He goes and sits back down with his friends, who don’t say boo to us. I’m pretty sure that’s not a good thing. I also notice that Peyton, who was super nice to me today, hasn’t even acknowledged my presence. For sure Whitney is the Queen, and Peyton is her minion.
Well, actually, I’m pretty sure that Peyton is just like me. The old me.
Dallas and I puff and pass.
Pretty soon we’re giggling about Riley and all the corny things he said trying to impress me.
Then I remember the Hottie god.
I tell Dallas, “So first he’s telling me how he’s this sensitive guy, and then he said I look like his next girlfriend. And I can’t help it, it’s not just the weed. I mean him telling me that was, like, classic. Something fit for the movies. How not to impress a girl.”
I’m leaning against Dallas and having a bit of a giggle fit when he pokes my side.
I look up.
Standing in front of me, not giggling, is the God of all Hotties himself.
Oh, shit. Busted.
I don’t know what to say. I go with, “Uh, hey. Aiden, right?”
He nods and walks away.
Dallas and I giggle some more.
And, somehow, when our heads are together, laughing, Dallas starts kissing me. And he’s a really nice kisser.
Friday, August 26th
A perfect four-leaf clover.
7:30am
Up early and ready for a full day, even though my body is saying, Keatyn, it’s four-thirty at home; please go back to bed.
But I can’t. I’m too excited.
I know, I shouldn’t be excited, but if I’m stuck here for a while, I might as well make the best of it.
This morning we’re meeting our student leaders for the school tour, pointers, etc.
I walk into the gym and we break up into our groups. Our group is all girls, and Peyton excitedly tells us about the welcome back dance, all the different clubs, things like curfews, visiting the boys dorms, places the boys like to hang out. I find it all very useful.
I do notice that not once does she mention the smoking spot we were at last night.
Then she leads us to the cafe, which is what they call the dining hall, where booths have been set up for each activity so we can learn about and sign up to be in clubs, activities, and sports. All the extracurricular activities are represented.
I sign up for student council, checking the box that says I'm interested in running for office. Peyton says, “Leadership material—good girl.”
Peyton seems really genuine and nice. Maybe I was wrong about her. Could Whitney be nice too?
I sign up for French club, spirit club, and, of course, soccer.
“So what all are you in?” I ask Peyton.
“I’m captain of the dance team. Soccer captain. I’m also student council secretary, president of the French club, founded the literary club, and I’m on the highly coveted social committee. Something you’re hand-selected to join. Something you would probably be good at, seeing as how you already discovered the cave.”
“The cave?”
“The place you were at last night.” She has that keep-it-on-the-down-low look in her eyes. I nod. Got it.
She signs me up for literary club because I told her I love to read, and then she says, “You should try out for dance team.”
“I thought I couldn’t. Weren’t tryouts in May?”
“They were, but due to unforeseen circumstances,” she lowers her voice, “as in one girl got pregnant and the other two got sent to rehab, we have three spots open. So far only fifteen girls have signed up. You have the body of a dancer. Do you dance?”
“I’ve taken a lot of dance classes over the years, so yeah, I guess.”
“Just try out,” she says and puts my name on the paper.
Her enthusiasm is catching, and she has all of her girls signed up for all sorts of clubs that fit their individual interests. She told us that getting involved in lots of things is how we’ll meet people, which, in turn, will make our time here really fun.
That and the tours take up most of the morning. We go to lunch, but I can’t eat a thing. I can never eat before a soccer game. And I’m not that nervous for soccer tryouts, but yet, I am. After my little soccer stunt, I feel like I need to do well. Plus, I love the game. I want to do well.
I find out from another girl trying out that since the school is smallish, everyone makes the team. Which makes me feel better. At least I know if the competition is really stiff, I won’t look like a loser who didn’t make it. And I know if I work hard, I’ll play. She said tryouts are just to determine your level of ability, so the coaches can decide what team they want you on. Freshman, JV, or Varsity.
I’m all suited up and jogging a few laps around the field when I notice the Hottie strolling down the bleachers with some friends.
Dammit. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? Isn’t he supposed to be practicing football or using his godly charms on someone?
But then I realize his sister Peyton is helping with tryouts, as are a few other girls from the team who are here to help with orientation.
So it’s not like he’s here just to watch me.
Except he’s staring at me, and then he gives me a little wave. Well, I think he waved at me. I turn around and see if there’s someone behind me that he could have been waving at.
No one’s back there.
When I turn back around, he points directly at me.
So I give him a little wave back.
Shit. Focus.
Do not let the Hottie distract you.
He's a player.
He's a player.
But I can’t quit thinking about how he looked last night. That hurt puppy dog look in his eyes when I was telling Dallas about his lameness.
I close my eyes and picture myself on a surfboard, slicing through the water. I’m instantly calm. I don't look back to the bleachers because I don't want to know if he’s still there or not.
I get in the zone and focus on the technical drills the coach has us doing. She times us running the 40-yard dash, then kicks us one ball after another that we are to kick into the unguarded goal. We do penalty shots, headers, dribbling, and then she splits us up to scrimmage. I was told to play the center attack position against a very solid looking girl. The kind of girl that looks like she could tear my head off and spit it out before lunch.
But the girl is surprisingly cool.
She shakes my hand and says, “Good luck.” But then she adds, “You're gonna need it, skinny minnie.”
So here's the thing. I might not have brute strength, but skinny minnies can run way faster than people with brute strength. I pretty much embarrass her by stealing the ball, dribbling it down the field, and passing it to an open teammate. The teammate shrugs off her defender, passes it back to me, and, boom, I score.
And make it look easy.
I feel pretty good about tryouts. I think I will make Varsity.
I drag my sweaty ass toward the locker room. I have exactly thirty-seven minutes to regroup, change, and get to dance team tryouts.
Part of me is afraid to try out, but the other part is really excited to have the chance to make it this year. Being on the dance team was not considered cool by Vanessa and RiAnne. They thought it was one thing to work out to keep your body fit with a personal trainer or in your home gym, but another thing to be seen doing it.
As I round the corner to enter the field house, there is Hottie again.
He holds up a sack and grins at me.
“What's that?”
“Peyton told me she talked you into signing up for dance team. Tryouts start pretty soon, so I brought you some lunch. I noticed you didn’t eat anything earlier.”
How did he know that? Was he watching me? Did he take pictures?
The thought of him watching me momentarily freaks me out.