Jillian Dodd - Hate Me

“Yeah, The Market was happy to do them. They even gave us a nice discount, so the club will earn money for the state competition this spring.”

“Perfect,” he says. “That completes our list.”

Peyton does a little clap. “This is going to be so fun.”

Logan holds up his notebook and says to the group, “So, here's to a great event and an entire weekend where we can’t get in trouble for French kissing!”

“Hear, hear!” everyone exclaims.

I'm thinking about French kissing Aiden when Whitney says, “Peyton, Keatyn, a word. Alone,” she adds, looking straight at Aiden, who is walking toward us.

“We’re gonna discuss our periods,” Peyton says, teasing her brother.

He winces and says to me, “I'll meet you outside.”

Whitney says, “I overheard Chelsea trash-talking you to one of the only friends she has left, and saying that she’s going to get even. I think you should start sitting at our table again. It will make her think twice.” She holds a single finger in the air as I start to speak. “And before you say anything, Aiden's welcome. Riley, whoever you'd like. The more the merrier. Right, Peyton?”

“Right.”

Peyton folds her hands in prayer, begging me behind Whitney’s back.

“That's really nice of you,” I say to Whitney.

She grins, wraps her arm around me, and says, “Shark’s gonna sit with us today too. Try not to have a heart attack.”

“I think you and Shark together is awesome. He was totally flirting with you at Homecoming.”

“He's been flirting with me for two years and I wouldn't give him the time of day. But then he told me the odds of us getting together were a hundred to one, but that he'd take them any day. It was romantic, in an unusual way. He keeps getting cuter and he just has . . .”

“Swagger,” I say.

“Yeah. Confidence and swagger. You can tell he's going to be successful in life. He’s already working on building what will be the hot new social media website. He’ll be an internet mogul by the time he’s twenty-five.”

“I think all that matters today is what are the odds he's a good French kisser?”

“They’ve been doing plenty of that,” Peyton says in a sing-song voice.

“I have a plan,” Whitney says. “I need a pedicure and we have,” she makes air quotes, “ some French errands to run . Let's go get pedicures together. Have a girls’ morning.”

“Sounds great!” I say, mostly because I didn't get my history homework done. “I’m gonna talk to Aiden. Why don't you ask Miss Praline for a note?”

“Already got the note,” Whitney replies, waving it in her hand. “We'll go turn it in. Meet us at my car in ten minutes.”

I find Aiden in the hall. “How's your uncle?” he asks.

“He's good.”

“You look tired.”

“We stayed up late talking about my mom.”

“What did he say about her? Is she doing better?”

“Well, they just got to France, so it's hard to tell yet.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“Uh, well, apparently the Vancouver project was really stressful. A lot of negotiations and stuff. And she was working long hours and spending too much time away from my sisters. So that upset her. And I guess Vancouver sort of, like, consumed her. But the good news is that she's taking a whole month off. At least from traveling. Although, I’m sure she'll work some from home.”

Shit. Why did I say that? Next he’s going to ask . . .

“What’s her next project?” Aiden asks, responding exactly the way I was praying he wouldn’t.

Shit.

Uh . . .

Improvise, Keatyn. Make something up!

“Uh, well, part of the reason she agreed to France is because her next job is, uh, it’s in the Ukraine.”

Where the hell did that come from?

Is the Ukraine close to France?

Do they even have oil in the Ukraine?

“So, that's good, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I’m glad you got to see him while he was in town.”

I think of the look on Vincent's face when he saw me at the club. “I’m really glad I got to see him too.”

He pulls me in for a sweet kiss. “So, what are you girls planning?”

“Officially, we’re going off campus to check on some last minute details for the weekend, but, really, we’re getting pedicures. Which is good. My polish is a mess after being in the sand. You wanna come too?”

“Ah, no. I’m busy with the Hawthorne house project.”

“What are you doing?”

He flicks his tongue across my neck. “I can't tell. You said you’re making your dorm like like store windows. What’s going to be in yours?”

“We’re only doing it on the front facing rooms, but I helped Maggie plan hers. It will be a springtime in Paris theme. A pretty pale blue dress with a tutu skirt, pastel flowers, and a big art frame to make it look like you walked into a Degas’ picture.”

“Very creative.”

“Are you really not going to tell me what you're doing?”

“You'll see it later. Depending on how it goes. Right now, it's walking a fine line between cool and ridiculous.”

“What if I give you a French kiss, monsieur . Will you tell me then?”

“Depends on how good a kiss it is,” he flirts, sliding his hands into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck and move my lips slowly toward his. Then I stick out my tongue and rub it sloppily across his cheek, laughing.

He quickly stops my giggles with his own powerful tongue. Moving it with the grace of a Degas ballerina.

Until the first bell rings.

“I better get going,” he says. “What color are you going to get on your toes?”

“What color do you think I should get?”

“A sexy red, maybe?”

“I was thinking a soft pink.”

“That would be pretty. Is the dress pink?”

“No, but my bag is.”

“Makes sense. Have fun.”

“I will,” I say, prancing away from him.

But he grabs me by the waist, pulls me back in, and gives me a kiss that leaves me reeling.

All that sunshine.

8:30am

I meet the girls at Whitney’s car and we head to a posh day spa.

We’re quickly taken back to a private pedicure room with three chairs.

“What color should I get?” Peyton asks, holding up a bright red and a hot pink.

“I like the red for me and the pink for you,” Whitney teases, pulling the red out of Peyton’s hand.

Peyton laughs. “That’s always what we get. Maybe we should go crazy and switch it up. You get the pink, I’ll get the red.”

Whiney laughs too. “You’re right. We do always get the same thing. Maybe we should get something funky. Keatyn, what would you suggest?”

“What color are your dresses for tomorrow night?”

“Mine is black and Peyton’s is an icy blue.”

“Oh, pretty.” I grab a sparkly, metallic charcoal and hand it to Whitney. “This is for you.”

“Really? I won’t look Goth?”

“No, dark nails are totally acceptable. Besides, this has glitter, so it will sparkle.” I elbow her. “You know, in case Shark sees your toes in soft lighting.”

She grins. “I usually make boys wait, but I don’t think I’m going to with Shark.”

“Really?” Peyton says, turning away from the polish wall and giving me a surprised look.

Whitney shrugs. “Sometimes you just know when it’s right.”

Peyton, who is standing behind her, pretends to stick her finger down her throat and gag.

I try not to laugh.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” I say to Whitney. “All right, Peyton, what color for you?”

I stand next to her and stare at the wall of polish.

“Pedicures are supposed to help relieve stress, but choosing a polish totally stresses me out!” she says.