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?”

“I can’t skip, Dawson.”

“You have before.”

“I know, but . . .”

“You still don’t want to? Come on, Keatie. We haven’t done it for seventeen days and he still hasn’t asked you out. You haven’t done it with him, have you?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that killing you?”

I look down. “Kinda.”

“It’s not cheating if you aren’t in a relationship.”

“I know, Dawson. But I just can’t.”

Annie comes up and drags me away. “Let’s go to college together in Paris.”

“That would be cool. I was just looking at some International Studies programs. It’d be cool to study abroad.”

“It’s my dream.”

“How does Ace fit into that dream?”

She sighs big and shakes her head. “I have no idea. And, even worse, I have no idea how I’m going to survive him going to college next year. This college fair thing is really depressing. Part of me never wants to leave Eastbrooke. Another part of me can’t wait to start my life.”

“You’ve already started your life, Annie. But life is all about change. And sometimes changes happen when you least expect them.”

“Like yours?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your parents moving was a surprise, right? And you came here kinda last minute.”

“Yes, exactly. Sometimes you don’t expect it.”

“Do you like it here? Better than your old school?”

“It’s different than my old school,” I say.

But, honestly, my old school wasn’t all that different.

What’s different is me.

Thursday, November 17th

Stuff ourselves.

Soccer

After soccer, Peyton says, “Keatyn, come here.”

I jog over to her. “What’s up?”

“A couple things. I need more details about the trip. Like what we’ll be doing. What kind of clothes I should bring.”

“That’s easy. Some swimsuits for the day. A couple cover-ups. I usually wear a dress for dinner. I think I told you there’s a full staff, so we eat well and dinner’s kind of a big deal.”

“So a little more dressy?”

“Yeah, I know it’s seems silly with it being just the three of us. We wouldn’t have to dress up, but’s just sort of a . . .”

“Tradition?”

“Yeah. And of course, we’ll have a full-blown turkey dinner. Stuff ourselves.”

“And then watch football?”

“Yeah, there’s a really cool bar area that overlooks the ocean that has TVs and stuff, so we can enjoy both.”

“That sounds awesome. So, I have another question. Tell me what’s going on with you and Cooper.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Coach Steele.”

“Just the fact that you called him Coach Steele tells me you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Look. I know you’ve been going to meet him after curfew. I know that you were both gone on the same days and suspiciously left and got back at the same time. Are you having an affair with him?”

“Let me guess. You’ve been talking to Whitney? She seems to think we are. Even asked me if I was pregnant with his baby. It’s ridiculous.”

Peyton eyes me carefully, then says, “So why are you meeting him?”

“I’m taking some martial arts lessons from him. With homework and all the activities, meeting after curfew is the only time that works for us.”

“Why are you taking lessons?”

“I used to take kickboxing lessons with my stepdad and I missed it. And it’s a great workout.”

“As if the Steele Building Workout isn’t enough,” she says with a laugh. “I’m glad to know that’s all it is. And I can’t wait to go to St. Croix. Even if Whitney is pissed at me.”

“Why is she pissed?”

“Because I’m going with you. Why else?” she says with a smile.

Ohmigawd.

6pm

Every moment during my classes all I do is count down the minutes until I can walk out the door and see Aiden there waiting for me. Until I can feel his hand tightly holding mine as we walk to the next class. How he gives me a single perfect kiss at the door.

How I count down the hours until it’s time to meet him in his room for tutoring.

And I'm looking very forward to tonight's tutoring. We're currently studying body parts in French.

So I think a tutoring field trip of his body will be required.

All in the name of learning, of course.

When he kisses me before dinner, I know how my cell phone feels when its battery gets low.

When it flashes at me.

Low Battery. 20% of battery remaining.

Low Battery. 10% of battery remaining.

That's how I feel between each kiss. Like I need more charge.

And although each kiss boosts the charge, the second his lips leave mine, it's like I got unplugged.

We rush through dinner, ignoring our friends even though we’re sitting beside them. Then rush to his room.

We sit on his bed and kiss until he finally says, “We should probably do some homework.”

“I agree. And we should start with French.”

He smiles knowingly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

I spread open our workbook pages to the body part chart. “I think we should make a little game out of this.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I’ll say the body part in French and you have to point to it. If you get it right . . .”

“I get to kiss it,” he says with a grin. “You need to lie down. So you’re like the girl in the diagram.”

“Fine. Okay, so the first word is les lèvres.”

“Lips,” he says, leaning over me and placing his lips on mine.

“Very good. How about le bras?”

He doesn’t say a word. Just leans down, slides my blouse open a little, and places his tongue on the skin just above my bra.

“That’s not right.”

“This better?” He repeats what he did, only this time he roughly sucks my skin into his mouth giving me an instant hickey.

“I didn’t mean you did it wrong,” I reply as he continues to undo my blouse and suck on more tender spots. “I, uh, meant that’s not, like, the right spot.”

“Do you like this spot better?” he asks, moving my bra aside and pulling a nipple into his mouth.

“Um, yes. But, uh, no. Le bras means arm.”

“That makes no sense. I like my translation better.”

“We have a lot of words to get through.”

“Give me another one then.”

“Uh, how about le cou?”

“That’s an easy one,” he says, sucking on my other boob.

“Aiden!” I laugh. “None of these words are boob.”

He leans back up. “Fine. What is it?”

“Neck.”

“Very nice.” He runs his hand down my neck and then kisses my favorite spot just under my ear.

“What about le pied?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it where you pee from?”

“Ha! No!”

“I bet it is. You’re dying for me to kiss there.”

“It means foot. You’re not doing very well.”

He kisses my nose. “Sorry. Next?”

“La jambe.”

“Leg.”

“La poitrine?”

He kisses across my chest.

“Very good,” I say. “That’s chest. L’estomac?”

He unbuttons the rest of my blouse and runs ticklish little kisses across my stomach.

I swallow and say, “Stomach. Correct. La coeur?”

He stops kissing my stomach, looks into my soul, and puts his hand on top of it. “Heart,” he says.

“Um, very good. Le doigt?”

He pulls my hand to his lips, kisses my left ring finger, and says, “Did you know that the veins in this le doigt are supposed to run straight to your la coeur, and that’s why you wear a wedding band there?”

“I didn’t know that,” I say breathlessly.

“I’m going to do a quick version of this so we can get it over and get to the good part.”

I’m wondering what good part we’ve yet to get to, but I don’t ask because he says, “La tête. Sounds dirty, but just means your head.”

I swallow hard and close my eyes.

Think about the head that sits on his neck, Keatyn.

He touches my eye and says, “L’oeil.” Then he says, “La bouche, les dents, la langue, les cheveux, l’oreille, and le nez,” in rapid succession as he kisses my mouth, my teeth, my tongue, my hair, my ear, and my nose.

“Very good,” I say, but I’m a little disappointed. I had hoped this would go on a little longer.