Stalk Me

“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 ru

But the girl is surprisingly cool.

She shakes my hand and says, “Good luck.” But then she adds, “You're go

So here's the thing. I might not have brute strength, but ski

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 RiA

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 go

Or I'm go