“No, I think he's smart. He doesn't want to lose his job over a student when the guy could clearly get any woman he wanted.”

“Good point,” Peyton says. “I’m gonna have to try harder. Or maybe play hard to get.”

“Or give up.”

“No, not just yet. And it’s not like I care about him. I just don’t want Whitney to get him.”

“So what about you, Maggie? Did you decide to wait with Logan?”

“We didn't have sex, but we did everything else. Like you and Aiden.”

“You trying to trick me into admitting something?” I laugh. “It won’t work. Besides, there’s nothing to tell. I’m talking second base.” I was going to add that it was all very PG, but then I remember the deep kiss in the elevator, the ice the bathtub, the naked boobs on the kitchen counter. We may not have gone very far, but what we did felt so sexual, and so not PG.

Tuesday, November 15th

Stolen kisses.

11:45pm

 Today was a blur. A happy blur. Of holding hands. Of sweet texts. Of stolen kisses between classes. Of whispering to each other at lunch. Of French words spoken in my ear. Of the pep rally. Of wishing him luck. Of winning the playoff game.

Of sitting on the bus with him on the way home.

We’re holding hands. Lazily rubbing them together. Sometimes his fingers are laced between mine. Sometimes clasped together. Sometimes just our pinkies touch. Sometimes he runs his fingertip across my palm. I watch our hands in a daze.

It’s like our hands are dancing.

I feel like I could sit for hours and do nothing but hold his hand in hundreds of different ways.

He stops every once in a while to bring my fingers to his lips.

I stop every once in a while to kiss his lips.

And then we’re back home, and it’s another amazing goodnight kiss.

Wednesday, November 16th

Sleeps with James Bond.

11am

 Today is college and career day. The gym is set up with tables representing a multitude of college options. I dressed in a really cute uniform look for the occasion.

But first, I have an appointment with my academic advisor, who is going to give me the results of the career survey I took earlier this week.

“These surveys always make me laugh at the jobs they come back with,” Miss Praline says. “I just went over James Barnsworth the sixth’s—you know, of the railroad baron Barnsworths?—and it suggested a job as a sanitation worker. Can you imagine?”

I laugh. “Maybe he doesn’t want to join the family business.”

“Yours, however, are spot on. Actress, Producer, CIA Agent, Foreign Service Officer.” She hands me my results. “What do you think you want to do?”

I can’t say actress, for obvious reasons, so I go with one that actually sounds pretty cool. When I’m not reading romances, I read spy novels. I can totally picture myself as a badass spy. A classy one, though. Like the kind who gets dressed up in a designer gown, goes to fancy parties, carries a little gun in her garter, and sleeps with James Bond.

“I’ve always thought I wanted to be a doctor, but the CIA agent intrigues me. Really, it’s kinda brilliant. I have decent acting skills. I’m good with languages. And I love to travel. What would I have to do to become one?”

Miss Praline types a few things on her computer and prints out a sheet. “Here are some things you can do to prepare. Let’s see. Do a background check on yourself. Make sure your life stays squeaky clean. Don’t do drugs within twelve months of applying. Learn foreign languages.” She stops to look at me. “Do you speak anything other than French?”

“Yeah, I’m not as fluent but I can speak pretty well in Italian, Spanish, and German. I know some Swiss and Japanese too.”

She tilts her head at me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yeah, we traveled a lot when I was a kid, so I just sort of picked it up. Every summer I listen to audio books in other languages. It helps me remember.”

“It also says you should get good grades, major in something International, be physically and mentally fit, and willing to travel.”

“Sweet.”

“Okay, so now you can go talk to the colleges. Maybe check out their International Studies programs.”

“That sounds good. Thanks, Miss Praline.” I stop and turn around. “Hey, did my uncle ever call you?”

She blushes and fidgets with her necklace. “Um, oh, he did. He travels a lot. As you well know. But we did go to dinner recently. He was in town for work. It was the same day your soccer coach left. I remember I almost cancelled on him because of the impromptu going away party we had for her.”

“Was it a good date?”

“Well, yes. He’s very handsome and well-mannered.”

“Any plans for a future date?”

“We’ve talked about it. He’s always rushing off to somewhere for his job.” She lowers her voice. “Do you know what he does?”

“For a living?”

“Yeah, it’s interesting that you want to work for the CIA. I’m pretty sure your uncle could help get you a job there.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I think that’s what he does.”

“Interesting,” I say, quickly standing up before she can ask any more questions.

I try to imagine my future life without acting. Honestly, the CIA might not be a bad idea. I could use it to figure out a way to get rid of Vincent. Or maybe I could dye my hair like Mom suggested and do a realty TV show about being in the CIA.

Oh. Yeah. Scratch that. That might sorta defeat the whole clandestine thing.

I talk to colleges about their International Studies programs. Because that does actually interest me. I’d love to do semesters abroad.

Jake and Dawson are in front of the NYU table talking to the recruiters. “We missed the early decision admission, but we can still do the regular one, right?” I hear Jake ask.

Dawson pulls me over. “You should apply here too,” he says. “The three of us could have fun. Parties at your loft. Weekends in the Hamptons.”

“Studying during the week,” the recruiter says.

“Of course,” Dawson replies.

“You could study acting with me,” Jake says.

“I think I’m going to major in International Studies.”

The recruiter asks, “Which kind? We have Global Liberal Studies, an International Business program, and an International Relations program. As a freshman in the Global Liberal Studies program, you can choose to study in New York, or at NYUs in Florence, London, Shanghai, or Paris.”

“Paris? Um, that one. The Global Liberal Studies, please.”

He hands me a packet of information.

“You know,” Dawson says, “there are a lot of good schools in the city. Have you ever thought of transferring there for your senior year? Living full-time at your loft. Jake and I are gonna miss you.”

“I never thought of it. Honestly, I really only need a few more credits to graduate. I could do them in the summer if I wanted to and skip my senior year.”

“That’d be awesome! Come to college with us.”

“I’ll think about it. Are you two going there for sure?”

“As long as they let us in.”

“Have you talked to your parents yet, Jake?”

“No, but they came to the play. They thought I was good.”

“Maybe it won’t be such a shock, then?”

“My two older brothers both went into the family business, so there’s really no big need for me to. Other than my dad wanting to control us.”

“What do you want to major in, Dawson?”

“Business. I had never heard of it before, but the NYU dude was telling me about their MBA program. You can specialize in Luxury Marketing. That’s something you’d be good at. One of their classes is about doing business in Italy.”

“Italian leather,” I murmur. “That might be a really good degree for me.”

“I was thinking Italian sports cars, but you get what I’m saying.”

“How do people ever decide what to major in?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think they guess.” He pulls me aside. “Seniors get the afternoon off. Wanna hang out?”