Love Me (39 page)

I take a shower and expect Katie to be asleep by the time I finish, but she’s still awake, texting Bryce. 

“Wow. You must like him. You’re still awake.”

“He’s fun to talk to,” she says, going back to her text. 

I look at my phone. 

There’s a text from Brooklyn.

B:  Call me if you have a chance. I want to talk to you about some stuff. 

I tell Katie that I’m going to the kitchen to scrounge for a snack, but go in the stairwell and call him. 

“Hey.”

“So I’ve been researching stalking cases. Want to hear some statistics?”

“Sure.”

“I found out that half of all stalkers threaten violence but that only two percent actually kill.”

“So I have a 98% chance of surviving this. I like those odds.”

“Stalking is a felony but often dismissed due to lack of evidence. Do you remember that pop singer that was stalked? The guy told everyone they were secretly engaged. Sort of reminds me of Vincent saying that he’s going to make a movie with Abby, you know?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Stalkers also tend to have inflated egos, impersonal sex, no remorse, and superficial charm. But it all comes down to one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Control and domination.”

“Garrett already told me all that stuff.”

“Well, I was thinking of something. Possibly a different approach to fighting him.”

“What’s that?”

“What if we made him feel out of control?”

“I suggested that I do a slutty video or something like Mom’s new movie. I wonder what will happen when it releases. Hopefully it won’t send him over the edge.”

“What if the control had nothing to do with you?”

“How would we do that?”

“My dad’s company is fighting off a hostile takeover.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s what I think we should do to Vincent. We do a hostile takeover of his production company. Giving us the rights to the film. If that film is as important to him as I think it is, he would fight the takeover like crazy. It might not make him forget you, but it might give him something else to do besides a nationwide search for you. It would keep you safer, longer. Then if we get the rights . . .”

“We could make the film ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you know how much his film company is worth?”

“No, but I know someone who can find out for us.”

“He inherited a lot of money when his grandmother died.”

“You inherited a lot of money from your dad, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And I have a big trust fund too. And if we didn’t have enough, we’d raise the capital somehow.”

I start to get tears in my eyes, then accidentally let out a little sob. 

“Keats, don’t cry.”

“Thanks, B. Everyone has been great in trying to protect me. But I feel like I have no control. I want to fight back.”

“We’ll fight together. I want you back on the beach with me.”

“It’s late here. I need to get some sleep. Let me know what you find out.”

“It will probably be a few weeks. They have to get through their deal first. Night, Keats.”

I go back in my room, loosely braid my still damp hair, and lie down. 

My phone buzzes.

Hottie God:  Observation number four:  You lips are still my bliss.  Speaking of that . . . You still owe me $40 for getting our phones out of jail.

Me:  I might owe you $20 for my phone, but you have to learn to be more responsible with your belongings. 

Hottie God:  I am willing to negotiate a trade. 

Me:  Does the trade involve kissing?

Hottie God:  Yes.

Me:  Then I totally owe you $40.

Hottie God:  Night, Boots. 

I’m almost asleep when my phone buzzes again.

B:  Remember when I told you that Keats quote in the hot tub before we first kissed? I just found out there’s more to it. And it gives me hope.  “A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.” 

Thursday, November 10th

He doesn’t know you.

4:30pm

After dance, Peyton asks me if I want to get coffee. It’s a cold and dreary day and coffee sounds really good. 

Right before we get there, she says, “Whitney is meeting us.”

“Why—”

“Thanks for meeting me,” Whitney says, interrupting my question. “I thought we should go over the French weekend menu.” 

She babbles on, but I’m not sure why she thinks we’re going over it. Basically, she is just telling us what she’s already picked out. 

She’s just closing her laptop when Cooper wanders in and orders a coffee.

“Did you know that he comes here every day after soccer practice?”

“Uh, no,” Peyton says, as I shake my head.

“He’s interesting. Mysterious.”

“How so?” I ask.

“No Facebook page that I can find. No girlfriend that I can tell.”

“He just moved here,” I counter. “He probably doesn’t know anyone.”

“Speaking of not knowing anyone,” Whitney says, looking me directly in the eye. “It turns out that I’m Facebook friends with a guy from your old school. Such a small world. Funny thing is, though, he doesn’t know you.”

“How would you know where I used to go to school?”

“I’m sure you mentioned it.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

“Well, I must have seen it somewhere.”

Yeah, like maybe when she broke into the dean’s office. 

“Okay?”

“I just think it’s a bit odd that he didn’t know you.”

I need to sound unconcerned, so I use my Alpha girl bitch voice to reply. “What’d the guy look like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, was he hot? Why would I bother being friends with a guy who wasn’t hot?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really pay attention. Is that the only reason you hang out with Dawson?”

I laugh and try to change the subject. “Actually, I wanted his brother.”

Peyton tries unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle as Whitney’s eyes get huge. “You wanted Camden? But you . . .”

“Why would I want Camden? I meant Riley,” I say innocently, but knowing full well that I struck a nerve.

Whitney sneers at Peyton, but Peyton just shrugs a shoulder. 

While they stare each other down, I text Cooper because I’m freaking out.

Me:  Meet me in your office in ten?

Whitney grabs my phone. “Who are you texting? We’re having a discussion here.” She looks at my phone, sees my text, and can’t disguise the mad crinkle between her eyebrows. “You’re texting him?”

“I just did, yes. I asked him earlier if we could meet to talk about a summer soccer camp.”

“Bullshit,” she counters. “He’s sitting right there. You could’ve walked over and asked him. You’re hiding something. Don’t think Peyton and I don’t know that.”

“I just didn’t want to bother him,” I state as my phone lights up in Whitney’s hand.

She squints her eyes at me. “It seems to me like you and Mr. Steele are together quite a bit.”

“You’ve had meetings with him too.”

She huffs. 

I don’t bother to reply. I stand up and say, “I better get going.” 

I walk over to where Cooper is sitting, lean down, and say quietly, “Let’s go.”

He gathers his stuff up. 

When we get outside, I grab his elbow and pull him around the side of the building. 

“What are you doing?”

“We’re hiding. And we’re not going to your office. We need to go somewhere else. Somewhere private. I have a big problem.”

He glances at his watch. “Let’s go to the Teachers’ Lounge. It’s late enough that no one will be in there.”

When we get locked into the room, he says, “What’s the big problem?”

“I need to delete all my old social media. Now that I think about it, I don’t even understand why Garrett didn’t do that in the first place.”

“He was looking for clues and proof anywhere he could. Why do you want to delete it now?”

“Whitney told me that she’s friends with someone from my old school.”

“Your old school?”

“The school that’s in my transcripts. The one I didn’t actually go to.”

He puts his fist up to his chin. “Oh. That could be a problem. How does she even know that? Why did you tell people?”

“I didn’t. But a while ago, someone broke into the school office and accessed my records. I thought at the time it was Vincent, but now I’m almost positive that it was her.”

“She’s a piece of work, that girl. She doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”

“Right. So what if she gets really serious about figuring out who I am? What if somehow she finds an old picture of me and pieces it together? Do you know how many pictures I have on my Facebook page? She’d love nothing more than to tell everyone that I’ve been lying to them. To embarrass me. Ruin me socially. I’m gonna call Garrett.”

“I’ll do it,” Cooper says.

He calls Garrett and fills him in on the situation in a very businesslike manner. He ends the call and then turns to me. “He’s out of town but says that he just informed the office to change your passwords back to your old ones and agrees that deleting them is a good idea at this point.”

Cooper stands up and paces while I log into Twitter. I don’t bother looking at any of it. I just hit
Delete
and then verify that I’m sure. I do the same for Pinterest, Instagram, Polyvore, and Tumblr. 

I do pause, taking a minute to scroll through the magnificence of all the hot guy photos I collected over the years on Tumblr. RiAnne and I dubbed it the Hottie Vault. 

I smile. Happy memories of parties, shopping excursions, and days spent by the pool with Vanessa and RiAnne roll through my head. I think back to all the mistakes I made with Brooklyn and realize I probably made plenty with them too. Maybe part of loving yourself is taking responsibility for your actions. Vanessa didn’t make me into a bitch. I’m pretty sure I did that all by myself. 

Then I get on Facebook. 

This is harder. My cover photo is of me and Brooklyn in Monaco. My profile picture our new matching tattoos.

I scroll down through my wall. No one seems to be commenting anymore or wondering where I am. The mystery of why I left is now old news. 

But every week—make that every Saturday morning—there is a post from RiAnne. It simply says,
I miss you.

And it touches me. Really touches me. 

Maybe if I go back home someday, we’ll be friends again. 

I pull up her photos, clicking through pictures of her and Vanessa. At parties. On dates. At Homecoming. 

But the pictures look off. Because I’m missing from them. 

Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I click on Cush’s profile. 

I squint my eyes at his profile picture. It’s a photo of him and a girl dressed up for Homecoming. 

I click on the photo to make it bigger because my eyes must be deceiving me. 

But they aren’t.

This girl, who is pretty but sort of plain looking, mostly because she isn't even wearing mascara—to Homecoming, seriously? I mean, I’m all about fresh-faced beauty. I'm fine surfing, working out, or hanging out with no makeup on. But on a special night with a special guy that you are going to have pictures of for the rest of your life?  

Come on! At least put on some mascara and some lip gloss!

 You know how Vanessa wanted to make the rugby player hotter? 

This girlfriend of Cush’s is like the anti-Vanessa. She's somehow made larger-than-life Cush look plain too. 

His slacks and dress shirt are slightly crumpled looking. There’s no product in his hair. And his posture is off. He doesn’t look like the tall, proud, cocky Cushman that I know. 

I click through some more photos. 

Oh. My. God. 

He’s losing his abs. 

Seriously. He looks like he's already gone to college and gotten a beer belly.

What the hell has this girl done to him?

I can't stop my fingers from typing.

Me: Cush? Where the hell did your abs go?

He's not showing online, but he messages me back instantly, probably from his phone.

Brandon:  Haha. Keatyn, I haven't talked to you in forever and that's the first thing you ask?

Me: I’m sorry. That was rude of me. How’s the Cushman?

Brandon:  Well, first off. I’m not that guy anymore. Cushman was a conceited asshole. Everyone here calls me Brandon.

Me:  Um. Okay.

Brandon:  You said you were somewhere good for you. Are you learning looks and partying aren't all that important? 

Me:  I’d say I’m learning that life is all about balance. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Brandon.

The Cushman is dead.

And I want to cry. 

The computer chimes. Cooper stops pacing and looks over my shoulder. “Are you chatting? You’re supposed to be deleting.”

“I am. I just . . .”

RiAnne:  Please say hi to me.

Me:  Hi.

RiAnne:  Is it really you?

Me:  Yes. Thank you for messaging me every week. You are the only friend to do that. It’s so sweet. 

RiAnne:  Vanessa is still mad you left us, but she's with me at the coffee shop every Saturday morning when I post it.