Hate Me

I drive fast, weaving in and out of traffic.

Once I’m sure we’re not being followed, I head toward the coast, merging onto the PCH, heading toward Malibu.

I try to stay close to the speed limit now, not wanting to get pulled over and end up a sitting duck on the side of the road.

Before the Malibu city limit, I make a right turn and pull into an unmarked parking lot. Then I hit the remote on the bike’s keychain to open a big garage door and pull in, dousing the bike’s lights and quickly closing the door behind us.

“I don’t think we were followed, do you?” I ask Cooper as I turn off the bike, pull off my helmet, and shake out my hair.

“I don't know how the hell we could’ve been. You were driving like a maniac!”

I roll my eyes at him. “I was only doing eighty on the highway. Vincent has a Porsche. Those things are fast!”

Cooper takes his helmet off and sets it on the bike. “Somehow when you said stealth out the back, this was not what I envisioned.”

“It worked, though. Come on, we’ve had our excitement for tonight. Let's get the hell out of here and back the airport.”

“What about your wig? Our bags?”

I point to a Mustang sitting in the bay next to us. “It's all in the car.”

“What is this? A chop shop? Is this all stolen?”

“No, it’s the concierge detail shop that does Tommy's car. They pick up his cars from the house every few weeks, detail them, and put them back under their covers all shiny. He dropped the motorcycle off, picked up Tommy's Ferrari, moved our bags to the Mustang, and already has Tommy's car safely back home. He's also going to drive it around town tomorrow. You know, just to be seen.”

“Did he not think it was an odd request?”

“Considering his clientele, probably not. Especially with the rumors of Tommy's affair.”

“Oh,” Cooper says. “That's smart.”

I find the Mustang’s keys hanging exactly where I was told they would be and replace them with the keys to Brooklyn’s bike.

Even though B knows nothing about it, there’s something comforting in the fact that his bike helped me tonight.

Cooper grabs my hand. “You’re shaking.”

“A little, but I'm fine.”

“Adrenaline rush,” he states. “It’ll stop soon. In the meantime, I’ll drive.”

On the way to the airport, I throw the dress I wore earlier over my club clothes, tuck my hair back under the wig, rub off the paint, and gently remove the eyelashes.

“I have to admit,” Cooper says, “I’m very surprised you know how to ride a motorcycle.”

“That wasn’t just any motorcycle. It was Brooklyn’s. The concierge service takes care of B’s and his dad’s cars, too. I knew we were going to have to make a speedy exit, so it seemed like the best option. Honestly, I’m really lucky that he knows me, or I never would’ve been able to pull it off. I didn’t exactly ask B if I could borrow his bike.”

“What made you even want to learn?”

“I was fine with just riding on the back. It was fun, felt romantic, you know? But after a couple times of us going somewhere and B needing to take me back home before he was ready to leave, he decided I should learn how to ride it. That way I could take myself home if I needed to.”

 And once I learned how, he knew he could get high or drink and I could drive us both home. Although at the time that sorta pissed me off, I’m now really grateful I know how.

After we’ve taken off and gotten to cruising altitude, Cooper says, “So what do you think we accomplished? Seems like all it did was piss him off.”

“We made him think I’m back home.” I smile. “And remember, a pissed off, out-of-control, mistake-making Vincent is exactly what we want.”

“I was there the whole time. In the shadows. Waiting for the right moment.”

“I didn't see you.”

“You didn't look scared.”

“I had protection. Speaking of which, what did you do with it?”

“It’s in the bag.”

The flight attendant interrupts Cooper to ask us if we would like di

“Di

“I’ll just have some water,” I reply. I might not be shaking as bad on the outside anymore, but my insides are still a wreck.

“My sister needs to eat,” Cooper tells the attendant. “Bring her a di

She quickly comes back with plates of grilled chicken in a mushroom sauce on a bed of risotto.

I eat a little and then lean my head against Cooper's shoulder.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2ND

Confidence and swagger.

7am

“You awake enough to drive back to school?” Cooper asks me, putting our bags in the car.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He sits in the passenger seat until I get about a half mile from school, then he hops in the back and hides.

I go through the school gates, pull into my parking spot, hop out of my car, leaving it unlocked, and then walk to the dorm and straight into my shower.

I’m forty-five minutes late for our 7 am Social Committee meeting.

“Sorry I'm late,” I say, my entrance interrupting Logan.

“That’s okay. We're just finishing up,” he says.

“You’re our last report. Is the French Club ready for tomorrow night? Will the baskets all be ready?”

“Yeah, The Market was happy to do them. They even gave us a nice discount, so the club will earn money for the state competition this spring.”

“Perfect,” he says. “That completes our list.”

Peyton does a little clap. “This is going to be so fun.”

Logan holds up his notebook and says to the group, “So, here's to a great event and an entire weekend where we can’t get in trouble for French kissing!”

“Hear, hear!” everyone exclaims.

I'm thinking about French kissing Aiden when Whitney says, “Peyton, Keatyn, a word. Alone,” she adds, looking straight at Aiden, who is walking toward us.

“We’re go

He winces and says to me, “I'll meet you outside.”

Whitney says, “I overheard Chelsea trash-talking you to one of the only friends she has left, and saying that she’s going to get even. I think you should start sitting at our table again. It will make her think twice.” She holds a single finger in the air as I start to speak. “And before you say anything, Aiden's welcome. Riley, whoever you'd like. The more the merrier. Right, Peyton?”

“Right.”

Peyton folds her hands in prayer, begging me behind Whitney’s back.

“That's really nice of you,” I say to Whitney.

She grins, wraps her arm around me, and says, “Shark’s go

“I think you and Shark together is awesome. He was totally flirting with you at Homecoming.”

“He's been flirting with me for two years and I wouldn't give him the time of day. But then he told me the odds of us getting together were a hundred to one, but that he'd take them any day. It was romantic, in an unusual way. He keeps getting cuter and he just has . . .”

“Swagger,” I say.

“Yeah. Confidence and swagger. You can tell he's going to be successful in life. He’s already working on building what will be the hot new social media website. He’ll be an internet mogul by the time he’s twenty-five.”

“I think all that matters today is what are the odds he's a good French kisser?”

“They’ve been doing plenty of that,” Peyton says in a sing-song voice.

“I have a plan,” Whitney says. “I need a pedicure and we have,” she makes air quotes, “some French errands to run. Let's go get pedicures together. Have a girls’ morning.”

“Sounds great!” I say, mostly because I didn't get my history homework done. “I’m go