The Keatyn Chronicles: Books 1-3: (Stalk Me, Kiss Me, and Date Me) Read online

"S'up, Keats?" I hear Brooklyn call out. I turn to see him walking up the beach toward me. “You just get home?”

  I stand up. My beautiful dress is wet and sandy, but I know it still looks pretty blowing in the breeze.

  “Yeah, I just came out here to think."

  He walks closer to me. "You look really pretty. What’s wrong? Did Cinderella not have fun at the ball?"

  Ohmigawd! Did he just say I look really pretty?

  “Prom was fine,” I lie.

  We sit back down in the sand. I take a drink of beer then hand it to him. He takes a swig and hands it back.

  "So why do you look upset? Come on, Keats. What’s up? Someone wear the same dress to the party?"

  I sigh. Brooklyn doesn’t think much of Hollywood-type parties, high school parties, my friends, or my boyfriend. He thinks they are all shallow and vapid. Which means he’s probably not the best person to say this to.

  "I'm thinking about breaking up with Sander,” I say quietly.

  “You should. He’s an arrogant asshole and a whiner.”

  “He only whines about how much time I spend with you and the guys, and everyone at school will think I’m crazy."

  "Why do you care so much about what people think? He's not the right guy for you. And look at you. You'll have guys standing in line to take his place."

  Did he just give me another compliment?

  I look into his eyes. I’ve written so many scenes about those ocean blue eyes. I glance at his lips. The lips I’ve been dying to kiss.

  "I don’t think guys will be standing in line,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Keats, you’re a very pretty girl. Trust me, lots of guys will.”

  There’s the key word in the sentence. Girl. Brooklyn still sees me as the fifteen-year-old girl he first met.

  I want so badly to say, Would YOU be standing in line?

  But I don’t.

  “My friends will get mad at me.”

  "If they were your real friends, they’d want what's best for you. He’s not what’s best for you.”

  I know he's right, but still, I like being popular.

  Although, I’m embarrassed to admit, sometimes being popular kinda goes to my head. Like the other night at Cush’s party, these sweet freshman girls showed up. Vanessa immediately had her claws out. She made fun of their sundresses and told them they should go home. I just laughed in agreement instead of being nice like I should’ve been.

  "I don't know what's best for me anymore, B. What do you do when you get your wish, but then you realize you wished for the wrong thing?” I sigh loudly and lean back in the sand. “There is a guy who I wish would be excited if I broke up with Sander,” I say, sort of to the moon. “But I doubt he will be.”

  Ohmigawd!

  Did I just say that out loud?

  I can't believe I just said that! I'd like to blame it on the alcohol, but I can't. I only had two glasses of champagne.

  Brooklyn slowly takes a sip of my beer, licks his lips in the sexiest way ever, and leans back in the sand next to me.

  "Maybe if you didn't have a boyfriend, the guy would think he had a shot."

  He leans closer to my face. I can't help but look at his mouth. God, I want that mouth. Please let him kiss me. Lying in the sand, under the moonlight, in a beautiful gown, would make for the perfect first kiss scene.

  Instead, he gently rubs his thumb across my cheek and looks deeply into my eyes.

  “I know you, Keats. You're not the same when you're with your friends. You turn into a high-strung, power-hungry, popularity whore when you’re with them. That's not you. You're my little laid-back surfer girl."

  His girl?

  Awwww! OMG!

  Wait . . . little girl?

  Ack! No!

  "I don't know who I am anymore. Or even who I want to be. Sometimes I feel like I live two separate lives. When Sander and I started dating, it was my dream come true. All I ever wanted was to be popular, have lots of friends, and date the most popular guy. Now that I have it all, it just feels . . . um . . .” I search for the right word.

  “Fake?”

  “Kinda. It's like I'm living the movie of my life based on some script I wrote when I was twelve. Actually, I am. I still have the script I wrote. When I thought the best thing in life would be to have a boy kiss me. When I thought being popular and dating the hottest guy would be the key to high school happiness."

  I sit back up, fidget with my beer, and pop my toes in and out of the sand. I feel like I’m at a turning point in my life, and I’m just not sure which way I should turn.

  He pulls a joint out of his pocket, lights it, and hands it to me.

  “You seem really uptight.” His eyes get big, and he grabs my arm. "Did he hurt you? Is that what this is all about?"

  “Ha.” I laugh pathetically. “Don’t I wish.”

  "You wish?"

  I take a hit and then another. Then I start to get tears in my eyes.

  Just what I want. The guy I totally crush on to see me all weepy.

  He sees my tears, puts his arm around me, and is concerned. “Keats, tell me now. What happened?"

  I slam one of my hands down in the sand in frustration. “I just don’t understand it. People say I’m pretty. Guys hit on me at parties and whistle at me on the beach. So why doesn’t Sander want me?”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t want you?”

  “Shouldn’t the guy I’ve dated for over a year want to have sex with me? I mean, I can understand that he believes in no sex before marriage, but shouldn’t he at least have a hard time resisting me?”

  Brooklyn starts laughing.

  I swat his arm. "Stop laughing.” But then I can't help it, and I start laughing too. It’s funny.

  Or tragic. I’m not sure which.

  Or maybe it’s just the weed.

  "You've been dating him for over a year.”

  “I know. We really haven’t done much more than kiss.”

  Brooklyn giggles and takes another hit. "That's awesome. The way he always has his hands all over you, I thought for sure you were doing it.”

  "It's not awesome. It's totally embarrassing. It’s like I’m not desirable.”

  He grins at me and nods his head up and down. "You should definitely break up with him." Then he stands up and says, “Come on,” pulls me up off the sand, and walks me to my door.

  He leans against the mahogany door outside my bedroom. “You’re still coming with me tomorrow night, right?"

  “Tomorrow night?” What is tomorrow night?

  “Damian’s last gig?”

  Duh. “Of course; I wouldn’t miss it. I’m sorry, B. I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

  I look up into his eyes.

  He smiles, leans in, and kisses the side of my head. Kind of by my temple. While his lips are still lingering close to my ear, he says, "For the record, Keats, you are very desirable."

  Then he turns and walks away.

  I don't dare move or take a breath. I want to relive his words over and over. I want to feel the spot where his lips touched my face. The fire that I just don't feel when Sander kisses me.

  I plan out the scene in my mind. One of the many different scenes I’ve scripted for the story of my life but have yet to live.

  FADE IN: MALIBU BEACH HOUSE

  THE DECK BATHED IN THE MOONLIGHT.

  A young couple says goodnight. The handsome surfer heads home, so the young blonde slips out of her wet and sandy dress. She’s wearing only her bra and panties.

  KEATYN

  (Lays dress across chaise to dry.)

  BROOKLYN

  (Comes back up the stairs. Sees her with no dress on. His eyes run hungrily down her body.)

  KEATYN

  (Shocked and slightly embarrassed at first.)

  You’re back.

  BROOKLYN

  (Swallows hard. Desire fills his eyes.)

  KEATYN

  (Feeling bold, she takes a step closer to his waiting
arms.)

  (They share a passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that makes a girl feel desired.)

  (His hands slide down her back, leaving what feels like a trail of fire behind them. The kiss is better than either one had ever imagined.)

  BROOKLYN

  Break up with him, and be with me.

  I stand on the deck, bite my lip, and watch him walk up the beach. I don't care what my friends think. Kisses like that would be worth it.

  Who cares if I’m not popular anymore?

  Now if only I could get Brooklyn to follow my script. To want to play his role.

  I give the beach one last look, then turn and go inside.

  I grab one of my mom’s romances off my desk and read the racy parts. I pretend that Brooklyn does all those things to me.

  Can’t live without me. Can’t breathe when I’m around. He kisses me hard, pushes me onto the bed, and does all the other stuff they talk about. And it’s not just the sex that I want.

  I want it all.

  A hot guy; one who’s sweet and sexy at the same time. One who wants me so badly he can barely control himself. One who stands up for what he believes in.

  One who wouldn’t care what his friends thought.

  And, maybe, one who’s been staring at the moon, too.

  Saturday, May 14th

  You’re single. I’m single.

  8:25am

  I wake up feeling determined, so I call RiAnne. She’s not as bitchy as Vanessa. Since Vanessa is the Queen Bee at our school, she can get anyone to do whatever she wants, and if they don’t, she’ll make their life a living hell.

  Been there. Seen it. Burned the t-shirt.

  “Have you talked to Vanessa this morning?” she asks me.

  “No, have you?”

  “Yeah, and girlfriend, trust me, you don’t want to. She’s super hungover and is being The. Biggest. Bitch. Ever. I called and asked if she wanted get a smoothie, and she about bit my head off.”

  “Last night she offered to sleep with Sander.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s about the only boy left at school that she hasn’t slept with.” She laughs. “Like, I’m not calling her a slut or anything; it’s just a fact.”

  “I know what you mean. If I tell you something, promise not to tell her?”

  “Last night she told me that my roots were showing and that she thought she saw cellulite on my thigh. I don’t even know why I called her. I have an emergency root touch up with Leonardo this morning and then I’m going to yell at my trainer. As hard as that man works me, there shouldn’t be an ounce of fat on me.”

  “RiAnne, you don’t have cellulite. Vanessa says stuff like that when you look really pretty because she knows it undermines your confidence.”

  “You’re right. I should’ve told her what I thought of her dress. She should not be wearing horizontal lines on those hips of hers.” She giggles then says, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

  “I won’t. Pinky swear,” I say, making the ultimate promise. “I’m going to break up with Sander.”

  “Why would you do that? You can’t do any better than Sander.”

  I’m not sure if that was a compliment or a backhanded slam.

  I sigh and go with it. “I know. I think maybe I just need a break. You’ve dated a ton of guys. I’ve really only dated one. Speaking of which? What happened last night?”

  “You know, same as everyone. He took me to the hotel, expected sex, got it, then brought me home early this morning. What about you and Sander? I’m surprised you’re still not getting it on. You’re so lucky. He’s sexy, and he adores you. Everyone will just die if you break up. You’re the perfect couple.”

  “Just because we seem like the perfect couple doesn’t mean we are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure if I’m in love with him.”

  “Oh.” She is quiet for a minute. “Can you make sure it’s a friendly breakup? We want to still be able to sit at our lunch table.”

  And there you have it. Another example of why I wonder if my friends are real, and if being popular is all it’s cracked up to be.

  I throw myself dramatically across my bed and stare out at the ocean. I think about what Brooklyn said last night. His words, You’re very desirable, keep running through my head.

  I decide to do it. I call Sander.

  “Hey, sweetheart, what’s up?”

  “Um, Sander, I think we should talk.”

  “Why does it sound like you’re about to break up with me?”

  “Because I am thinking about it. You know I adore you, but we’ve dated for so long. I was thinking maybe we should consider taking a break. What do you think?”

  “Is there someone else you want to date?”

  “I don’t know. I really haven’t dated anyone but you. You’re amazing, and you’ve been the perfect boyfriend. I heard Vanessa hitting on you at the party. Don’t you sometimes want to date other people?”

  “No way would I date that skank. I really don’t know why you’re friends with her. Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I got the part.”

  “Of Danny!? Sander, ohmigawd, I’m so happy for you!”

  “Well, it’s not finalized. They’re still negotiating, but they want me. Honestly, I’m going to be leaving in a few weeks to start working on the choreography and was going to break up with you then. Not because I don’t love you, but I just wanted to be fair.”

  “Sander, do you really want to wait until you get married, or am I just not, like, desirable enough?”

  “Keatyn Douglas, don’t you dare do that to yourself. You’re gorgeous. The guys all think I’m very lucky. If they catch wind that we broke up, they’ll all be calling. Trust me.”

  “They think we’ve had sex.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I never set them straight about it. I just wanted to go to high school and be normal. I wanted to live out a movie.”

  I laugh out loud. “Ohmigawd, Sander! Me too! You and I think so much alike, it’s crazy. So you’re cool with breaking up?”

  “We’re gonna stay friends, right?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Good. You know what though? I’ve never had a role where I got my heart broken. In Grease, Sandy breaks my heart. Do you mind if I use our breakup as practice? Like I’ll act devastated at school. I’ll be all dreary and full of angst. I’m going to have to dye my hair for the role. Maybe I should do it now. People at school will be shocked. Kinda like when Danny shows up looking like a jock. Only I’ll go the other way. Dark hair, dark leather jacket, maybe a few hoodies. I’ll definitely need new clothes. Wanna go shopping with me later?”

  “I’m gonna surf with the guys this morning, but I’ll call you afterward. I need to find a sexy dive bar outfit.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  I laugh again. “Damian’s last gig is tonight. You should stop by.”

  “I’ll try to. So are you going to tell people, or should I? Will we still sit together at lunch?”

  “I don’t know. Will it fit the role?”

  “Oh, good point. I should sit somewhere else and wallow. Look broken hearted. Put the hoodie up and earphones in so no one will talk to me. Play the outsider. The jilted man. Can I have one of those big emotional breakdowns by your locker?”

  “Sure, why not? Am I supposed to ad lib, or are you gonna script it out?”

  “Hmmm. Not sure. This is gonna be fun, I think. I miss acting.”

  “I know you do. So, Sander, I hate to do this, but I’m breaking up with you. I will post it on Facebook for the world to see. I hope you understand.”

  “But sweetheart, I will die without you. You are my one true love. Now I have nothing. I will sink into the dark blackness of oblivion without you.”

  “That might be overkill.”

  “I’ll have to work on it. See ya later.”

  And just like that. A year and a half.

  Done.


  I change my Facebook status to single and look out at the waves. Brooklyn and some of the guys are already hitting the surf.

  I pull my hair into a ponytail, brush my teeth, spf my face, throw on a bikini, and look at myself in the mirror.

  If today is the start of a new me, I should make a new impression.

  I rummage through my drawer and pull out a different bikini.

  The skimpiest one I own.

  Before I started high school, I told Mom I wanted to look a little more, um, polished, I guess is the word, so she totally pampered me. I got polished, scrubbed, and massaged from head to toe. My hair is naturally a dark blonde, but the salt water and sun make all the light blonde highlights come out, so my long hair just got trimmed. I got lessons on how to apply makeup and how to fix my hair. My braces came off, and my teeth got whitened. I don’t need glasses, but Mom even let me get cool colored contacts, so I can change the color of my eyes from a piercing turquoise blue to a bright emerald green. I usually don’t wear them, though. My eyes are naturally kind of a bright purplish-blue, an exact replica of my dad’s. And, I don’t know, seeing them helps me feel like he’s still kinda with me.

  I think about how much I’ve grown in the time I’ve known Brooklyn.

  I now stand five foot nine inches tall. I’m tan and in good shape from a combination of surfing, kickboxing workouts with Tommy, dance classes, and soccer practices.

  I bought this bikini a few years ago in France. It was the bikini I always pictured myself wearing in the scenes I wrote. I thought that if Brooklyn saw me in this bikini, he’d stop thinking of me as a little girl and see me as the woman I thought I was.

  I chuckle to myself because wearing this bikini is a slam to all that Vanessa holds dear. She would have a fit if she knew I was being seen in a two-year-old bikini.

  You know, always worrying about what people think of what you’re wearing can be exhausting sometimes.

  And, let’s face it, most boys don’t know if you’re in last season’s bikini or not.

  My phone dings and dings. I grab it. Read the texts and Facebook notifications.