Because I kinda feel guilty.

They announce that, based on a Facebook poll, our next themed weekend will be French and how excited they all are. Peyton, Brad, Whitney, and Aiden were obviously busy last night.

Brad, who is sitting next to me, goes into details about their plans. I’m half listening, half sleeping with my eyes open.

“So I’m excited about the French theme, but we should have a catchy name for the weekend,” he drones on. “A slogan, if you will. Let’s brainstorm.”

I hear voices calling out ideas.

I see London, I see France.

That one makes me chuckle.

A Night in Paris.

A Weekend in Paris.

I imagine my trip to Paris. My pink dress fluttering around me like spun sugar.

Cougars and  Croissants.

Berets and Beignets.

Viva la France.

Bonjour, Eastbrooke.

L’Amour.

I hear Peyton speak up. “Not to be critical, but I don’t like any of them. While Greek weekend was more about fun and games, I want the French weekend to have a completely different feel. I want it to evoke romance.”

I’m barely awake. Sort of stuck between reality and a Parisian daydream. I wistfully think of what Aiden told me that one day. It sounded so incredibly romantic.

“Top of the Eiffel Tower, sunset,” I whisper softly.

“What did you say?” Brad asks, knocking his elbow into mine.

“Huh? Uh, what?”

“What did you just say about the Eiffel Tower?”

“Um, I don’t think I said anything.”

“Yes, you did. Something about sunset.”

Peyton grins at me. “That’s it! Top of the Eiffel Tower. Sunset.”

Whitney nods enthusiastically. “I love it. It sounds so romantic.”

I gulp, realizing what I’ve just done. I don’t dare look at Aiden, but somehow, I can’t stop myself from glancing his way.

He does that thing. Where he stares at me, looks into my soul, grabs it, and doesn’t let go. Then he blinks slowly and his mouth starts that slow buildup to a smile. The little smirk, the smile, and then the full-wattage grin.

Shit.

I’ve got to get more sleep!

Brad hands out passes, adjourning the meeting. They talked all through history class and English is about to start, so I rush out of the room and head to class.

As usual, I sit next to Dallas during English.

“Do you wanna chill tonight?”

“Can we tomorrow night? I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, where were you?”

“Relaxing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Why do you think it’s bullshit?”

“Cuz if you wanted to relax, you’d call me.”

“True. This was a surprise, though. I didn’t plan it.”

“Who did?”

“You can’t tell anyone, not even Riley. Dawson kidnapped me, blindfolded me . . .”

“Kink-ay.”

“No, like, he blindfolded me so I would be surprised about where we were going. Remember yesterday when I mentioned how much I miss baths? Dawson got this huge hotel suite with an amazing tub, so I took three super long baths. I think my fingertips might still be prune-ish.” I hold up my fingers to show him.

“So you and Dawes in the tub, huh?”

“No. I took all three baths by myself. He watched football. He did it to be sweet, not just for sex.”

“So you didn’t have sex?”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Fine. Tomorrow night. Just you, me, and the Cave. Got it? We seriously need to figure out who you’re choosing. You dating them both is not gonna work.”

“Says the guy who made out with three different girls at the Cave Saturday night. It’ll work just fine.”

But I’m not really sure that it will.

Parallel lines that will never cross.

Ceramics

Jake, Bryce, and I are sitting at our table, staring at our pieces that got fired in the big kiln this weekend. Jake’s bowl looks pretty good, although slightly off kilter.

Bryce attempted a vase. It’s round and fat on the bottom and gets skinnier toward the top, so it’s recognizable as a vase. We glazed it a pretty blue, so he probably got a decent grade.

Mine, however, is a disaster.

And I’m so sad because I worked really, really hard on it.

I rolled out tons of skinny strips, like when I used to make play dough snakes when I was little. Then I rolled each snake into a curled up circle, flattened the circle, and put all the circles together to make a bowl. It looked amazing and I was so proud of it.

It, however, did not survive the kiln. It melted apart and is lying in front of me, a bunch of circular pieces in ruins.

“Lookin’ good,” Jake says, elbowing me.

“Shut up. You know how hard I worked on this.”

Our teacher flits by, telling me I needed to put the circles on a base, as she hands us back our grade sheets.

Bryce says, “Sweet, I got a C.”

Jake flips his paper over, grinning and showing off a B.

I don’t even want to look at mine.

“You failed, huh?” Jake asks.

“I’m sure.”

Bryce flips over my paper. On the top of it is a B. “How the hell did you get a B? It fell apart?”

I read the note from the teacher. You had a beautiful and creative design. This was the most thought you’ve put into a piece all year. I’d like to see more like this from you. We’ll work harder on the structure next time. If it had survived the kiln, you would have gotten an A.

I leave ceramics feeling good about my grade, but wondering about my life.

And how the broken pieces relate to it.

I’ve never worked on my structure. I fell apart every time Brooklyn ditched me and I’m not going to do it again.

I want a relationship that can survive the kiln.

I know Dallas thinks I need to choose, but I don’t want to.

And, after last night, I’m not ready to.

Dawson is like my history class. It doesn’t relate to ceramics. They are two separate classes that don’t intersect. Completely parallel lines that will never cross.

I can keep them separate.

And in the mean time, I’ll work on my own foundation.

All’s fair in love and war.

Lunch

As I walk into the café, Annie grabs my arm and pulls me aside. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were with Dawson at a hotel!”

I pull her back out into the hall. “How do you know that?!”

She looks at me like I am an idiot. “It’s on Facebook?”

“It’s what?! What does it say?”

She fiddles with her phone, pulling up Dawson’s profile and shoving it in front of me.

 I heart hotel bath time with Keatie.

 I close my eyes tightly and mutter, “I’m going to kill him.” I calm myself down and open my eyes. “When did you see it? Do you think Aiden saw it?”

“I think everyone saw it, and everyone knows you were both gone last night.”

“When did he post it?”

She looks down at the screen. “About an hour ago.”

My panic returns. “Annie! We have to go to French next. How am I supposed to go to French? Ohmigawd! History and ceramics just intersected! They weren’t supposed to do that! I think I’m gonna be sick. Can you be sick too? Can we skip?”

“What are you talking about classes intersecting? You’re making no sense, and you’re freaking out. You never freak out. If you like Aiden, why did you spend the night with Dawson?”

“I’m so confused, Annie. I thought Dawson and I were just about sex. And I was going to be done with him, but then he got me this huge suite because I had mentioned that I missed taking baths. He’s trying to romance me. And I took three baths all by myself while he watched football.”

“So you didn’t do anything with him?”

“That’s beside the point, Annie. I cannot go to French! What am I gonna do!?”

“Are you mad at Dawson for posting it?”

Then it dawns on me. He did it on purpose. What did he tell me? All’s fair in love and war?

And maybe it is, unless you’re collateral damage.