What am I doing?
Screw it.
The scenes I write never seem to happen. I’m done planning it all out. Planning for every contingency. That’s the old me. That’s the me that Vanessa liked. The girl that always behaved exactly how she was supposed to.
I’m going to live in the moment, because if this doesn’t work and the stalker finds me, I might not have that many moments left.
This is the script of my life, and I’m in charge of living it. I don’t care what crazy teen girl would do.
This is about what I want to do. I’m wadding up the script and throwing it in the trash.
Right now I want to run down there, steal the ball, and kick it in the goal.
And I’m gonna do it. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
I’m confident. I’m good at soccer, and it’ll be fun.
I look down at the boots Cush gave me. They make me feel confident. Not that cowboy boots are the best for kicking a soccer ball. They’re good for shit kicking, Grandpa says, but what the hell.
The ball is heading toward me as we walk closer.
Here goes nothing.
I take off suddenly, run down the little hill, intercept the ball from the gorgeous, shirtless boy it was getting passed to, dribble the ball down the field, and kick the ball straight into the goal.
Right around the extremely—and I mean super de duper, super extremely hottie hott hot—hottie.
Like he is seriously the God of All Hotties.
I don’t say anything and neither do the boys on the field. I think I sorta shocked them.
The goalie for sure.
I give the Hottie god a big grin. A Haha, I just totally scored on you grin. Then I jog back up the field to my new friends, who stopped to watch me.
Then I think, why in the world did I just do that? I didn’t look like some cool girl! I probably looked like some freaking lunatic.
Shit. I’m such a liar. I do care what people think.
I’m gonna go hide in my room, cut my hair and dye it, and pretend to be someone new tomorrow. I wonder if the Garrett will let me change my name again?
But when I walk up to Dallas, he high fives me. “Dude, that was awesome! And in cowboy boots to boot. Haha!” He laughs at himself. “To boot, get it??”
Inwardly, I sigh with relief. Thank goodness, I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.
“Yeah, we get it,” I laugh.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. We’re gonna have some fun this year. I’m so glad you came up and hit on me.”
“I did not hit on you.”
“You asked Is this seat taken, and there was like this much space.” He puts his hands out and shows the others that there were like two inches.
“Maybe I just wanted to meet some boys. Some nice, fun to hang out with, boys. I figured the boys in the back were a good place to start. But if you had all turned out to be losers, then I woulda had to ditch you.”
“We still might ditch you.”
“No way,” Riley counters.
Dallas agrees, ruffles my hair, and says, “Yeah, now you’re, like, our mascot.”
“You have a nickname?” Riley asks.
“Um, my little sisters call me Kiki. Like key, key.”
“Kiki is a stripper name,” one of the freshmen boys chimes in.
“Uh, you’re not gonna call me Kiki.”
He scowls. “Fine. What’s your last name?”
I go blank. Forget my line. Shit. What is my last name?
If this were really the movie of my life, a stagehand would whisper it to me. Would it be weird if I wrote it on my hand?
“Um, Monroe.” I finally remember.
“K-mon?” a freshman suggests.
“That’s dumb,” Dallas tells him.
Riley says, “Well, Kiki it is then.”
Omg!
Seriously? Why did I open my mouth about Kiki? It totally sounds like a stripper name. And yeah, I want to get noticed, but I don’t want the boys to think I’m some strip tease slut.
My next girlfriend.
5:15pm
I get my room assignment and meet my roommate. Her name is Morgan. She’s also a new junior. She told me some story about a nasty divorce, that she plans on trying out for the debate team, that she plays a mean clarinet, and that she hopes to get on the student council.
It said in our packets that election campaigns start soon. I think I just decided to run. For president, maybe.
Crazy teen movie girl would do that.
And she’d win, and we’d all sit there in theater thinking, Yeah right; that never happens in real life.
But maybe it can. I can do it. I was always interested in Student Council, but Vanessa told me it wouldn’t be cool to run for something like that. She said men are threatened by powerful woman.
I didn’t really want to be powerful—I just wanted to help plan some dances and parties. But then Sander decided to run so, instead, I became a trophy and looked good on his arm.
I threw him a big Sander Volleyball Tournament. Get it . . . Sander: Sand? It was cute. We brought in all sorts of hot, bikini-clad girls and buff, shirtless guys to serve food and flirt with the guests. He won President by a landslide.
I think I will run. Worst case, I lose and get to know some people in the process.
Brooklyn’s zen shit must have rubbed off on me.
Morgan and I go to dinner together, but she ditches me for some girl she met earlier today. Which means I’m the loser who’s standing in the food line all by herself.
A girl walks up to me. A girl that is so freaking beautiful, her skin belongs in a Cover Girl ad.
“Hey, I’m Peyton. Sweet moves on the soccer field today. You totally scored on my brother. It was awesome.”
“The goalie was your brother?” I look at her closer and realize perfection runs in the family. I can still see the goalie if I close my eyes. The shock on his beautiful face, the stiffness of that chiseled jaw, the surprise in his brilliant green eyes as the ball sailed right by his gloved hand.
“Yeah, can you tell? Everyone says we look alike.”
I laugh. “It all happened pretty fast, but yeah, now that I know, I can tell.”
“Well, hopefully you can also tell me you’re trying out for the soccer team. I’m team captain this year.”
“Really? And yeah, I was planning on it. I love soccer.”
“Cool. See you tomorrow afternoon. Oh, hey, what’s your name?”
“Oh, sorry, it’s Keatyn.”
“Cool name. I think you’re in my student advisor group tomorrow. I get to show you all around school.”
“Can’t wait.” I don’t hide my lack of excitement.
“Don't worry. I’m not gonna show you all the boring things they want us to. We’ll have fun. See ya tomorrow.” She takes her tray and sits next to the gorgeous dark-haired boy I stole the ball from, an equally gorgeous brunette, and some other very cute boys, one of whom is the Jake guy who opened my car door earlier. I can tell right away: if there’s a popular table at this school, I’m looking at it.
For a second, I feel a longing to be popular.
A longing to sit at that table.
But, no. I’m not doing that here.
That’s the table I’ll be avoiding at all costs. I am never going to sit there.
The gorgeous brunette catches my eye, and I get the feeling that I’m being sized up as a threat. Her glare is very calculating, not at all like Peyton’s. And I already know. She’s the Queen of the table. She’s the Vanessa of this school.
I suddenly feel a little awkward.
Okay, I feel a lot awkward.
I try to smile and look confident while I look around and figure out where I’m going to sit. Do I go sit by some people I don't even know and introduce myself? Should I sit by myself? What would cool movie girl do?
I spot Dallas, and he waves me over.
I weave my way through the tables toward him. All of a sudden, the God of All Hotties, brother of Peyton, is standing in front of me blocking my way.