Kiss Me

Dawson:  Okay?

Whitney:  I know you’re having fun with the new girl, but she’s not good enough for you. Why don’t I set you up with Rachel? She’s always crushed on you and at least she comes from a decent family.

Dawson:  I’m surprised you’d want to set me up.

Whitney:  We’re friends, Dawes, and you need someone worthy of your status. You’re still one of the golden boys here, and I assume you want to stay one. Dating beneath you will not be good for you. It’s practically social suicide.

Dawson:  It’s really nice of you to worry about me, but I like Keatyn.

Whitney:  I know you’re not over me, but parading around with a girl of her caliber isn’t going to make me jealous. It’s just pathetic.

I process all that she managed to say in a few sentences. Her texts sound similar to what Vanessa told me about Brooklyn.

Only now, I’m social suicide.

I find that kind of ironic, honestly.

And kind of fu

But I’m not sure how Dawson feels about it.

“Look, Dawson. I know what it’s like. The pressures of being and staying popular. I understand if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.”

“Is that what you want? For Whitney to set me up with Rachel?”

“No, that’s not at all what I want. But it’s not my decision. It’s something you have to decide.”

He grabs my face in his hands, pulls me into a kiss, and murmurs, “I want you, Keatie. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

And his sweetness kinda makes me cry.

Dawson feels my tears on his cheek and stops kissing me. “Why are you crying?”

“I was one of the most popular girl at my old school and here I’m social suicide,” is what I say. But really I’m thinking about home. About how I was willing to give up everything. Every part of me for Brooklyn. But how he didn’t really love me. Then I think about Cush. About my boots. About how they made me love him.

Dawson brushes my tears away and says, “Go out with me.”

I shake my head. I can’t go out with anyone. I’m an emotional wreck. Who starts crying when a boy is sweet to them?

“Not yet, Dawson. Neither one of us is ready for that. Can you honestly say you’re ready for another relationship?”

He looks up at the sky. “Probably not. But I want you to know where you stand. I want you to know that I really like you.”

I smile at him. “I already know that. And I really like you too.”

You look ridiculous.

11pm

I drink the Red Bull that Dallas gave me, then another one, and then,  I was still tired, so I have a third.

By the time midnight rolls around, I’m bouncing off the walls.

When I get to the cave, Dallas is waiting for me.

“I’m so hyper! Let’s dance! I feel like dancing. Come on, dance with me!”

I grab my headphones out of my jacket pocket, put one in each one of our ears, hang on to Dallas, and then turn on some wild dance music.

The kind of stuff I danced to at the club in London. Electronic music, great dance beat.

We jump, and dance, and laugh, and dance. I haven’t had so much fun in a long time, doing something so really stupid.

We’re jumping around dancing like maniacs when someone grabs me from behind.

I scream. “Ahh!”

It’s Riley, I discover, after screaming and practically having a caffeine-and-adrenaline-induced heart attack.

He pops the headphone out of my ear. “What are you two doing? You look ridiculous!”

“Yeah, you can look ridiculous with us,” I tell him, pulling him in to dance with us.

Friday, September 9th

Kill. Kick ass. Destroy.

7:07am.

I’m up way early for my first Social Committee meeting.

Yes, I want to be on it, but no one bothered to mention that they meet at seven in the morning. And I knew I had to get up early, but during our Red Bull-fueled dance-off last night, which I didn’t come in from until three, this didn’t seem important.

I dragged my butt out of bed at 5:45, and got in my game day dance outfit, which consists of black, boot-cut yoga pants with a fold-over gold sequined waist, a gold sequined tank top, and, in case that isn’t enough gold sequins on me, gold-sequined te

I look like an Academy Award going to the gym.

I walk into the meeting room and see there are only about eight people present.

And, yeah, I’m maybe a couple minutes late, but my hair looks good, so whatever.

Peyton says to me, “What are you doing here?”

“I guess I’m supposed to be here. This is the Social Committee meeting, right?”

The guy I know to be Brad, but have never met says, “Hey, I’m Brad,” and then turns and introduces me. “Everyone, this is Keatyn Monroe. She was nominated by Miss Praline, and I’m told that she’ll make a valuable addition to our little group.”

I smile, give a little wave to everyone, and sit down. They go on with their discussion. They are discussing normal school things, like Homecoming and other events that I know are already pla

So I say, “Uh, so I thought this committee was supposed to do, like, cool stuff?”

They all look at me.

Like an alien just landed his spaceship in front of them, but I keep going.

“Like, most kids are here on the weekends, and there isn’t much to do. Why don’t you have, like, mixer-type things. Something fun for people to do on the weekends?”

“I guess we never thought of it,” Peyton says. “Mostly we just oversee what’s going on at school. We don’t really plan stuff.”

“I think you should plan stuff. You could have, like, different themes, make it fun.”

“That would be cool. What kinds of themes?” Brad asks.

“There’s tons to choose from. Mexican, Moroccan, Roman, French, Eighties. You can have people, like, dress in the theme. You could ask the café to, like, cook food that fits the theme, maybe have music and stuff.”

“Like, how would we get, like, the money to do, like, that?” Whitney sneers, making fun of my idea as well as the way I talk.

“Do a fund raiser? Make people to pay to participate?”

“People wouldn’t come. They would think it’s lame,” Whitney says. She rolls her eyes at me, then looks at Brad to continue. Like we’re done with this silly conversation.

I let my eyes scan the room. I don’t know them all personally yet, but I recognize everyone here. And they all have one thing in common. They are leaders. Mariah, head cheerleader and swim team captain; Marcus, student body president and crew team captain; Peyton, dance and soccer team captain and on every other committee there is; Brad, football co-captain, track standout, and letter club president; Logan, drama club, National Honor society president, and lacrosse star; Sheila, Art club, band, swing choir, and award-wi

Brad starts to speak, but I interrupt him and decide to go for broke.

I stand up and start gathering up my bag. I turn to Brad and say quietly, “I think I misunderstood this committee, so I should probably go.”

Whitney practically applauds. “You probably should,” she says in her bitchiest tone.

But Brad says, “What do you mean?”

“I was under the impression that you all were the most influential students at this school. But, hey, if you can’t pull it off, no one can.”

I hear a whole lot of murmuring and talking amongst themselves. Talking to each other. I’m in a room full of competitors. They are so going to take the challenge.

They all start talking to Brad at once, agreeing that it might be fun to try.

And, pretty soon, they decided they could do it.

“Well, newbie,” Brad says to me. “Looks like we needed some fresh blood in here to give us the kick that we needed. Not everyone is in agreement, but I’ll tell you what. I’m appointing you the liaison between the committee and the staff on this little project. If you can get it approved, we’ll do it.”