Stalk Me

“Have you talked to him about it?” Mom asks.

“No. And I don’t know why I haven’t.”

“You don’t want to talk to him because you’re afraid that if you do then he will ask you out, and then you’ll think he only did it because you made him.”

“Yes! That’s exactly right. And I don’t think he’s coming to my party, Mom.”

“Not coming to your party? Why not?”

“When we were in London, we went to this amazing discotheque, but he wouldn’t dance with me. He left early. Said it was too loud, too crowded. He got really mad at me because some guy’s hands were all over me when we were dancing. We were just dancing. I told him if it bothered him, he should dance with me. But he wouldn’t. And now he doesn’t want to come to my party for the same reasons. And he has no idea how crucial it is for him to be there. All my friends will be there, and this is that pivotal moment—the climax of the script! Where my worlds are supposed to come together.”

“Your worlds?”

“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I live separate lives. I have my school friends, and then I have my surfing buddies. I invited them both to the after-party, so they could get to know each other. So we could all hang out and be friends. But Brooklyn says he doesn’t like my friends. I think it’s fu

“It doesn’t matter what you call him, honey. What matters is how you feel about him.”

I look at Tommy, then at Mom. “Isn’t that hard on you? You have four kids with Tommy. He’s way more than your boyfriend, but yet he’s not your husband. Heck, I don’t even know what to call him.”

“Keatyn, I hope I’ve raised you better than that. You don’t have to label a relationship to have one.”

“No, but if you agree on a label at least you both know where you stand. I’m about to make a stand with my friends. And it doesn’t help that Vanessa says being with him will be social suicide.”

“Vanessa said that?”

“Yeah. She also thinks it was just a summer fling to him. That I’m thinking with my heart and not my head. Do I want to commit social suicide for someone who doesn’t like me enough to ask me out? Someone who is leaving me for a year? Someone who says he’s not coming to my birthday party?”

“You have to be with whoever makes you happy. They don’t have to be famous or popular. Does Brooklyn make you happy?”

 I sigh. “Most of the time he makes me crazy happy.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“He’s too chill about everything. He says I like the spotlight too much. He doesn’t like Italian leather, for God’s sake. I get pressure from him to be a certain way. He likes when I’m his little laid-back surfer girl. But, then, Vanessa expects me to be the popular bitch. And sometimes I just wish I could go to a school where no one knew you were my mom. I never know who my real friends are.”

Mom hugs me. “It’s hard to know who your true friends are even when you aren’t a celebrity. I had two best friends in high school. One of them went out with my boyfriend behind my back.”

“All I wanted to do was go to high school and be popular. Last year, it was exhausting. Always worrying about what people are going to think of what you’re wearing. Who has the biggest house, the coolest car, or the hottest boyfriend. That’s probably one of the reasons I love chilling with Brooklyn. He really doesn’t care if I’m in last season’s bikini or not.”

“Honey, if you really love Brook, don’t let your friends get in your way. Don’t worry about what anyone will think. And if you want to do something, you shouldn’t listen to your friends or your boyfriend. I raised you to be a strong, independent woman. Be one.”

Tommy agrees. “You have to be your own person. Your true friends will be there for you no matter who you love or what you wear.”

“That’s the big question then, isn’t it? Who are my true friends?”

Mom nods and changes the subject. “So what did Brook do last night that was special?”

“He ordered in all my favorite foods. There was whole wheat veggie and ricotta cheese pizza, sweet and spicy chicken from Wong’s, corn dogs from the Venice beach vendor, and he even got me a seven layer chocolate birthday cake.”

I don’t tell her the rest. That we decided to start with the cake. He lit seventeen candles and told me to make a wish. I wished that someday soon I would know who my real friends were.

Then he fed me cake. In bed. Meaning we finally had sex again.

“Well that was sweet of him. Was the food your present?”

“I guess.”

A troubled look passes over Mom’s face, but she hides it quickly with a smile. “It was sweet,” she says again, but she doesn’t look that convinced.

This is chilling?

1:45pm

“Doesn’t look like you’re go

All of a sudden, he’s all into me again. But now that he’s into it, I’m not sure if I am. I feel . . . um, I sorta feel like I shouldn’t be doing it with him. I never wanted it to be just a summer fling.

“It’s my birthday week. I shouldn’t have to go get all sweaty,” I say flatly.

“No, you can stay here and get all sweaty.” He laughs goofily, like he just made up a great joke. Plus, he’s high, so he thinks everything is fu

“Do you still love me?”

“Sure I do. I’m lucky to have found a girl as cool as you to chill with.”

“This is chilling?”

“You know what I mean—we’re chill, right? We have a good time together. We’re friends.”

All of a sudden, his chillness really pisses me off. “I’d say we’re a little more than friends, B.”

He kisses me. “Calm down. I know we’re more than friends. I just think it’s really cool that we can be both. You know I love you.”

“If you loved me, you’d come to my party.”

“I don’t want to go to a club. Stop making such a big deal out of it.”

“So if I had my party at some dusty dive bar, where someone’s always puking up beer in the bathroom, you’d come?”

“You always have fun when we go to dive bars and you know it.”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s my birthday. Is it so bad to want to get dressed up and maybe feel like the star of the family for just one night?”

“Is that really what you want? The spotlight? The paparazzi? I thought you hated that.”

“I don’t know what I want. I grew up on movie sets, and I’m pretty sure I want to start acting. I think it’d be cool to act. To play a role. I sometimes dream that I’m someone else. That I go to a school where no one knows me, and no one knows who my parents are. I used to dream of going to high school, of becoming popular, and it all happened, but, like I told you last spring, it kinda felt empty. Like I’ll never know if they like me for me. Do you think I’m a good person?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“You called me a bitch when we were in London.”

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “You’ve lived a different life than most girls, Keats. You’ve been so many places, but yet you’ve been pretty sheltered. You seem to see your life like a movie: which part should I play today? Should I be the sweet girl? The butt-kicking soccer player? The polished, mature, well-traveled girl? The chill surfer girl? We all play different roles. It’s part of figuring out who we really are.”

I think back to what Grandpa told me. How I need to figure out who I want to be.

 “So which one is really me?”

“Where do you feel most comfortable?”

“With you,” I say, but that’s not really true. When I’m with him, I miss dressing up. I miss wearing heels. I miss getting all dolled up.

I kiss his neck. It tastes salty. Brooklyn smells like a combination of an ocean breeze, Calvin Klein Eternity, and weed. It might be my favorite smell ever.