Kiss Me (10 page)

“I have
not
made out with Dawson. I don’t know why you think that. We kissed. Once. I told you, we talk. And mostly, sadly, we talk about Whitney and your stupid brother. So back off!”

I spin on my heel, walk out the practice room door, and let it slam loudly behind me.

Shit!

I march into our dressing room, stuff my stupid pompoms in my locker, and leave.

I feel the need to kill something. Or hit something. 

As I’m marching down the hall in the field house, I spy a large boxing bag in the fitness center.

I make a beeline for it. 

No one is really in here, so I take my frustrations out on the bag. 

I do all my kickboxing moves. I don’t even care that I’m still in my stupid practice dance skirt and probably look ridiculous. 

Punching this bag feels really, really good. 

I kick the bag first.

Then I grab a pair of gloves and start punching it over and over. 

I hate stupid boys and stupid, bitchy, bossy girls. 

I throw an uppercut to the bag’s chin, like if the bag had a chin. And, in my mind, the bag’s chin looks just like Peyton’s. 

Then I throw
one, two, three
fast jabs straight into Whitney’s perfect nose. I picture it shattering and her crying out in pain as blood shoots out of her nostrils and her eyes begin to blacken.

I hate my life. Boom.

I hate stalkers. Boom.

Big swooping hook to the cheekbone or, better yet, the temple.

I hate getting chewed out for something I didn’t do. 

Knockout punch. Bam, baby.

I love punching this bag. 

I may have to come and do this daily.

I now know why Tommy started doing kickboxing. It’s probably a necessary stress relief when you live with six women, four of whom are under the age of five. Really, it’s a wonder he isn’t completely bonkers. 

I shut my eyes and continue to punch my stress away. I hit the same spot over and over again.

I hear a voice go, “Damn, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

I open my eyes and see Tyrese and Ace. 

“Hey, guys.”

“Who pissed you off? You gotta lot of rage in there, girl. And it’s only the first day,” Tyrese says.

I back up and wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Where’d you learn to punch like that?”

“I used to take kickboxing lessons.”

Tyrese says, “Let me guess. Whitney freaking about Dawes? I heard her bitching about you in Government today.”

I roll my eyes. “It was Peyton but, yeah, pretty much.”

“Dawson said you had fun at dinner.” Ace smiles. He’s much cuter when he smiles.

“We did. We’re freaks. He moaned about Whitney, and I complained about Peyton’s stupid brother.” I give the bag a solid right hook and then laugh. “I’ve been pretending this bag is his head.”

Ace coughs, and Tyrese rolls his eyes over his shoulder. Like someone is there. Like, behind me. 

Tyrese says, “Hey, have fun. We gotta go.”

Someone taps me on my shoulder. 

I turn around and am face to face with the stupid brother. 

“You been standing there long?”

“Long enough,” Aiden says flatly.

“Fan-tas-tic.” I rip the gloves off, throw them on the ground in front of me, and run out the door. 

All of a sudden, I feel like running. 

Running away. 

But I can’t do that, so I do the next best thing. 

Run across the driveway, down the hill, and sprint down to the track. 

I sprint and sprint around the track.

Until I may die of cardiac arrest. 

I run off the track, fall exhaustedly down into the grass, shut my eyes, and lay as still as I can. I’m trying to go into a meditative state. I can do yoga, all the stretches and breathing, but the meditation, the whole clear-your-mind thing, is very, very difficult for me. Plus, it’s hard to do when your heart rate is about three thousand beats per second. Instead, I just focus on slowing my breathing down.
OOOMMM, OOOMMM.

Someone interrupts my almost-clarity by shaking me. “Keatyn, are you okay? Wake up. Wake up.”

I open my eyes and stare straight into Aiden’s face, which, with the sun setting behind him, makes it look like he only has a head. A head that is surrounded by streams of yellow and orange sunbeams. It looks very godlike, really.

I give him a puzzled look. “Why the hell are you shaking me?”

He looks panicked, and he’s breathing heavy too.

“Because I saw you collapse! I thought you died or had a heart attack or something. God, you scared me half to death!”

I let out a big sigh and roll my eyes at him.

It may have been the biggest eye roll of my life.

“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for checking on me. It was very sweet, but I’d like to be alone now. I’m trying to meditate.” Then I close my eyes and try to forget the jerk is here.

“Why were you punching my head?”

“Because I hate you. No, that’s not right. Because you frustrate the hell out of me.”

“And you don’t think I want to punch your head too? You frustrate the hell out of me. I don’t know what to do with you. Every time I try to do something nice or special for you, it blows up in my face.”

“Well at least I don’t act like I like you, be all romantic and shit, then pat you on the back, say
See ya later
and then don’t see you later. Don’t call. Don’t text.”

“At least I didn’t go on a date with Dawson!”

“That’d make you gay. But it doesn’t matter. Whitney doesn’t even know me and now she hates me, not that I care. Obviously she doesn’t want him, but she also doesn’t want anyone else to have him. It’s about time she let him move on. Stop freaking torturing him.”

“And he’s going to move on with you?”

“Not at all. We’re just friends. But at least he talks to me.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I felt like I screwed it all up with the Keats stuff, and then you told me you slept with him, and I don’t even know the guy, and I want to go hunt him down and tell him to leave you alone. That you’re mine. Especially after I saw his text today in French.”

“But I’m not yours.”

“I don’t think you could belong to anyone else.”

What. The. Hell? Who the hell does he think he is? “Oh really?” I say. “Just watch me.”

I get up and jog straight to the boys’ dorm.

I knock on Dawson’s door, fling it open, and then slam it shut. He’s sitting on his bed with his laptop across one knee. 

He laughs when he sees me. “You’re pissed. What’s wrong?”

I move his computer off his lap, flop face down in its place, and growl. “Grrrrrr.”

“Aiden?”

“And his sister.”

Dawson puts both his hands on my back and rubs it gently. “Just relax. Then you can tell me all about it. And, while you’re at it, you should probably take your face off my lap before I get all turned on.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m just kidding. Jeez. What happened?”

I roll over and lay the back of my head on his lap. 

He starts massaging my temples.  

“Oh,” I moan. “Oh my gosh. That’s just what I needed. Oh, that feels
sooooo
good.”

He grins down at me.

“Oh. Please. Don’t stop,” I whine.

“I’ll do it for as long as you want, baby,” he teases. 

And, finally, I relax. 

Then I tell him everything. 

We decide that Aiden is a jerk, and Peyton and Whitney are dumb. Then we go to dinner in the café together. 

After dinner, I’m giggling as he tries to feed me bites of his messy brownie sundae. 

Some hot fudge drips down over my lip and then, right in front of Whitney, he slowly licks it off and kisses me. 

Tuesday, August 30th

Lick hot fudge off you.

lunch

I love the uniform combination I picked for today. I know I look different, but it makes me feel confident. And when the most popular girl at school already hates you, confidence is a good thing. I’m wearing the plaid skort with a show-stoppingly gorgeous cream Dolce & Gabbana contrasting lace top. Cream burnout over-the-knee socks. Short red cowboy boots. Brooks Brothers red rose stud earrings. Little red fringe handbag.

Aiden taps me on the shoulder. He’s standing behind me in the lunch line and says in a snotty voice, “Can I lick hot fudge off you too?”

What a jerk. “Naw, I think I have that taken care of, but thanks.”

“You’re such a liar.”

I turn around to face him. “I am
not
a liar!” 

“Don’t give me that shit. You told me you just kissed him, and you aren’t
just
kissing him.”

“Yes. I swear.” 

I heard you in his room yesterday after you ran away from me at the track.”

“What, are you following me now?”

“That’s beside the point. Still, I heard you. All
Oh, oh, that feels so good. Please don’t stop.
And then him saying,
I’ll do it for as long as you want, baby
.”

He has a very condescending voice when he says this to me, like he’s mad and making fun of me at the same time.

“What are you even talking about?”

“You had sex with him. Don’t lie to me.” 

“I did not. And if I
was
going to have sex with him, which I certainly could do if I chose to, it wouldn’t be when I was all sweaty and gross. You have no common sense.”

“Then what was he doing that was
Just what I needed and that feels so good
?”

I put my hand up to the side of my head and say, “I don’t remember saying that.”

I think.

“Oh, wait! He was rubbing my temples. Because I was stressed. About you!”

“He was rubbing your temples. Yeah,
sure
he was.”

“Come here.” I grab his arm and drag him over to where Dawson’s sitting. Unfortunately, Whitney and crew are sitting there too. But fuck it. I don’t care.

“Dawson. When I was in your room yesterday lying on your bed, I told you,
Oh that feels sooo good and please, don’t stop
.” I even say it the way I said it yesterday, closed eyes, lowered, dreamy voice. “What were you doing to me?”

Tyrese interrupts and is like, “Damn, girl, I don’t know what he was doing to you, but the way you just said it got me all hot and bothered.” 

I roll my eyes at him.   

Jake is like, “Yeah, Dawes, what
were
you doing to her?” 

Dawson moves his chin slightly to the left and winces one eye. I can tell he’s trying to decide if he should tell the truth or make up something good.

I plead with my eyes. “Tell him the truth. Please.”

Dawson rolls his eyes. “I was rubbing her head, like this.” He puts his hands up to his temples and rubs. 

I drop Aiden’s arm. “
See!
God, you’re dumb!”

Whitney leans over and runs her hand across Jake’s chest. Like it will somehow lessen the effect of what just happened. And I know exactly what happened. She’s pissed. And she’s more pissed than she would’ve been if Dawson and I had sex. If we did have sex, she could say he’s just using me. Rubbing one’s temples suggests something more intimate. It suggests friendship. Something I think they never had.

Shit. 

But guess what? I don’t freaking care what she thinks. I’ve had enough of her nasty stares
and
Aiden’s stupid accusations. 

I put my hand on Dawson’s shoulder, lean down, and say in his ear, “Let’s get outta here,” and drag him out of the café with me.

He’s laughing at me, while I’m marching and dragging him madly behind me.

 “You’re pretty sexy when you’re pissed. Come sit down.”

We sit on a bench under a big maple tree. He casually lays his arm across the back of the bench. “What did he say that set you off? And was he
actually
listening outside my door?”

“He asked if he could lick hot fudge off my face too. And yes, he was.”

“Licking hot fudge off you was fun. He’s jealous.” 

“He’s dumb.”

Dawson leans in toward me, slowly pushes my hair back off my face, looks into my eyes, and then glances down at my mouth. “Well, I’m not.” 

And he slowly kisses me.

We sit on the bench, the sun filtering through the leaves and feeling warm on my legs, and kiss for the rest of lunch.

I almost passed out.

French

Aiden is sitting behind me, burning holes into the back of my head with his mad eyes. As the class is chatting about what French film we’d like to watch on Friday, Annie, the girl who sits just to the right of me, touches my arm and says, “I saw you kissing Dawson on the bench today. I was out taking pictures for my photography class, and you two looked so cute. He is
so
hot.” She fans herself. 

She’s a cute girl, but you have to look close to notice. She has delicate bone structure, a perky nose, and a gorgeous creamy complexion. But her hair needs serious help. Someone needs to teach the girl how to use a straightener and some glossing cream. Right now her hair is frizzy and totally overwhelming her face. 

I giggle. “He is really hot.”

“Does he kiss good?” she giggles back.

And I swear, I feel a laser shot to the back of my skull.

He hates this, but I don’t care. It’s not my fault he doesn’t like me enough to text me. 

I lean toward Anne, grab a strand of my hair and twirl it around my finger. “That was the first time we, like, really kissed, but, yes, he is a good kisser.” I speak in a very girly version of my voice, one I rarely use. It has that dreamy quality. I laugh, lower my voice, and tell her conspiratorially, “He licked hot fudge off the edge of my lip last night.” I even point to the spot. “And then he kissed me. It was the most
ah-dorable
thing ever.”

I gush. And I realize that I’m not gushing just to piss Aiden off. I did like it, and it was pretty damn adorable.