“Do you need me for anything else after this?”

“No, this was the big deal,” I say, looking down at the designer dress and shoes I’ve had on for a total of twenty minutes. “Kinda silly, isn’t it? Like, in perspective.”

“Yeah, it kinda is. As soon as this is over, I’m catching a plane to LA.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.”

A New Jersey housewife.

Halftime.

Garrett immediately leaves for the airport and I work my way through the halftime crowd. I have to change back into my dance costume for the rest of the game.

Whitney is surrounded by her family. I hear her mother say, “What in the world are you wearing?”

Whitney stands up straight. “A dress.”

“If you had some feathers, you could be a Vegas showgirl.”

Her sister laughs. “Expect she can’t dance.”

Oh, wow. That was a low blow.

“First you lose Dawson and then you wear a dress like that. Are you trying to lose?”

“Everyone already voted, Mother. They didn’t vote based on me not wearing my sister’s hand-me-down gown.”

“You know, you’ll be the only one in the family that hasn’t won. What a let down,” her mother replies.

“This dress was very expensive,” Whitney counters.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste. You look like a New Jersey housewife.”

I actually feel sorry for Whitney, especially when I see the tears shining in her eyes. The ones she refuses to let fall.

I make a beeline toward her. “Whitney,” I say, grabbing her arm. “Will you come with me to the dance locker room? There’s an issue that I need your help with.”

“What kind of issue could she possible help with?” her sister asks in a tone dripping with bitch.

I look straight at Whitney’s mom and ignore her bitch sister. “Mrs. Clarke, do you mind if I steal her away?” I roll my eyes dramatically. “We’re having an issue with the security for the after-party and since Whitney runs the Social Committee, I feel it’s best that she handle it.”

Her mother looks at me shrewdly. “Your dress is very pretty.”

I smile sweetly at her. I am an adorable, respectful young woman.

One who wants to rip this woman’s eyes out.

“Thank you.” I look down at it and scrunch up my nose. “Although it doesn’t compare to Whitney’s. I’m so jealous of her bold choice. She looks amazing, don’t you think? You must be so proud. I mean, Homecoming Court is nice and all, but it’s nothing compared to Social Committee. There isn’t a more respected position at school. Did she tell you how we’re doing themed weekends? They will be a learning experience, incorporate the entire student and faculty population, and raise funds for some great causes. We’re all so excited.”

Winnie is looking at Whitney like she’s an alien, but her mother turns to her. “Whitney, darling, you didn’t tell us about all the amazing things you are doing.”

Whitney says with no trace of a smile, “You didn’t ask.”

The tension is thick, so I start moving her. “Nice meeting you all,” I say, as I pull her through the crowd.

When we get to the door, she asks, “Why did you just do that?”

“Your family sucks. And I meant what I said about your dress.”

She looks wistfully at her dress. “Peyton had a beaded one. We were both supposed to look different. But then she went shopping with you.”

“You sister is just jealous. She could never pull off a dress like that. You can tell by her wardrobe tonight that she prefers to blend in. You took a chance. I give it two thumbs up.”

“Really?”

I laugh. “Well, I’m not the most conservative person around here, and you hate how I dress, so you can take my compliment with a grain of salt.”

“If only I could have a shot of tequila with it,” she chuckles.

I wrap my arm around her neck. “I’m pretty sure I know a guy that can help with that.”

“Shark!” I yell out.

He saunters over. “S’up ladies?”

“Shark, you're tipsy.”

“My parents are here for the next forty-some hours—not that I'm counting—and it’s just so wonderful to hear them tell me what a failure I am.”

“Wanna share with Whitney? I think she’s counting down the hours too.”

He holds out his flask. “Rocking dress,” he says, while staring directly at her cleavage.

Whitney blushes.

I've never seen her blush.

She raises his flask in the air. “Here's to being a disappointment to our parents.”

“You two enjoy,” I say. “I gotta go change back into my dance costume.”

“From glitter whores to kitty whores?” she says with a laugh. It’s her typical slam, but she says it in a nicer way. Like we’re sharing an inside joke.

“Yeah, something like that.”

I’m late getting to the dance room, so I quickly change back into my dance costume.

Everyone is already back out on the field. I can see their dresses all lined up on the rack. I should hurry and get out there too, but I need a minute.

I sit down, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

When I open them, I roll the waistband of my skirt down, look at my tattoo, and remember Tiny.

As much as I wish we could find something on Vincent, I pray that Tiny’s death had nothing to do with me.

I stand up, pull my phone out of my locker, and call my mom.

Tommy answers with, “What’s shaking, baby?”

“I just called to tell you and Mom that I’m thankful I have such a supportive family. That I appreciate all you and Mom have done for me.”

“Well, we love you. Um, have you done something we won't love and are buttering us up?”

“No. It's Homecoming, so everyone’s parents are here and a lot of the kids are miserable. I was thinking how I would love to have you around. I’m lucky to have parents like you and I probably don’t tell you that enough. And I’m sorry that I talked back to you last week. I was sort of under some stress.”

“I know you were. It’s killing your mom and me not to be there to share Homecoming with you. But I hope you know how very proud we are.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“Heard you invited Uncle Garrett.”

“Yes. He walked me on the field and then just left to catch a flight for LA.”

I don’t tell him about Tiny. Probably because I really don’t want them to know.

“Tell Mom I love her and kiss the girls for me.”

“You got it.”

Saturday, October 8th

A rich history.

11am.

At the Women’s Tea, Peyton and I are bored to tears, so we start contemplating our escape.

“Let’s go find the boys at the golf tournament,” I suggest.

Whitney walks up to me. She had been sitting at a table with her mother and sister, along with Rachel’s family. “Keatyn, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Um, sure, what's up?”

“Jake is throwing a bit of a fit. He wants to spend part of Homecoming with his friends. Rachel is going to the dance with Bryce and the other girls have respectable dates, but he’s insisting that he wants to be with Dawson. They've gone to every Homecoming together.”

“Yeah, they told me that.”

She gives me a cool smile. “He also says that I should give you a chance.”

“Jake seems to take friendship seriously.”

“He does. So I'm compromising. It's obviously going to be a bit awkward, since Dawson and I have such a rich history. I'm sure that must bother you.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Not really. We have a very different relationship than what you had."

“How would you even know what we had?” she snarls. Her true bitchy self coming back out.

“Because he told me about it. Before we dated, we were friends. We were both hurting from breakups and that’s sort of how we bonded, I guess.”

“And what makes him different now?” She doesn’t have the bitchy look anymore and I can tell that she sincerely wants to know how Dawson has changed.

“Probably his time spent trying to make you mad. He’s more experienced now, in lots of ways.”

There’s a little wrinkle between her eyes. She quickly puts on a happy face and says, “Well, I’d like you and Dawson to sit with us at dinner.”

“Oh. That we can’t do. But Dawson got us a limo. We’re going to the hotel to change and then to the after-party. Jake thought it would be fun if we went together. Partied a little.”

“Will there be champagne?”

“I’d say that's a given.”

She shakes her head. “I think I’ll need it.”

I can tell she can’t believe she’s agreeing to it. I’m not sure if she’s doing it because she actually likes Jake or if she’s afraid he’ll dump her if she doesn’t.

I give her a big smile. “Who knows, Whitney, we might actually have fun.”

Peyton tells her mom that we have to head out to take care of some last minute details for Social Committee.

She takes me to a golf cart that all of the Senior Prefects have for the weekend to ferry people around. We hop in and ride down to the school’s nine-hole golf course.

On the way, I ask about Aiden. “So who’s your brother taking to the dance?”

“He doesn’t have a date.”

“Really, why not?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. He always has a date. I asked him about it and got some vague response. He and Logan are going stag. But lots of girls are going stag too, so they’ll have plenty of fun.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure they will.”

We pull up to the golf shack and find Camden with his arm wrapped around a leggy brunette.

“Ugh,” Peyton says. “That’s Samantha. She’s why Cam and I broke up in the first place. I hate Homecoming week. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and go to college.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“My parents want us both to go to Yale, but I’m hoping to get into Stanford.”

“Really? I’d love to go the either Stanford or Pepperdine. But I like it here too. I think Yale would be cool. Dawson wants to go to Columbia.”

“So he can party with Cam?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Have you two talked about that? Like, what you’ll do if you’re still together then?”

I shake my head. “No. We’ve only been together for a week. College is the last thing on my mind.” Really, I’m just praying I stay alive long enough to be able to choose a college.

“Watch this,” she says as she hops off the cart.

She walks straight up to Camden and slides her arms around his waist. Clearly staking out her territory.

“S’up, girls?” Cam says and gives Peyton a kiss.

Score one for Peyton.

The Samantha chick says, “Cam, you didn’t tell me you were here with Peyton.”

Cam fires back, “You didn’t ask.”

“Who are you here with?” Peyton asks her politely.

“Oh, um, just my parents.”

“Cool,” she says with a smirk. Then she tugs cutely on Cam’s shirt, sliding her hands underneath it. “Come have some beer with me and Keatyn.”

He eyes me. “That’s actually a good idea. Keatyn, you and I need to talk.”

“Oh, do we?” I say.

“See ya, Sam,” he calls out as he puts one arm around me and the other around Peyton and leads us to the beer garden.

“I can’t be seen drinking a beer here!” Peyton tells Cam.

“Oh, live a little. Fine. I’ll get you a soda. Then we’ll spike it. What about you, missy?” he asks me.

“I’ll have a beer.” Peyton gives me a little scowl. “What? I’m not a Prefect.” As Cam sets a red cup in front of me, I ask, “Where’s Dawson?”

“Out golfing with Dad and Braxton. Riley left to sneak Ariela out of the tea.”

I grin. “They are so cute together.”

Cam rolls his eyes.

“What?” Peyton asks. “You don’t think they’re cute together?”

“He’s stranded on second base.”

“Yeah, and he’s happy there. So don’t give him any shit about it.”

“What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, you come here a nobody and now you’re Miss Popularity.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not Miss Popularity at all.”

“So why Dawson then?”

“First off, I’m not like Whitney. Dawson and I ended up together because we had something in common and we got to be friends.”

“Really?” Peyton says.

“Yeah. I hated him when I first met him. He was a jerk to Riley. Slung his arm around me and said Riley was a cheap imitation of the real thing.”

Cam busts out in laughter. “Oh, that’s classic. What a great line.”

“No! It’s a horrible line. I thought he was a jerk. Then he gave me the worst kiss ever.”

“My brother gave a bad kiss? Damn, he’s going to ruin our reputation.”

“Yeah, well, he’s made up for it.”

“So I hear,” Cam says.