Cam:  Uh . . . Is the golden boy making you wait?

Me:  We got in a big fight last night about it and I stormed off. He hasn’t texted me or apologized or anything.

Cam:  P says he likes you and you have that whole Thanksgiving break trip planned. I’m sure it’s just a little tiff. 

Me:  You’re right. Maybe I should apologize for that. Maybe he’s waiting for me to apologize?

Cam:  Probably :) 

Me:  Thank you :)

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t texted me. He’s waiting for me to apologize.

So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go watch his football practice and then apologize to him.

I shower, spend extra time blowing my hair out straight, and then stand in my closet trying to figure out what to wear.

If I were smart, I’d wear some sweats so I’d be warm and comfortable, but I want to look perfect when I say I’m sorry.

It’s chilly this morning, but has been unseasonably warm this week, so I decide on a cream lace bra and thong that have pale pink embroidery, cream over-the-knee socks worn with tall brown boots, orange denim shorts, a cream top, and a cream sweater jacket cinched with a brown braided belt.

I decide to pull my straightened hair back in a cute pony. So that I look like I didn’t try, even though I totally did. Kym would be proud.

I head out to get a coffee to take with me.

Just as I step out of my dorm, I notice Chelsea sitting on the brick wall.

She jumps off of it when she sees me and says, “Keatyn.”

“Hi, Chelsea,” I say politely because I know that Dallas likes her.

She raises her chin in the air. “I just wanted to let you know that Aiden and I hooked up last night. He’s mine now. And, really, no one likes you here. You should just go back to California or wherever it is that you came from.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She shrugs one shoulder and raises a bitchy eyebrow at me. “What? You think you can have every hot guy here? And you better believe it. Aiden and I have history. We broke up last year after prom, and he’s been begging to get back together all semester. You were nothing but a rebound.”

She turns her back on me and walks away, shaking her curvy ass.

I drop to the step, barely able to breathe.

Is that true?

I was just a rebound?

Was everything he told me a lie?

I’m going to . . .

I’m going to . . .

I don’t even know what I’m going to do.

But then I turn and run straight to the boys’ dorm.

I find myself knocking on Riley’s door.

He opens it wearing a Cougar athletic hoodie and sweats, ready for football practice. “Hey, I was just leaving.”

I stand there and stare at him. Then I lose it. Tears start streaming down my face. I shove my head into his chest and sob, going from calm and in control to a freaking wreck in the blink of an eye.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he says, rubbing my back and holding me up.

I blabber on about how Aiden swore he was going to be different. How we fought last night. How Chelsea was waiting outside my dorm. How she told me they hooked up. How he’s been trying to get back together with her all semester. How I was just a rebound.

While I am blathering, he’s texting.

“What’s so important?”

“I just asked Dallas to come here,” Riley says. His teeth are held together tightly, like he’s mad at me.

“Why?”

Dallas walks in the room and Riley literarily pushes me out of his arms and into Dallas’.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” I say to Dallas, watching Riley march down the hall. “I mean, I know he had to leave for practice, but why is he mad at me?”

Dallas gives me a hug, pulls me onto his bed, and says, “I don’t think it’s you that he’s mad at.”

I stop sniffling. “Oh. So is that why he was texting you? He was telling you what happened?”

Dallas nods and says quietly, “Yeah.”

“Did you know about Aiden and Chelsea?”

“No,” he says, and I realize that he liked Chelsea a lot more than he admitted.

I sniffle, pull all the snot back into my sinuses—or wherever it goes—and say, “You liked her, didn’t you?”

“I was thinking about asking her to be my girlfriend. She said she really liked me.”

I hug him again, tightly. “Relationships suck.”

“Funny thing is, I didn’t think I wanted a relationship. But then we kept doing it. And it was fun. Hot. Nice.” He pauses. “Obviously, not nice enough.”

“I’m sorry, Dallas,” I say as his phone whistles at him, letting him know he has a text.

He holds his phone up so we can both read it.

Dawson:  My brother just ran out onto the field, marched up to Aiden, and punched him. I’m talking freaking LAID HIM OUT. Question is, why?

Dallas:  Kiki.

Dawson:  So the rumors I heard this morning about him hooking up with Chelsea are true? 

Dallas:  I guess.

Dawson:  Where is she?

Dallas:  Bawling on my shoulder.

Dawson:  Tell her I’ll be there right after practice. 

Dallas and I decide to stop being pitiful and turn on some up-beat, happy music.

After we listen for a while, Dallas says, “Let’s throw a party.”

“A pity party?” I say with a sad laugh.

“Exactly.” He grabs his phone and orders ten large pizzas, lots of hot wings, breadsticks, and little molten lava cakes. Then he says, “Be right back.”

I go in their bathroom, fix my makeup, and talk to myself in the mirror.

You’re fine. 

You don’t need a boy in your life. 

You have good friends. 

You’re happy with yourself.

That’s all you need.

But I also decide to send Aiden a text.

If I love myself, I should stand up for myself.

I type a long hateful paragraph and then delete it.

I type a short spiteful sentence and then delete.

I’m having a hard time getting into words the right amount of the venom I’m feeling combined with the impersonality of a chain letter. Finally, I end up with this.

Me:  Chelsea told me that you hooked up last night.  

Dallas strolls back into the room, his hands full of vending machine junk food: multiple bags of chips, pretzels, and candy bars. He’s got a full package of chocolate chip cookies tucked under his arm and bottles of full-sugar soda under the other.

“You’re like the king of pity parties. I worship you.”

“You’re looking more human. Not so much like a zombie.”

“Thanks, I think. Is it bad that I kinda want to go watch the end of practice? Try to show Aiden he means nothing to me?”

“Aiden has a broken nose and is in the locker room being attended to. Riley is in the dean’s office getting suspended.”

“Suspended? For what?”

“You can’t go around punching people. It’s kinda against school rules.”

“Oh. I never thought of that! I feel so bad! He shouldn’t have punched him, that was stupid of him.”

“Not sweet?”

“It was totally sweet, but he shouldn’t have.”

Dawson walks into the room, his hair wet from practice and looking more scrumptious than all the junk food combined. “Yeah, he should have.”

“What’s gonna happen? Do you know?”

“Well, Coach told me they were going to suspend him for the next three days, which would mean he won’t get to play in the playoff game. I told Coach that if he didn’t play, neither was I. That a lot of us wouldn’t play. He says he’s going to talk to the dean. We’ll see.”

“I feel really bad.”

Dawson grabs me around the waist and pulls me onto the bed with him.

“Last time Riley got mad, it was you he wanted to punch.”

“I didn’t cheat on you. So are you and Aiden over?”

“I thought it was just a fight. I mean, I said I was done, but I was frustrated. I didn’t mean it.”

“But now?”

I thought I was done crying, but tears fill my eyes. I can’t say it out loud. I don’t want to say it out loud. I shake my head. “Don’t make me say it, Dawson.”