Kiss Me

“He kissed you. Everyone saw.”

“So? Why does Whitney care? She’s made out with both Bryce and Jake. Which I find interesting since she has a college boyfriend.”

“She’s done with the college boy. She’s just moving on.”

“Well, maybe she should let Dawson move on too.”

“Oh, trust me, he’s moved on plenty.”

“No, he hasn’t. He’s hooked up, yes. But he hasn’t moved on. He hasn’t dated anyone even close to seriously.”

“You think he’ll be serious with you?”

“Absolutely not. We’re sorta becoming friends. We have a lot in common.”

“And what about my brother?”

“What about your brother?”

“He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He did all that dances for points stuff and we had a great time, but it’s been two days and I haven’t seen or heard from him. Well, he is in my French class, but he just sat behind me and didn’t say a word to me. He hasn’t texted me, talked to me, nothing! And it’s not my fault he frickin quoted Keats, and I froze. It caught me off guard! He can be super romantic one minute and a stupid dick the next. He knows where to find me and, so far, he has not found me!”

“Well it doesn’t help that you’re making out with Dawson!”

“I have not made out with Dawson. I don’t know why you think that. We kissed. Once. I told you, we talk. And mostly, sadly, we talk about Whitney and your stupid brother. So back off!”

I spin on my heel, walk out the practice room door, and let it slam loudly behind me.

Shit!

I march into our dressing room, stuff my stupid pompoms in my locker, and leave.

I feel the need to kill something. Or hit something.

As I’m marching down the hall in the field house, I spy a large boxing bag in the fitness center.

I make a beeline for it.

No one is really in here, so I take my frustrations out on the bag.

I do all my kickboxing moves. I don’t even care that I’m still in my stupid practice dance skirt and probably look ridiculous.

Punching this bag feels really, really good.

I kick the bag first.

Then I grab a pair of gloves and start punching it over and over.

I hate stupid boys and stupid, bitchy, bossy girls.

I throw an uppercut to the bag’s chin, like if the bag had a chin. And, in my mind, the bag’s chin looks just like Peyton’s.

Then I throw one, two, three fast jabs straight into Whitney’s perfect nose. I picture it shattering and her crying out in pain as blood shoots out of her nostrils and her eyes begin to blacken.

I hate my life. Boom.

I hate stalkers. Boom.

Big swooping hook to the cheekbone or, better yet, the temple.

I hate getting chewed out for something I didn’t do.

Knockout punch. Bam, baby.

I love punching this bag.

I may have to come and do this daily.

I now know why Tommy started doing kickboxing. It’s probably a necessary stress relief when you live with six women, four of whom are under the age of five. Really, it’s a wonder he isn’t completely bonkers.

I shut my eyes and continue to punch my stress away. I hit the same spot over and over again.

I hear a voice go, “Damn, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

I open my eyes and see Tyrese and Ace.

“Hey, guys.”

“Who pissed you off? You gotta lot of rage in there, girl. And it’s only the first day,” Tyrese says.

I back up and wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Where’d you learn to punch like that?”

“I used to take kickboxing lessons.”

Tyrese says, “Let me guess. Whitney freaking about Dawes? I heard her bitching about you in Government today.”

I roll my eyes. “It was Peyton but, yeah, pretty much.”

“Dawson said you had fun at di

“We did. We’re freaks. He moaned about Whitney, and I complained about Peyton’s stupid brother.” I give the bag a solid right hook and then laugh. “I’ve been pretending this bag is his head.”

Ace coughs, and Tyrese rolls his eyes over his shoulder. Like someone is there. Like, behind me.

Tyrese says, “Hey, have fun. We gotta go.”

Someone taps me on my shoulder.

I turn around and am face to face with the stupid brother.

“You been standing there long?”

“Long enough,” Aiden says flatly.

“Fan-tas-tic.” I rip the gloves off, throw them on the ground in front of me, and run out the door.

All of a sudden, I feel like ru

Ru

But I can’t do that, so I do the next best thing.

Run across the driveway, down the hill, and sprint down to the track.

I sprint and sprint around the track.

Until I may die of cardiac arrest.

I run off the track, fall exhaustedly down into the grass, shut my eyes, and lay as still as I can. I’m trying to go into a meditative state. I can do yoga, all the stretches and breathing, but the meditation, the whole clear-your-mind thing, is very, very difficult for me. Plus, it’s hard to do when your heart rate is about three thousand beats per second. Instead, I just focus on slowing my breathing down. OOOMMM, OOOMMM.

Someone interrupts my almost-clarity by shaking me. “Keatyn, are you okay? Wake up. Wake up.”

I open my eyes and stare straight into Aiden’s face, which, with the sun setting behind him, makes it look like he only has a head. A head that is surrounded by streams of yellow and orange sunbeams. It looks very godlike, really.

I give him a puzzled look. “Why the hell are you shaking me?”

He looks panicked, and he’s breathing heavy too.

“Because I saw you collapse! I thought you died or had a heart attack or something. God, you scared me half to death!”

I let out a big sigh and roll my eyes at him.

It may have been the biggest eye roll of my life.

“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for checking on me. It was very sweet, but I’d like to be alone now. I’m trying to meditate.” Then I close my eyes and try to forget the jerk is here.

“Why were you punching my head?”

“Because I hate you. No, that’s not right. Because you frustrate the hell out of me.”

“And you don’t think I want to punch your head too? You frustrate the hell out of me. I don’t know what to do with you. Every time I try to do something nice or special for you, it blows up in my face.”

“Well at least I don’t act like I like you, be all romantic and shit, then pat you on the back, say See ya later and then don’t see you later. Don’t call. Don’t text.”

“At least I didn’t go on a date with Dawson!”

“That’d make you gay. But it doesn’t matter. Whitney doesn’t even know me and now she hates me, not that I care. Obviously she doesn’t want him, but she also doesn’t want anyone else to have him. It’s about time she let him move on. Stop freaking torturing him.”

“And he’s going to move on with you?”

“Not at all. We’re just friends. But at least he talks to me.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I felt like I screwed it all up with the Keats stuff, and then you told me you slept with him, and I don’t even know the guy, and I want to go hunt him down and tell him to leave you alone. That you’re mine. Especially after I saw his text today in French.”

“But I’m not yours.”

“I don’t think you could belong to anyone else.”

What. The. Hell? Who the hell does he think he is? “Oh really?” I say. “Just watch me.”

I get up and jog straight to the boys’ dorm.

I knock on Dawson’s door, fling it open, and then slam it shut. He’s sitting on his bed with his laptop across one knee.

He laughs when he sees me. “You’re pissed. What’s wrong?”

I move his computer off his lap, flop face down in its place, and growl. “Grrrrrr.”

“Aiden?”

“And his sister.”

Dawson puts both his hands on my back and rubs it gently. “Just relax. Then you can tell me all about it. And, while you’re at it, you should probably take your face off my lap before I get all turned on.”