Hate Me

“I got accepted to Brown yesterday,” Whitney says happily, causing me to stop reading. “Did you get a letter, Peyton?”

“No, not yet,” she says. “But I don’t care. I applied to some more schools this week.”

Whitney looks surprised by this. “You did? I thought we were going somewhere together? We’ve talked about it since freshman year. We go to the same college. Join the same sorority. Party it up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure the East coast is where I want to be.”

“Where else could you possibly want to go?” Whitney says in a snide voice. Like anything other than an Ivy League college would be unacceptable.

“I applied to a few California schools. I’d like to be closer to home.”

“California? Seriously? I’d hate to live in California. All that blonde hair and sunshine would piss me off.”

I purse my lips in defense of my favorite state and am just about to say something when Whitney turns to me. “No offense.”

“I love the feel of the sun shining on my face,” Peyton says, dreamily. “And I’d like to trade my car in for a convertible. Drive around with the top down all the time. Never have to deal with the snow again.” Peyton sighs. Then she tosses a magazine toward me. This one is rolled open to a certain page.

I flip it over and see a photo of Damian and Troy coming out of a club with a chesty blonde in a tight dress who’s hanging onto Damian’s arm. Could this unidentified blonde be the girl to finally snag Damian Moran, the son of mega-hit director, Matt Moran, and lead singer for the band Twisted Dreams, whose studio was mobbed by tweens earlier this week?

I take my phone out and text her, not wanting to say anything in front of Whitney.

Me:  She’s with Troy.

Peyton:  I know. I was just showing you the pic.

Me:  California, huh?

Peyton:  Yes!! We talked about it in St. Croix. I’m so happy!! Stop texting me though. I don’t want Whitney to get suspicious.

“Which colleges did you apply to in California, Peyton?” I ask.

“Pepperdine, USC, UCLA, and Stanford, but I’m leaning toward Pepperdine,” she says with a big smile. “It’s right across from the beach. How awesome would that be?”

“It sounds amazing. They’re all good schools.”

“Stanford is pretty good,” Whitney says. “But it’s the only one I would consider. I’m setting my sights a little higher. Shark already got accepted to Yale. That’s where I’m pla

“What big a

“Of where I’m going to college,” she says in a tone that is supposed to make me feel stupid for asking.

“How will you a

She gives me a wide smile. “Well, most people just tell their friends. I was thinking of something a little more grand. Like at Winter Formal.”

“Cool,” Peyton says. “I’m sure the school is on pins and needles waiting to hear your choice.”

“I know I am,” I say quickly, hoping to distract from Peyton’s snotty comment. “How cool to a

Peyton rolls her eyes at me while Whitney favors me with a wide smile. “Thank you. I thought it would be very cool, too. And Shark is dying for me to reveal my choice, so it will be fun for him.”

“That’s a really cute way to tell him,” I say.

Most romantic city.

11:40am

When we get back to school, we find that most of the students are out of class, helping their various clubs or dorms.

I’m not really sure if Whitney is trustworthy, but she has been really nice to me, and all of us being friends seems to make Peyton happy, even though I’m not totally convinced that she wants to be friends with Whitney anyway.

And, since it’s my fault she can’t tell anyone about Damian, I figure it’s the least I can do.

Whitney has a long list of things we actually do have to check on for the weekend.

“Top of the Eiffel Tower, Sunset is going to be even better than Greek weekend!” she exclaims as we tour the campus.

“Let’s go check on the awnings,” Peyton says.

We walk to the front of the social center and watch as an alumni-owned rental company adds pink and black striped awnings to the outside of the building and sets up black iron bistro tables and chairs. They’ve even brought in portable heaters to make sitting outside more comfortable.

“Wow!” I exclaim. “It looks so good! Everyone will love it!”

“You fit right in, too. I love your outfit,” Whitney compliments me.

I love my outfit today, too. In honor of French weekend, I have on Louboutin black fringed ankle boots and am carrying their black spiked tote bag. I’m wearing an Alice + Olivia black leather box pleat skirt, pale gray knee-high socks with kitten faces on them, and a white fleece pullover with Magnifique! scrawled across the front.

“Thanks, Whitney. It’s too bad we couldn’t import some French shopping. Chanel. Dior. Lacroix. Gaultier, Louboutin, Chloe, Laurent. All lined up in a row.”

“That would be amazing. Maybe instead of going to the beach and partying with boring frat boys, the three of us should go to Paris for Spring Break and do nothing but eat croissants, drink café crème, and shop the boutiques and Parisian flea markets,” Whitney suggests.

“Oh, that would be fun!” Peyton gushes. “Paris is the most romantic city.”

“Yeah, maybe you could meet someone there,” Whitney says, getting in a little dig.

Peyton looks at Whitney with puppy dog eyes, but as soon as she turns away she gives me a little wink. She and Damian have talked every single night. He told her that they needed to keep their relationship under wraps for the time being. And, honestly, I probably shouldn’t feel too bad because I think the secrecy of it is just adding to her excitement.

The bell rings, signaling the end of fourth period and the begi

“Perfect timing,” Whitney says. “We’ll check out the café and then get everyone to sit at my table.”

We wander into the café.

It’s already been mostly transformed into a riverboat with porthole windows showing colorful scenes of the French countryside and Parisian landmarks.

“The drama and art clubs outdid themselves,” she says, checking them off the list.

“And you can smell the croissants baking,” I add, breathing in the wonderful aroma.

Peyton, Whitney, and I sit at the table, stopping all our friends and inviting them to sit with us. I never realized it before, but they didn’t even fill up a whole table. Now it’s crowed and noisy.

And fun.

Particularly when Aiden squeezes next to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“How’s the project? I didn’t see anything when we walked by your dorm.”

“It’s not quite finished yet.”

He puts his hand on my thigh as he whispers, “When it’s done, you’ll be the first to see it.”

“When will that be?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Logan says to Whitney, “We should start the a

They stand in front of the café and Logan clears his throat. “Hey everyone. If I can have your attention . . .” When the room quiets, he continues. “The Social Committee wants to give you a little update on the events for French weekend. The dorms will, once again, be competing for a dress-down day. Entries will be voted for on Sunday. Tonight’s café di

He hands Whitney the microphone. “Since we’re hosting a wrestling match on Saturday, be sure to go support our team,” she says. “The café will be open all day on Saturday, serving French grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, or croques monsieur, French pastries, and chocolate soufflés, as well as holding hourly French cooking classes. Then, Saturday night, everyone will get dressed up for the Seine River Di