Jillian Dodd: Hate Me

“You’re my naughty Santa?” I say in shock.

He nods.

“Seriously? I thought for sure it was Riley.” Then I grin at him. “The stuff you got me. Um, did it have a purpose?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re tricky is what I think. You wrote an M on your list. I thought you had Maggie.”

“You looked at my list? You’re a bad girl. And, just for the record, I stole all your gifts out of your car. They’re at our room waiting for us.”

“I think maybe we should get the hell out of here now.”

He whispers, “That’s why I fucking love you, Keatyn Monroe.”

“I fu—” I start to say, but Whitney grabs my elbow, pulling me away from Aiden.

“Hey, you ready to go onstage?” she says with a big smile. “End the night and officially kick off our winter break?”

“Um, we were just thinking about leaving.”

“No way. Not before this. Plus, I decided I want you and Peyton up there with me.”

Aiden gives me a smoldering look and puts the feather back inside his jacket. “Go ahead,” he says. “Then we’ll leave.”

“Should I go round up the Social Committee?”

“No. I want just you two,” she says, grabbing Peyton from where she’s dancing with Brad.

We hold hands and make our way up to the stage.

“Attention, everyone,” she says after taking a microphone off the podium and tapping on it. “I have some exciting news to share. And I’m so happy that my two best friends are here on stage with me.”

I smile at her, knowing that her surprise will be the announcement of her college of choice. She’s gotten all her acceptance letters back and has been playing coy about where she’s going. Even though I know it will be Yale with Shark.

Really, I’m surprised I’m even standing up here.

That she would consider me a good friend after our rocky start.

But coming to Eastbrooke allowed me to find myself.

To do the things I wished I had done at my old school.

To use my conscience and do what’s right, regardless of what’s popular.

To stand up for myself.

And I think I’ve had a good effect on Peyton and Whitney too. They seem to be on even ground, and, since Whitney started dating Shark, she hasn’t acted like the bitchy Alpha she once was.

I think he’s good for her.

She sets her laptop on the podium.

After her little speech, we’re going to show the video Riley made for the Social Committee highlighting our year so far. The Welcome Back carnival and dance. The Homecoming festivities. The Greek and French weekends.

She starts with, “I’d just like to say a few words from the Social Committee and then I have something fun planned for you.”

She goes on to thank the Social Committee members, the supporting clubs . . .

I tune out her voice, because I know her speech by heart.

She made us listen to it over and over.

Instead, I’m staring at Aiden.

Okay, really, I’m staring at his fly.

Imagining.

Anticipating.

“Before the presentation starts . . .”

My ears perk up as Whitney deviates from the script.

“I hate to have to do this, but something has come to my attention, and I feel compelled to share it with you, as is my obligation, per the Eastbrooke code of conduct.”

She uses the remote to make the screen behind us roll down from the ceiling.

Now she has my full attention, because this suddenly feels a lot like the day at lunch when she sent the texts to all of Chelsea’s friends.

Only it’s a lot more public.

The dean and most of the faculty is here.

A few of the parents.

Is she going to do something else to Chelsea?

Whitney flips open her laptop and Peyton, who is still holding my hand, digs her fingernails into me.

I glance at her and see that her face has gone completely white.

I follow her eyes toward the podium.

Ohmigawd.

Ohmigawd.

Ohmigawd.

No.

I can’t believe this is happening.

I look at the pictures Whitney is getting ready to flash across the screen.

No.

Not now.

Not tonight.

Not here in front of everyone.

My heart sinks, and I get a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I remember what she said to me that day at the lunch table.

How Peyton surprised her.

Peyton lets out a little whimper as the screen finishes unrolling.

Whitney was only nice to us because she was planning to destroy Peyton the way Vanessa destroyed Mandy.

Peyton is nothing like Mandy. She didn’t do anything mean and calculating. She was hurt and needed comfort when she turned to him.

I look out into the crowd and see the boys’ soccer coach and remember how Whitney specifically asked him and his wife, who is now five months pregnant, to chaperone.

She wants to destroy them both.

Right here, in front of everyone.

I can’t let it happen.

I can’t let intimate sexual photos of an underage Peyton be flashed across a screen in front of the whole school.

Not to mention what it would do to Coach Kline’s life and his wife’s.

Just as Whitney is ready to start the slideshow, I move quickly, dropping Peyton’s hand and grabbing the remote out of Whitney’s.

And it’s at that moment that I know what I have to do.

Even though I shouldn’t.

Even though it will ruin everything for me.

I have to do this for my friend.

I turn to a stunned Peyton. “Why don’t you take Whitney’s computer and put it somewhere safe? Photos aren’t necessary. I’ll tell everyone the truth.”

Peyton gives me a confused look, then takes a shaky step, grabs the laptop, and walks offstage.

I'm left with a crowd of students wondering what I lied about.

Whitney opens her mouth in protest, so I take the microphone from her too.

I notice a small group of reporters have moved in front of the stage.

Not only was Whitney going to tell the school, she brought in the local press.

I start telling every lie I've told since I got here.

I look at Riley and confess. “My name isn't Keatyn Monroe.”

Then I find Aiden’s eyes in the crowd. “I did recognize you as the goalie that day when you asked.”

Then Dawson. “I didn’t leave my Mercedes at home because of the snow.”

Then Maggie and Annie. “My parents didn’t move to France or delete my social media. I didn’t get in trouble at home, and my photos didn’t get lost when I synced my new phone.”

I speak directly to Annie. “I have seen every one of Abby Johnston’s movies. We do have the same mannerisms, and our voices are so similar even Tommy can’t tell them apart. And that’s because I'm her daughter.”

Cameras start flashing, so I hold my hand strategically in front of my face.

“I came here because . . .”

I want to tell them why. But I realize I can’t.

Not yet.

I can’t put them in danger.

I won’t.

I know that I don’t have until March with Aiden anymore.

That his time bomb app just went off.

My biggest problem is the reporters, not my friends.

Because if they announce that I’m here, Vincent will come.

And I can’t do that to Eastbrooke.

To the place I love so much.

I’ve been stalked and kissed and dated and loved, but now I can see it clearly on their faces.

Hate.

I hear the big metal doors behind me close and know that Peyton has made it safely out of the ballroom with the laptop.

I hate to do it, but I need to tell my friends one more lie.

Just one more lie.

And in order to do it, I’m going to have to give the performance of my life.

But I’ll do it because I love them.

I stand up straighter, jut my chin out, and become the cold, uncaring bitch who takes whatever she wants from whomever she wants because she thinks she’s entitled to it.