Stalk Me (44 page)

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. 

Calm down, Keatyn. The boy is not a stalker. 

I don’t think.

“That’s really nice of you,” I say politely as I sit down on a bench next to him.

Now that I’m done freaking out, I’m thinking, Oh. My. Gosh. 

Is that not the sweetest thing evvvverrrr?

“I have an ulterior motive.”

“I'm not stripping for you after the dance,” I tease. 

“Well I would hope not, or then I
will
have to call you by your slutty name.” 

I roll my eyes at him and giggle. 

Oh, please, stop with the nervous giggling. Be cool.

“So do all new students get such a welcome?” I ask him.

“Only the hot ones.” His eyes get big when he realizes he pretty much admitted he does this for any girl he deems hot.  

Like I thought, total player.

I wonder how many other lunches he’s handed out today? I want to bare my teeth and growl at him. 

“I bet that means you have a nice full dance card and probably won’t have time to dance with me.”

“That didn't come out right,” he sighs. “It was supposed to be a compliment. I really am way more smooth than this. Usually.”

“Then stop trying so hard. Just tell me about yourself, get to know me. I'm a lot more than some girl that can kick a soccer ball with her boots on.” 

Oh. Shit. Why did I say that? I don’t want to get to know him. 

I just want to make friends. Meet some nice people. 

I’m avoiding boys like him.

“My sister said you signed up to run for student council officer. That takes guts to do on your first day, and you don't strike me as one of those girls who has to do everything. Like those super overachievers.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty much just happy slacking.”

“I, uh, didn't mean to suggest you're a slacker.” 

“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time, and I’m so sorry about last night, at the cave.”

“It’s okay, I probably deserved it. I did sound pretty lame. Um, why don't you ask me some questions?” 

“Okay. So, do you play goalie full time or is it just a hobby?”

“Full time goalie. I'm also a tight end and kicker for the football team, and I play basketball too.” 

“That’s cool. So what do you like to do for fun, besides sports?” 

He stares deep into my eyes. “I think I'd like to do nothing but stare into your eyes.” 

Seriously? 

This guy is full of freaking lines. I hate him! 

I roll my eyes at him. “Okay, so lunch was great, thanks.” I start to get up. 

“Wait. I just mean they are such a cool color. They are so blue, but then when the light hits them they look almost purple. Are they real?”

“Last time I checked.”

This guy’s a dick, gorgeous or not.

“I just meant, gosh.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks frustrated. “They’re such a cool color. I thought maybe they were colored contacts.” 

“Nope, all me.” I shove the rest of the turkey and Swiss sandwich down my throat and say, “So, thanks, but I gotta go change.” 

I walk into the field house angrily, rush into the girls’ locker room, and quickly brush my hair back into a new ponytail and pull my bangs out of my face with a barrette. I wash my soccer sweat off with a wet towel, and throw on some powder and a bit of mascara. It’s gonna have to do. 

Or I'm gonna be late. 

I bang through the door and run smack into Aiden. 

He says, “Sorry,” looks shyly at the ground, and then back up at me. He's holding a small green leaf in his hand. “Here, I found this. Open your hand.”

I put my palm up toward him, and he lays a perfect four-leaf clover in it. 

“Good luck,” he says, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. 

It’s really quite adorable, and I can't decide now if he's a jerk or not. 

I'm leaning toward not. 

“Thanks.” I gently place the clover in my bag, see the two Hershey’s kisses Gracie gave me, and grab them. “Want one?” 

Aiden smiles and says, “My favorite,” and pops it in his mouth. 

I eat mine, while feeling slightly jealous of the kiss that just melted in Aiden’s mouth, and bounce happily over to the auditorium for dance tryouts. 

Tryouts aren’t really that hard. They have us memorize two simple dance routines, one with pompoms and one without. Then we perform both individually and in a group. We spend about two hours learning them, and about fifteen minutes on the actual tryouts. Luckily, I am one of the first girls picked to do my individual routine, so I don’t have to sit there and wait nervously.

I have no idea how I do. I know the routine. And I know big smiles are important for dance performers. Besides, I couldn't fake the smile on my face no matter how good an actor I might ever be. 

The kiss on the cheek and four-leaf clover from Aiden has me grinning from ear to ear.

Still.

And I’m finding myself really looking forward to the all school mixer tonight.

A cheap imitation.

5:15pm

I go back to my dorm, take a quick shower, do my hair up, and am thinking about getting dressed when my roommate, Morgan, comes in and sits on her bed. She’s only unpacked her bedding, which I’m kinda surprised by, because she does seem like one of those annoying overachiever types.

I mean, I’m fine with being an achiever; she just seems like she tries too hard. But I figure I’ll make the best of it and be nice to her. 

“So, have you figured out what you’re going to wear to the mixer?” I ask her.

She stares at my gorgeous ocean poster. “I hate the water.”

“You hate the water? Did you, like, almost drown or get bitten by a shark? Everyone loves the water.”

“No, I just prefer the electricity of a big city.”

And the anonymity, I would think, as well. But I don’t say that. I’m not going to be bitchy. “Well, yeah, but some cities, like Miami have both.”

She sighs at me. “I also don’t think I can live with Malibu Barbie.” 

I panic! How could she know that? Does everyone know? I’m supposed to be from L.A. This could be any beach. Shit!

I gulp. “What makes you think I’m from Malibu?”

I also realize this the second time in two days I’ve had a quote from
Legally Blonde
thrown at me. 

“It was kind of a slam. Gee, you’re dumber than I thought. So I’m moving in with a girl I’m going to be in band with. She isn’t happy with her roommate either, so her roommate is going to move in with you.”

“Uh, no. They said we can’t switch roommates. You can’t just ditch me!”

I’m getting ditched by a four-eyed band geek?! On my second day? How totally uncool am I?

“I talked to the advisor about it, and she said we can switch if all four of us agree. And since when are you a rule follower anyway? You came in a half hour after curfew!”

“I was in the dorm before curfew, but there were a few girls still up, so we were talking a little. Getting to know one another. You should try it.”

She ignores my snarky comment. “I’ll introduce you to your new roommate tonight. You both tried out for the dance team, so you’ll probably get along just fine.” Then she walks out the door.

And I’m thinking, well, maybe she will be better.

I’m kinda impressed that Morgan had the balls and the resourcefulness to get all this figured out. I’m thinking maybe I should try to be friends with her, but then I realize she’s already biased against me. Against the beach, against my tan, against my late nights, and I don’t really think I want to take the time to convince her I’m anything more than that. Besides, I have to finish getting dressed and do my makeup perfectly. 

The God of all Hotties better watch out!

I’m also starting to realize that Brooklyn might’ve been right. I might want to date a boy here. 

Oh, crap. No. No dating boys here. 

Well, maybe I could date a few boys, but
absolutely
no falling in love.