“You did?”

“Yeah. So, we’re alone. We have music.” He looks up at my ceiling. “We even have stars. Please?”

I let out a huff. “You aren’t going to let me go to sleep if I don’t, are you?”

He gives me an adorable grin. “Nope.”

“Fine.”

He grabs my phone, pulls up a playlist I didn’t know I had, turns the volume on really low, and pulls me into his arms.

I try to be stiff at first. But I dissolve into a pile of mush any time he touches me.

He puts his forehead gently against mine and sways with me.

After a couple songs, he says, “So, Boots, I was wondering if you would be my escort for the Compass Cup. Wear my jersey. Walk me out on the field. Go to the banquet with me. Be my lucky charm?”

I get a pained look on my face. Shit. “Um . . .”

“Dawson already asked you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he said it was just for seniors.”

Aiden purses his lips. “I’m sure he knew it’s for varsity starters, just like it is every year.”

“I don’t know . . .” I start to say.

He closes his eyes tightly then glances at my phone. “Yeah. Hey, I better get back to my room. Make sure it’s not getting trashed.”

“Dawson didn’t ask me to go to the banquet with him. I could be your date for that.”

 He pats me on the back and says, “Uh, yeah, sure. See ya later, Boots.”

Then he bounds out my window.

And he didn’t even let me finish my frickin’ sentence. I was going to say, I don’t know, it’s hard since I already said yes, but I want to wear your jersey.

Because I do want to wear Aiden’s jersey. I would die to wear it.

Every time I think we might have a breakthrough, it ends like this.

And this sucks.

Saturday, October 29th

Mentally unstable.

11am

Dallas and I are on the train.

“Did you have fun last night?”

Dallas grins like a cat that ate the canary. “I did.”

“With which girl?”

“Chelsea.”

“You seem like you’re kinda into her. In more than just a hooking up kind of way.”

“Naw. We’re having fun. I’m still talking to other girls. Not ready to make a choice yet.”

“Oh, so why is that okay for you? But you keep telling me that dating more than one guy isn’t going to work.”

“Because my heart isn’t involved. Yours is.”

“Maybe I don’t want my heart involved.”

“But it is. You like Aiden. You’re afraid, though. And that’s understandable. You fall in love, you get hurt. It makes it hard to fall again. You should stop fighting it. Decide if you want to go for love or settle for hot sex.”

“Are you settling for hot sex?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not sure I would consider Dawson settling. He’s sweet.”

“Was the I heart hotel bath time with Keatie post sweet?”

“He says it was, but I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose.”

“I know he did it on purpose. He wants Aiden out of the picture.”

“Aiden’s mad at me again.”

“Why?”

“Last night he asked me to be his escort for the Compass Cup, wear his jersey, and be his date for the banquet. But I had to tell him that I had already agreed to wear Dawson’s. But since Dawson only asked me to wear his jersey and not go to the banquet, I told Aiden I’d go with him.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Did he agree to that?”

“Sorta. I mean, he said yes, but then right away he said he had to go check on his room. And he didn’t kiss me goodbye, which means he was mad. Which pisses me off because he didn’t let me tell him that I didn’t know about all that stuff. Dawson told me it was just for seniors. I figured it was no big deal since Aiden’s not one.”

“So Dawson lied.”

“I don’t think he lied. He probably thought it was just seniors.”

“I wasn’t even here last year and I know that it’s not.”

“I don’t know, then.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna take a nap.”

He falls asleep quickly.

I grab my phone out of my purse and type How to choose between two guys into Google.

I’ve heard that Google searches are how the NSA and CIA and all those federal organizations track people. They supposedly create major profiles on each one of us. Because, apparently, what we search can tell them a lot about us.

So now, more than likely, what I just typed is currently on a screen at the NSA. Agents are huddling around some dude’s computer laughing at me and saying, Did you see what she just typed? They’ll mark my profile as mentally unstable and if I fly commercial, I’ll probably get strip-searched and have my shoes confiscated.

I breeze through a few articles anyway.

On one blog I find something interesting way down in the comments. A girl asked if she should choose the guy that is in love with her, or the guy she’s in love with. Which is an interesting way to put it. Unfortunately, the people that replied to her question were very mixed on who she should chose—which is not much help.

Then I find a Cosmo article. Cosmo is like a relationship bible. Like Vogue is for fashion. This article makes me feel lots better. It says that it’s okay to date more than one guy at a time and that if you can’t choose, it’s probably because you’re not ready to choose.

And I think Cosmo is right.

I’m not ready to chose.

My phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Cooper.

Oh, shit. I forgot to press the button when we left campus.

“Since you answered, I’m assuming you haven’t been kidnapped?”

“That’s correct. Sorry. I forgot to press the button thing when I left.”

“Where the hell are you? Actually, don’t answer that. I already know. You are moving quickly, probably by train, about 20 miles from here. Garrett just called and told me that. Yelled at me because I didn’t know where you were.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m on the train with Dallas. We’re going to New York City. It’s Riley’s birthday, so I’m going to stay at his house.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’re not my keeper.”

“The hell I’m not, Keatyn. You can’t just leave without telling me. Shit. Excuse me just a minute.”

I hear a chair scratch across the floor and Cooper say, “Miss Clarke, can I help you?”

 I hear her reply. “I just came to see if you wanted to hang out today. Maybe go see a movie. Have a drink. I’m bored.”

“You’re not old enough to drink and I’m busy. Goodbye.”

Then I hear a door shut. “You need to check in with me always or you won’t be going anywhere without me again. We clear?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Boys are the least of your problems.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” I say sarcastically. “You know what? I’m not coming back until Sunday. Why don’t you take a couple days off.” Then I say “go get laid” under my breath.

“I heard that.”

“Maybe I wanted you to hear that.”

“I was planning to take you to the gun range today.”

“You should go yourself. Practice.”

“When you’re done with the play, we’re getting serious about your training, understand?” he says gruffly.

“Yeah, I understand.”

Dawson meets us at the door and carries my bag up the stairs. He stops at a door and says, “This is my room.”

“It looks perfect, not like your room at school.”

“Ha, yeah. I'm rarely here. I'm either at school or at the beach. I'd live at the beach all day, every day if I could.”

“Yeah, me too. I bet you’d like California’s beaches. The waves get big. The sunsets are amazing.”

“Think me and your ex would get along?”

“I don’t know. Probably. He's pretty chill most the time. Smokes a lot. Well, he used to.”

“Did you do that with him a lot?”

“I didn’t think so at the time but looking back, we did a lot.”

“Have you talked to him lately?”

“Actually, I did last week. I realized that he’s my root. He apologized for the cabana thing. Explained it.”