks.
“I’m good with languages, sir. I'm a good actress. I'm smart and athletic. When we did our career surveys with our counselor, mine came up with a career that I’m really interested in. A CIA operative. I've always read spy novels and realized it was totally, like, my calling. And Miss Praline told me all the stuff I needed to start working on now, because it’s really tough to get selected.”
I turn to Cooper. “Even you’ve heard that, right, Coach Steele?”
Cooper flashes his dimples at me and nods at the dean. “That is correct.”
“And I think I’m mostly prepared except for two things. I need to learn how to protect myself and, of course, I’ll need to learn how to shoot a gun. After soccer one day, Coach Steele was punching the bag in the gym, and I remembered that he was an accomplished MMA fighter. So I asked him to teach me.”
“Begged him,” Cooper counters.
“Yes, begged him to teach me. And it’s good for him too. Like, so he can keep up with his skills.”
Cooper rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
But I continue. “And that day we were both gone. I'm sorry if it was inappropriate for us to go together, but there was this fight. In Atlantic City.”
“I wanted her to see it in person. I didn't think she really understood the savageness of it all.”
“He's not going to get in trouble, is he? He's a really good soccer coach.”
Dean shakes his head at me. “The CIA?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Interesting. Do you have much left of your lesson?”
Cooper looks at the clock on the wall. “About 10 more minutes.”
“I think I’ll stay and watch the rest, then.”
“Awesome,” I say, loving the idea of having an audience. “You can tell me if I'm any good. Coach Steele says that I still suck.”
The dean sits in a chair, while we pull our face masks back down and get into position.
Cooper quickly strikes, but I’m ready for him with a block. Then I grab his arm, spin under him and elbow him in the ribs.
When we’re done, the dean offers to walk me back to my dorm.
“So is that CIA stuff really true?” he asks me.
“Yes, sir. It is. You can ask Miss Praline.”
“I will,” he says.
Tuesday, November 22nd
That bird thing.
History
I get a long text from Grandma.
Grandma: I heard a quote at the hair salon this morning. One of those women has a facepage and that bird thing. She has been chirping or twittering or something. We were talking about getting older and how this applies to us, but I also think it’s good advice for any age.
Life is not measured by the quantity of breaths we take, but rather by the moments that took our breath away.
Your Grandpa took my breath away when I first met him. And when he asked me to marry him on a horseback, I knew, even before he proposed, that something special was about to happen, but it still took my breath away. His reaction when I told him I was pregnant with your father. The first time I saw him holding your father in his arms. I could go on and on. My point is, if someone is special enough to take your breath away on numerous occasions, keep them in your life. Even if they are a pain in the ass like your Grandpa . . .
I think about the moments that have taken my breath away.
When I saw Gracie right after she was born.
When Avery first said, I wuv you, Kiki.
When B helped me catch my first big wave.
When he told me I was desirable.
When he told me the waves didn’t miss me, he did.
When we were in the hammock and he told me he loved me.
When we watched the sunrise every time we went out surfing.
When my little sisters all gave me gifts before I came here.
When I saw Aiden’s face in the goal.
When I accidentally brushed into him at the café.
When he gave me the clover.
When he kissed me on the Ferris wheel.
When I saw the twinkle lights.
When he told me he was going to ask me to marry him someday.
When he said it was fate that I was here.
When we watched the sunset.
When he danced at the pep rally.
When he brought me the cake.
When he stood in my loft.
When we were in the limo.
When he woke me up by rubbing my face.
I could go on and on.
Aiden has been taking my breath away from the moment I laid eyes on him.
Solely for her entertainment.
Lunch
Somehow, by the time lunch rolls around, everyone is aware of the fact that Whitney wrongly accused me and Cooper of having an affair. The rumor mill is going crazy and a simple mistake is taking on a life of its own. I’ve heard that’s she’s been out to get me all year. That she’s jealous of me. That she’s mad Peyton and I are friends. That she did it because I dated Dawson. That she wanted Cooper for herself. That Cooper turned her down. That she’s dropping out of Eastbrooke. That she’s going to be suspended after break. That she told the dean to shove it.
All are possible, I suppose, but it all just seems a bit off.
In fact, it reminds me of a publicity stunt.
I wander through the lunch line looking for something appetizing and end up with an apple and a piece of chocolate cake. I go sit down with everyone and look at them. Katie and Bryce, Maggie and Logan, Annie and Ace, Jake, Dawson, Peyton, Shark, and Aiden, all smiling and happily discussing their holiday plans.
Well, except for Aiden. He looks as miserable as I feel.
I glance away from him, not wanting to make eye contact and accidentally get caught in his tractor beams.
Instead, Peyton catches my eye with hers. She smirks at me and then darts her eyes toward the popular table where Whitney is just getting ready to sit down.
Alone.
Dawson, Bryce, Peyton, and the last remaining minion aren’t there.
Peyton knew that Whitney thought we were having an affair. I told her about my lessons. She knew if Whitney accused me, I wouldn’t get in trouble.
I look at the smug look on Peyton’s face.
And know that she set this up.
Because this is exactly what she wanted.
Whitney sitting on her throne all by herself.
I’m not sure what Peyton expected, but Whitney doesn't look the least bit upset. She’s sitting with her shoulders back and her head held high. She even looks out at the rest of the room like we’re here solely for her entertainment.
Although I didn’t see Vanessa and RiAnne when they were sitting alone at our lunch table the day I threw the party, I know without a doubt that Vanessa looked just like that.
And I get up.
Peyton grabs my arm and says, “Where are you going?”
“She’s sitting there all by herself.”
“You’re going to sit with her after what she did to you last night? She tried to get you expelled!”
“Why do I feel like maybe she had some encouragement? You wanted this. You’ve been slowly chipping away at the table since Homecoming. But what you don’t understand is that it’s going to backfire on you.” I stop and study her smug smile. Her crossed arms. Her cocky attitude. I shake my head at her and say sadly, “Actually, it already has. In your quest to get back at her for being a bitch, you’ve become a bigger bitch than she is.”
I ignore the gasps from my friends over what I just said.
And I know all eyes are on me when I walk over and sit down across from Whitney.
“You’re the last person I thought would sit with me today,” she says, not even trying to hide her surprise.