Kiss Me

Thursday, September 8th

It’s tutoring with food.

French.

When I walk into French, my teacher, Miss Praline, pulls me aside. “Aiden said you won’t be tutoring him. I’d like you to reconsider that.”

“Why?”

“He really struggles in French and barely passed last year, so he’s already behind. He needs this to get into an Ivy League school, which is his goal. I’ll give you extra credit.”

“I don’t need extra credit. I’m very good at French.”

“Please?”

“No. He’s not nice to me.”

“Look, I have an idea. What if I got you on the Social Committee? It’s teacher nominated and you seem to be quite social. I think you would do well on it.”

I think about that for a minute. Dawson thought about getting on it, and I know it’s considered a big deal. Way bigger than Student Council, and it would mean I could help plan dances and events like I wanted to do at my old school. Hmmmm. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

I take my seat, turn around, and try not to look directly at Aiden’s mouth. “So, I heard you really suck at French.”

He frowns a little, and it looks so odd on his mouth.

Shit.

I was not supposed to be looking at his mouth. I seriously need to find a pair of magic Spanx and become a virgin again.

“Yeah, I do,” he says.

“Well, I got asked really nicely—and possibly bribed—by the teacher into helping you, so I guess I am.”

“Really, Boots? That’s awesome.” His frown turns into a smile that almost blinds me, causes me to forget where I am, and makes me want to grab his hand and run off to the land of milk and honey, or, you know, somewhere magical.

“When can we start? Can we do it right after football practice, or would you rather wait until after di

I was go

He looks dreamily at me. “I’ll be there, whenever you need me.”

“What?! No. You need me.”

He frowns again and puts his hand over his eyes. “I meant I’ll be there, you know, whenever.”

“Okay, so you have a game tonight, and we have a lot due tomorrow. Do you have it done yet?”

“No. I haven’t really started.”

“Well, I have dance until five. What time do you have to be in the locker room?”

“Not until six. And dance is over at 4:30. Why don’t I order some pizza, you can come to my room, and we’ll study and eat? Be there at 4:40.”

“That sounds like a date. And if I come straight from dance, I’ll be all gross.”

“It’s tutoring with food, and I doubt you’re ever gross.”

I know I like Dawson, but I can’t help it. What he just said made me melt a little.

Okay. Fine.

A lot.

Right now, I’m like the lipstick you left in your car in hundred-degree weather.

Then he adds, “Plus if you’re gross, I won’t want to kiss you, so maybe that’s for the best.”

OMG!

He wants to kiss me!

Focus, Keatyn. Focus, girl. You can do it. Speak. Say something coherent. “Yeah, that hasn’t gone so well for us in the past,” I say.

Well, shit! That was coherent, but a slam! I didn’t really want to slam him. I swear, I either am in love with this boy, or I hate him.

“I’d disagree with that. I thought our kisses were amazing. It’s the other stuff that maybe hasn’t gone so well.”

I decide to shut up. Nod my head in agreement and try and look busy with my French workbook.

After class, I grab ahold of A

I say to her, “So, you going to the game with us tonight?”

She gets ready to reply, but Aiden breezes past us. “See ya tonight, Boots.”

Both of us freeze and A

“I decided to tutor him.”

“Lucky girl. What’s Dawson go

“It’s like a job. He won’t care.”

I don’t think.

Haunt his dreams.

4:07pm

I’m pretty good at dance for some strange reason. It’s not that I’m some amazing dancer, but I have a really good memory, and I catch on quick. So when I learn a routine, I learn it quick and don’t mess up much or forget to do it in the right order.

But today, well, I’m just plain distracted.

And who could blame me?

I’m about to throw myself into the lion’s den!

So, there is one thing on my mind: that in exactly thirty-two and a half minutes I am going to be alone in a room with Aiden.

Teaching him the language of love.

And mostly likely thinking I would like to teach him with my lips.

So, yes, I get yelled at by Peyton, Little Miss Perfect Captain. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s nice to me when Whitney isn’t around, I would seriously hate her. I do sort of hate her for one reason. She and Aiden share the same mouth. Like, when she smiles, I can almost see his face. So when she’s nice and smiles at me, I pretty much comply with what she tells me.

I’m dancing, dancing, drinking water, breathing occasionally, dancing, thinking now there are nineteen and three quarters minutes left of practice.

And I need practice to start being over a little early, so I’ll have a few minutes to wash off the sweat and make myself look good. I’m also trying to decide what I should wear to his room. Do I go with the I-just-got-done-with-dance-and-I-look-hot-wearing-my-teeny-spandex-shorts-and-cut-off-red-and-yellow-tie-dyed-shirt-and-I-didn’t-put-forth-any-effort-to-impress-you outfit? Do I put my uniform back on? Or do I wear what I’m going to wear to the game later?

Then I think about Dawson—cute, adorable Dawson—who just might be one of the sweetest and hottest boys ever.

Maybe I should look bad on purpose, so Aiden won’t want to kiss me.

But no! I don’t want him to not want to kiss me.

I want my kisses to haunt his dreams.

I want him to beg for me.

Seriously, the next time he tries to kiss me, I’m going to turn the other way.

I want him down on his knees begging, Please, Boots, please!

Oh, shit. I just kicked at totally the wrong time.

Seven minutes left.

Not that I’m counting.

Step up my game. Do the rest of the routine to perfection. Turn, kick, shimmy, turn right, spin, kick, kick, pompoms up, and kneel.

Let’s get the heck out of here.

But no.

We have to stop and discuss tomorrow night’s festivities in more detail. We’re having a dance sleepover after the game. Everyone is all giddy and excited about this. Whatever.

I need to get out of here!

We already went over this!

I carefully sneak my way out of the dance room and into the changing room. I give myself a quick sink shower, touch up my makeup, throw on deodorant, some perfume and figure, what the hell, let’s give him the legs, leave on my booty shorts, throw on a clean T-shirt, grab my bag, and get over there.

Okay, fine. I did brush my teeth too. Not because I’m thinking I might kiss him. That thought never crossed my mind.

I’m seriously weighed down with my school bag and my dance duffle. As I come out of the field house, there’s Dawson waiting for me. He’s apparently done with football. Of course, all he’s carrying is a little teeny bag.

He’s like, “Where are you going in such a hurry? I thought we could hang before the game.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Miss Praline asked me to tutor someone that’s not doing well in French. I didn’t want to, but she bribed me kinda. Actually, it’s pretty exciting. Don’t tell anyone, but she’s getting me on the Social Committee.”