I think about the lies I've told them. How I'm a better liar than anyone knows.

But I smile and shake my head like I'm a ditz and he has me all figured out.

"Did she apologize to you yet?" he asks me.

"No," I scoff.

"She's not going to," Peyton says.

"I know. And I was thinking . . ."

"Uh oh," Jake says. He must have been drinking earlier because he seems kinda tipsy. He puts his fingers into Peyton's sides again, which causes her to squirm around on his lap.

The look on Jake's face and his own squirming tells me he's enjoying it.

They seem oddly comfortable touching each other, and I can't help but wonder if they have some kind of history.

"What I was going to say is that Katie, Maggie, Annie, and me are going to start an underground Vote for Peyton campaign. I found out that 90% of the freshman class voted for me for student council. I want to make sure they all vote for you.”

"Better not let Whitney hear about that,” Jake says, as he bounces Peyton on his knee and leers at her. "But I agree. Peyton would look gorgeous in a crown. And don't drink too much tonight, Monroe. We have some kissing to do on stage tomorrow." He giggles, sticks out his tongue at Dawson, and then licks up the side of Peyton’s face.

She lets out a little screech, but Dawson frowns.

"Stop saying that! I will not be kissing anyone during tryouts. It's not part of the audition."

Luckily, Bryce walks in and hands Jake and Dawson a shot of something dark.

"Where are our shots?” Peyton asks, now totally flirting with Bryce. He rolls his eyes at her, so she says to me, "Keatyn, be a pal. Go across the hall and find us something yummy."

"Uh, okay," I say.

I walk across the hall. Bryce's door is slightly ajar and there is a little light glowing. I open the door slowly, hoping not to walk in on someone hooking up.

As my eyes adjust, I see Aiden's long body sprawled across Bryce's bed. His head is propped up on his arm and there are books spread out in front of him, but his eyes are closed and he appears to be asleep. I walk over, close his French textbook, and move it to the desk. As I do, a sheet of paper floats to the ground. I pick it up and hold it under the light. Random French words and scribbles are written across it like always. It seems to be how he studies. There’s a list of words he can't remember. Some doodles. But just as I set the paper down, a phrase written in English catches my eye.

Underneath that, written in French is:

Which translated means: She felt the same way.

Wow. Looks like his godly tricks have already worked on some other poor unsuspecting girl. The girl probably thinks they have an amazing connection and was thrilled when he asked her to Homecoming. At least I'm assuming he asked. I noticed the little stars aren't on his ceiling anymore.

I bet this is an old note. He was probably trying to decide if she was worth the hassle of hanging all those stupid little stars. Because what a pain in the ass that must have been.

I shove the note under his textbook with a little too much force, which causes a container full of pencils to crash onto its side.

Shit.

I glance at Aiden, praying I didn't wake him. Thankfully, I didn't, but he moved a little and now he's snuggling an extra pillow.

He looks adorably sweet.

Not so much god-like and much more boy-like.

I glide the back of my hand across his cheek, pull the blanket up over his shoulders, grab the bottle of cake vodka I know he started buying just for me, and then turn off the light.

"What took you so long?" Dawson says upon my return, pulling me back on his knee and kissing my neck.

"I couldn't find the cake vodka and Aiden was asleep, so I couldn't turn on the light." I hold up the bottle. “But the good news is that I found it."

Peyton grabs the bottle out of my hand, takes a big slug, and hands it back to me.

I do a quick shot before Dawson grabs it and chugs at least two shots worth.

We sit around for a while. Talking. Drinking. Laughing.

Finally, Bryce says he's tired and going to sleep.

"I'm tired too," I tell Dawson and pull him out the door.

As I turn around to say goodbye to Peyton, I see her and Jake start to drunkenly make out.

I quickly shut the door behind me.

When I get back to my room, I text Dawson.

Me: Tonight was really fun. I heart you.

He calls me right away. “Is hearting me close to loving me?”

“Maybe. You swear you're over Whitney?”

“I swear.”

“Then I think I need another goodnight kiss.”

“I’m on my way.”

I crack the window, letting in the chilly night air, then run into my closet, using my phone as a flashlight and jumping over the pile of textbooks that are scattered across my floor.

I throw on a soft knit nightie as I hear my window open and shut. I grab a cashmere blanket off my chair, wrap it around my shoulders, and walk toward my bed where Dawson is diving under the covers.

“It's cold out,” he whispers.

I slide under the covers, wrapping him up in the blanket with me.

He's a little tipsy and looks really tired. “Are you tired?”

“Very, are you?”

“Yeah.”

“So you just wanted a goodnight kiss, huh, Keatie?”

“That and . . .” I run my hands through his hair, stalling. Then I decide to be fearless and go for it. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“And what's that?”

“I wanted you to know that I more than heart you, Dawson.”

I can feel him smiling as he kisses me. “Hearting me is good enough.”

“No, it's not, and it's not how I feel.” I kiss the side of his neck, just below his ear, and finally say it, “I love you, Dawson.”

Thursday, September 29th

Do I look guilty?

Lunch

When my alarm went off at 6:30, Dawson was gone. But when I got in the shower and shut the shower curtain, I noticed something on the top of my hand.

In black permanent marker, he drew a heart.

And I’ve been smiling at it all day long.

I’ve been smiling at my shoes too. I’d been saving these Prada two-tone black and red Mary Jane platform pumps for a worthy occasion. And a new relationship with sexy Dawson is just such occasion. I paired them with a black Burberry stretch silk cinched-waist blouse, my red cardigan, plaid skort, black over the knee socks with ribbon ties, and an adorable Longchamp furry red clutch.

I’m getting ready to walk into the cafe, when Peyton grabs my arm and says, “Oh my god. Why did you let me drink so much?”

“Why did you let yourself drink so much?”

She pulls me into the girls' bathroom, looks under all the stalls, and then leans against the counter with a thud.

“Jake and I hooked up.”

“Hooked up, hooked up? Or, like, made out hooked up?”

“We hooked up.” She throws her arms in the air. “In my brother's bed!”

“Eww. What if he had walked in?”

She grabs my shoulders and gets in my face. “What. If. Whitney. Finds. Out?”

“How would she? Jake’s not going to tell her. I’m certainly not gonna tell her. Dawson didn't see you kissing. What's up with you and Jake anyway? You seemed very familiar even before you got drunk.”

“We used to go out. It was a long time ago.”

“You're cute together," I say with a grin.

She buries her head in her hands and cries, “You don’t even understand. She knows things."

“Oh, I understand perfectly. But don't worry, I won't say anything. You have my word.”

“I just pray she doesn’t find out.”