Aiden Read online

  The more I think about it, the more certain I am. She was talking about herself.

  So who is she?

  I shut my blackout curtains, turn on the lamp over my bed, grab my laptop, and start searching.

  I start with her name, Keatyn Monroe. But all I really get from that is a bunch of Marilyn Monroe. I go through pages and pages of searches, but can’t find anything.

  I switch to an image search, still nothing.

  So I try Facebook.

  None of the Keatyn Monroes are her.

  Then I search her name and the word stalker.

  Nothing.

  But wait, she said her friend is lying about who she is. Could she have changed her name?

  Or maybe just her last name?

  I search just Keatyn.

  Then switch to Keatyn on Facebook.

  I search through hundreds of profiles, not finding her.

  I stand up and pace the room.

  What do I know about her? She lived in California. Famous parents.

  Famous and California, could her parents be actors? Involved with Hollywood? Or maybe a professional athlete? Or run a company people would know of?

  I look at the clock and sigh. It’s nearly four in the morning. This is ridiculous.

  I’ve been searching for way too long.

  Clearly, I am obsessed.

  But, at the same time, I feel a little bit invigorated. Like I’m getting closer.

  I search the name Keatyn along with the words famous parents. I get a lot of hits about current actors with famous parents, but still not what I’m looking for.

  What do people in Hollywood do? Where do they go? Move premieres, right?

  I type in Keatyn, Movie Premiere using the image search function.

  I scroll through a few pages, my vision starting to blur.

  I’ll look through these and then stop for the night.

  On page ten, my eyes move across the screen in a haze then stop.

  Wait. What was that?

  I go back a few pictures and spot a photo that could be her.

  I click to make it bigger.

  It’s a photo from a popular kid’s award show. I immediately recognize the actress Abby Johnston. And standing next to her is Keatyn Douglas, daughter of the late Mark Douglas.

  Wow. I was right.

  I can’t help but smile. She’s about twelve in the photo, not as tall as her mom. Her face is still chubby with baby fat, not the chiseled cheekbones she has today. Her hair is long and blonde, she’s tan, and wearing just a little mascara. She and her mom share the same smile, and she’s adorable.

  I do a quick search to pull up Mark Douglas. See he was a professional model. And that she has her father’s eyes.

  I stop, get up to stretch my legs again, and grab a Mountain Dew and a bag of chips. I need caffeine and food.

  After chugging about half the can and shoving chips into my mouth, I switch to Facebook and easily find Keatyn Douglas. There’s a photo of her and a guy. I click on it and read her description. Me and B in Monaco.
  I scroll through her other photos. Her and the guy, who’s real name is Brooklyn Wright, looking in love. On the beach. Surfing. Kissing. Getting matching tattoos. Her with her BFFs, Vanessa and RiAnne. Her prom night, looking gorgeous in a sparkly gown with a handsome guy who looks sort of familiar. Then some photos of her with another guy named Cush.

  I close my eyes, feeling like a stalker. Feeling like I’m invading her personal life.

  But at the same time, I need to know.

  I click on the album titled Birthday Party. She’s looking exceptionally hot, wearing a little strapless cream dress with a flouncy skirt, her long legs tan and her feet encased in gorgeous heels with jewels on them. She’s wearing a simple gold heart locket, the one she wears every day. I notice the date. Saturday, August 20th.

  I glance at my calendar. Her first day here was Thursday, August 25th. Orientation day. The day she kicked the soccer ball at me. Only five days after her party. I remember what she told me in the chapel. She invited him to a party. There was a commotion. He told her he was taking her to a van out back. But she got away. A guy fought with him. The police came. They took her statement. She was hysterical. Threw up. She’d been drinking. It was her word against his. There was just not enough evidence.

  I click out of her photos and take a look at her wall.

  There is a post yesterday morning from RiAnne. It says, I miss you.

  I scroll back some more. See the talk about her. The gossip. The rumors. She is the one who left. She’s the one lying about who she is. She’s the one who almost got kidnapped. That’s why she was so upset today. Why she was shaking.

  She said only a few people know she left.

  And one of those people has to be Brooklyn Wright. I’ve seen their texts. That means she trusts him. Were they two people pulled apart by circumstances beyond their control?

  Does she still love him?

  That question hurts to think about. Literally hurts my heart. But, yet, she’s with Dawson. So he can’t be that special. Can he?

  The more important question, though, is what am I going to do?

  Should I confront her?

  I’m afraid for her. Those words gave me a chill in the chapel, and they do the same to me now. I can’t confront her. She’s in trouble. She said she feels like she’s living a lie. This isn’t easy for her. I think about what she must be going through. She’s almost kidnapped at her birthday party. Five days later, she’s forced to not only leave all her friends, but have no contact with them. She was forced to leave her boyfriend, the surfer. She was sent to Eastbrooke. It’s no wonder she got so upset when I quoted Keats. It’s no wonder things are up in the air with them.

  Although sometimes, like in the chapel, it feels like me and Keatyn are close, I know now that we aren’t. I need to get to know her better. I need to find out what’s in her heart. What’s in her soul. And not just think about getting in her pants. In fact, I’m going to make a vow to myself right now. I’m going to take things slow with her. Be her friend. I don’t want our relationship—whatever that turns out to be—based on anything other than trust.

  I really wish we didn’t fight, Aiden.

  And I’m going to stop pushing for it to happen.

  Because I don’t want to fight either.

  I close my laptop, then peek through my curtains at the moon again. It’s a brilliant night, the sky full of stars.

  I shut the curtains and turn off my lamp, leaving the twinkle lights on. As I lie in bed, I suddenly know how I’ll ask her to Homecoming. I want to give her the moon and the stars.

  Sunday, September 25th

  Quite limber.

  10am

  Logan and I grab a smoothie then go down to the gym to work out. It’s fairly early on Sunday morning and pretty quiet.

  “So, how’d last night go?” he asks as he adds more weight to the barbell I’m getting ready to bench press. “You and Ashley hook up?”

  “What about you?” I ask, avoiding the question and hoping to distract him.

  “Yeah. Get this, we did it in the stairwell of her dorm. That was a first.”

  “You could have gotten caught.”

  “I know, but that’s what made it all the more exciting. Plus the railings,” he says as I grunt, pushing the weight upward.

  “Good job,” he says, spotting for me. “You want more weight?”

  “No, this is hard enough,” I laugh. “So back to the railings.”

  “She’s a cheerleader. A gymnast. Quite limber,” he says with a smirk. “Use your imagination. My ass was warm while yours was probably freezing on the lacrosse bleachers...” He stops mid-sentence.

  I do another rep then sit up and see the reason for the interruption. At one end of the weight room is a glass-enclosed yoga room. Maggie just walked in, rolled out a yoga mat, and started her workout by putting her hands above her head almost as if in prayer, then she switches to a different position. I don’t know the name of the yoga poses, but apparently Logan does.

  “Downward dog,” he says with a sigh. “Gotta love yoga.”

  “Probably because she’s not wearing much,” I agree.

  “I know, those skimpy spandex shorts, the bra top. She has her hair in a braid just like the first time we kissed—” He moves quickly, hurt in his eyes. “My turn,” he says. “Give me twenty over my personal best.”

  “Logan, why don’t you go do some yoga instead? Talk to her.”

  “One. She hates me. Two. She probably already knows I was with Alicia. Nothing is private here. And three. She hates me.”

  “Maybe you should ask her to Homecoming,” I suggest. His eyes linger on Maggie, making me feel bad for him. It’s obvious that he still loves her. “I don’t understand why you won’t talk to her.”

  “We do talk.”

  “I mean about your relationship. You like her. Fix it.”

  “No thanks. I’ll take messy drunken stairway sex over having my heart stomped on again, thank you very much. Now, be a good spotter and add more weight.” When he notices she’s looking in our direction, he flexes in the mirror, popping out the back muscles that all the girls seem to love. Then he lies down and benches a new personal best—which means he gets to ring the bell.

  “You’re totally showing off for her,” I tease.

  “Shut up,” he replies as he runs over to the big bell close to the yoga room and rings it loudly.

  After our workout, we head back to the dorm.

  “You want to go into town for lunch? Chinese, maybe?”

  “No, I can’t. I have some stuff to do.”

  “Homework sucks,” he says.

  I nod, even though that’s not what I’m talking about.


  I shower, get dressed, then drive into the city and hit numerous stores before I have everything I need.

  When I get back to my dorm, I set up the ladder I borrowed from the janitor and lock my door.

  I don’t want anyone to see what I’m doing.

  I want her to be the first to see it.

  Two hours later, I lie back on the bed and decide it looks like shit.

  She’s going to hate it.

  Hell, I hate it.

  I can’t even make out the word. The stars look completely random.

  And then there’s the stupid moon.

  It’s like it’s making fun of me.

  I throw it onto the floor in a huff.

  Then I rip the stars all down and start over. This time going about the process in a more meticulous fashion, measuring it all out on paper before I place the stars to form each letter.

  Hours later, my stomach growling and my arms aching from being up above my head for so long, I decide it’s finished.

  It’s already dark, but I close my blinds anyway, turn off the lights, then collapse onto my bed.

  It takes a few minutes for the stars to glow, but when they do, I can’t help but smile.

  She’s going to love it.

  I hope.

  And after she says yes, I’m going to tell her that I know who she really is.

  I fall asleep thinking how amazing it’s going to be.

  As I’m leaving the field house, I notice Keatyn slip behind the bushes not far from the door. I’m going to say something witty, but then I see Dawson get into a limo with Whitney.

  Are they going to leave without her or did she decide not to go?

  Wait, did she and Dawson break up?

  I want to jump for joy and then kiss her, but her body language changes. Her shoulders slump forward in defeat, and I realize she’s not happy about whatever just transpired.

  “Why are we hiding in the bushes?” I whisper. “Aren’t you going with them?”

  As she turns around, her chest brushes across mine—the unmistakable jolt of energy I know we both feel every time we touch causing her to hop backwards and almost fall into the bushes. I reach out and grab her, holding her upright.

  Tears fill her gorgeous eyes.

  “Whitney told me right before the game was over that even though I was sitting there when she asked, that I wasn’t invited. Then she said something nasty about me being Dawson’s flavor of the week and how he’s going to hook up with Rachel. I was going to cancel on him anyway. I have a car coming to pick me up in the morning and then I’m going to New York. I guess Dawson is still mad at me about today. Or maybe Whitney is right, and I am just the flavor of the week.”

  I listen to her every word, thrilled that she’s standing here in my arms, but mad that my sister and her friends could be so mean.

  “You know, you’re even beautiful when you cry,” I say, brushing a few tears from her cheek.

  “If this is the new and improved Aiden, I like him better already.

  I realize I need to do what’s best for her, not me. “I think you should still go. Show Whitney that she doesn’t affect you. You have to stand up to bullies.”

  “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for that. Not with everything that happened today.”

  I give her a reassuring hug and whisper in her ear. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

  She smiles through her tears. “You’re right, Aiden. Thank you.”

  I take her hand and lead her to the limo.

  The door opens. Whitney gets out, and Keatyn gets in.

  I turn around and make my way back to the field house, wondering why I did that.

  Whitney joins me. “I didn’t think you’d be able to talk her into coming,” she says with an evil laugh. “Which is ironic, because now she’s going to get what she’s got coming.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Whitney pulls out a gun and shoots me.

  Bang. Bang.

  I can feel each bullet slicing through my flesh. Burning.

  Pain.

  Whitney pulls off a mask, revealing that it’s not really her but rather a man with dark hair and menacing eyes.

  The man says, “Thank you for helping me set this all up.”

  This man must be the stalker.

  And I led her straight to him.

  I have to save her.

  When I move to take a step forward, I collapse onto the ground.

  I look up, seeing the man, shoving Keatyn back into the limo, a gun pointed at her head.

  I know that I’m dying.

  That the stalker has Keatyn because of me.

  And there’s nothing I can do to protect her.

  Everything isn’t going to be alright.

  I wake up, white light blinding me. Thank goodness, it was just a dream.

  But then I touch my chest, feel the bullet holes, and see my blood pumping out from my chest and pooling on the pristine floor underneath me.

  Is this heaven? Am I dead?

  My father’s face appears before me. “I told you that you can’t demand someone’s trust. You have to earn it. And, now, look what you’ve done.”

  The blood on the floor turns into red hot flames, burning me alive.

  As the fire sears my skin, I realize too late that I forced her trust rather than earned it. I screwed up again.

  I want to fix it, but it’s too late.

  “Keatyn!” I cry out, the flames engulfing me as I look up and notice the glow-in-the dark stars above my head spelling out Homecoming?

  I wake with a start, in a pool of sweat, her name still on my lips, light pouring in from the curtains I forgot to close last night.

  I touch my chest, finding it intact, pain still fleeting across it.

  It felt so real. Was it a premonition?

  I grab my laptop and search. This one more important. I search a combination of Abby Johnston and stalker, then Keatyn Douglas and stalker, then Abby Johnston’s daughter and stalker.

  When nothing comes up, I do the same searches replacing stalker with kidnapping.

  Nothing.

  I lie back down and look up at the stars, barely distinguishable in the daylight, and think about her. My life was a mess when I made a wish on the moon. I’m tired of girls who only need a smile from me, a few shots, or a good game. I know the moon brought her to me. She is the kind of epic love I want.

  I think about my parents. How when my mom got cancer, everything in my father’s life stopped. How he sold the business he worked so hard to create. How he changed their lives completely. At the time, I thought he went a little overboard with it all. But I get it now.

  He wanted the world for her, and he was going to give it to her, no matter how long they had left together.

  I think about Brooklyn, the stalker, Dawson, my family.

  And her.

  When she kicked the soccer ball at my head, I knew.

  As naturally as I knew the sound of my own heartbeat.

  Knew we belonged together forever.

  Now, I just need to prove it to her.

  Even if I have to go a little overboard.

  Monday, September 26th

  Clapping and screaming.

  Lunch

  I’m waiting outside the student center when I spot Keatyn for the first time today. She’s talking with Jake and Bryce, and I’m trying to decide if I should interrupt them. But then I overhear them telling her they have to go do something for football, but to meet them at the lunch table.

  She argues with them but eventually agrees.

  She has on a pair of shoes I haven’t seen before. Red suede platforms that have leopard print on the heel. She looks adorable and confident as she struts toward me.

  But then she stops again, looking down at her phone.

  She appears to type in a few replies, then the smile slides off her face, and she turns white, like she might faint. I wonder if it’s more bad news from home. Something about the stalker.

  She closes her eyes tightly to steady herself, then furiously texts. I stay where I am and wait for her.