Stalk Me

“Name?” the guard says again.

“Monroe,” Garrett finally answers.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “Is that fence electric?”

Apparently the guard has very good hearing because he replies, “You already pla

“Uh, no, I just wondered.”

“It is electric,” he says. He stands up straighter. “We have a senator’s son here this year. We take security very seriously.”

“Excellent,” Garrett replies. I can tell he’s ready to get on with it.

As we’re waiting for the gate to open, he says, “I personally picked out your dorm room. It’s on the first floor, backside of the building, next to the fire exit. Don’t change rooms with anyone. You have multiple escape routes from that room. The window, the fire exit, and the main hallway. It’s also next door to the boy’s dorm that I’m told houses many of the male athletes. It should be the first place you run to if you’re in danger, okay?”

“Okay.”

He grins at me. “It’s also been newly remodeled, has it’s own bathroom, and a small walk-in closet.”

“You’re a man after my own heart, Garrett,” I laugh. But then I say seriously, “Thank you. Really. For all you’ve done.”

The big gate opens, and we drive through. The road winds through some trees and then you see it. All sprawled out like a college campus. We pass a golf course and athletic fields. Farther up the hill is a large field house, recreational facility, te

“This is it,” Garrett says. “Your new home. It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

My door is opened by a very cute guy with adorable freckles and really nice shoulders. He’s wearing a red polo shirt with a cougar embroidered on it.

“Welcome to Eastbrooke. Name?” he says without even bothering to look at me.

I slide my legs out of the car and notice that all of a sudden he’s looking at me. Well, looking at my legs anyway. “I’m Keatyn Monroe.”

He gives me a crooked grin. “Monroe. Very nice to meet you.” He reaches out to shake my hand.

“Nice to meet you too. You always so formal here?”

He chuckles and points to his shirt. Under the cougar are the words, Senior Prefect.

I laugh. “What is this, Hogwarts?”

Garrett pops the trunk, and I walk around to retrieve my bags.

When we’re standing by the trunk, he whispers to me. “Prefect means I have to be on my best behavior.”

“Does that mean you usually misbehave?”

“You know it.” His arm muscles flex as he pulls my bags out of the trunk. “I’m in charge of getting these to your room.”

“And what am I in charge of?”

“You, Monroe, need to check in at that table over there. Cute boots. Where are you from?”

“California.”

He nods his head like that explains it all. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

I watch Garrett and my old life pull away, turn around, and walk to the check-in table. I get a big packet of information and am told to head to the small gym for New Student Orientation.

I glance at my phone and see I have a few minutes to spare, so I walk down the wide pathway and take it all in.

My first thought it that the campus is even prettier than the pictures.

All the trees look like they’re just on the verge of changing to their brilliant fall colors. I can picture the grounds covered in snow and feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of spending a winter here. Getting to see snow every day, not just for a week of skiing in St. Moritz.

I glance around and don’t see anyone who looks remotely like Vincent.

There are no memories of him anywhere.

I take a deep breath.

I’m standing on a sidewalk in the middle of a campus where nothing is familiar, but I feel like I’ve come home.

Like I belong here.

And for the first time in days, I feel safe.

Kiki is a stripper name.

3:45pm

I remind myself of my new name and check in at New Student Orientation.

New Student Orientation is mostly for incoming freshman, but all new students have to go through it. I hope I’m not the only new upperclassman here—but, I guess, worst case scenario is that I meet a few freshman.

My plan is simple. I’m going to find a couple guys who look nice and see if I can sit with them. In reading every scrap of information I could find about the school, I learned that the football players came here for camp two weeks ago, so even if they’re new, they’ve probably gotten to know each other.

I spy a guy that is too cute for words. He looks, well, like Brooklyn did when I first met him, with sandy blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes, and I instantly feel a co

I wait for them to sit down, while hoping they aren’t the kind of guys who like to sit up front. I watch them walk high up in the bleachers.

We have to wear uniforms at Eastbrooke—well, sort of uniforms. The boys wear matching navy blazers with khaki pants or shorts. They also have to wear Oxford shirts and ties, but they get to choose whatever kind they want. Some days they wear a polo with the school’s crest on it, but I’m not sure when those days are. The girls have to wear plaid skorts or skirts that are a really cute navy and black plaid. Mixed into the plaid are stripes of white, red and yellow. The girls also have navy blazers, but they have more options, like colored vests and cardigans.

I’m actually kind of excited for the uniforms.

Since everyone traveled here today, we were allowed to dress casually. I changed into the outfit that Kym packed for me on the plane. I’m wearing a cute knit dress with an appliquéd rose front and an asymmetrical lace hem. Brown suede Proenza Schouler tote, braided belt, and the cowboy boots Cush gave me.

I wasn’t allowed to bring a whole lot from home, but I did bring the boots, a few of my favorite shoes, the book of Keats poetry, and a few other things I didn’t think I could live without, including a dress of Mom’s to wear to the Welcome Dance on Saturday night. And I might have borrowed the black Gucci platform boots that we always fight over. They were in my closet, and I’m pretty sure possession is nine-tenths of the law.

Boots are noisy, I realize, as I clomp up the bleachers after the boys. A few girls look at me.

Make that, stare at me.

And then they all look down at my boots.

I’m thinking maybe East coast girls don’t wear a lot of cowboy boots?

Shit.

I hope the boots weren’t a mistake. Kym actually packed a pair of pretty platform wedges to wear with the dress. Why didn’t I listen to her?

But then I remember that I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be me. And me likes the boots. And, more importantly, wearing these boots makes me feel like Cush is with me, reminding me to be me. To let people get to know me; to let people in the way I did him.

Besides, I can’t change them now.

I notice either designer heels or Sperry topsiders on most of the girls.

The young Brooklyn clone and the dark-haired hottie are sitting with a group of boys who look like freshmen. I try to decide how to play this.

I could use the make-them-come-to-me-approach. March up there and sit just a couple rows in front of them, hoping they will see me sitting alone, take pity on me, and talk to me. That’s sort of a passive approach, though, and I’m going to be bold.