I’m just not sure if I want it anymore.

My little laid-back surfer girl.

2am

The limo pulls up to my house. Prom was fun; not what I dreamed of, but better than I expected in one way: Sander didn’t get drunk. He’s been particularly high strung this week because he tried out for the part of Danny in the upcoming remake of Grease, and he really wants the role. I can’t imagine him not getting it. He has amazing dance skills, sings like an angel, and morphs into any role he wants to play.

He walks me to my front door, gives me a chaste kiss, and bids me goodnight.

And now I’m feeling a little high strung too.

I want to scream at him. Where are the fireworks? Where is the passion? You are the FUCKING PROM KING! It’s PROM NIGHT!! The night every red-blooded American male is expected to drink too much, take their date to a hotel, and have sex!!!

Instead, I watch the limo pull away.

I let myself into the house quietly, so I don’t wake up the family. I grab a Corona out of the fridge, madly kick off my heels, then walk out the back door and onto the beach.

I’m still wearing my gorgeous dress, but I don’t care about getting it wet and sandy. I never want to wear this stupid dress again.

In all the screenplays I’ve ever written, prom night is always the climax. That pivotal night when everything changes. The night I’m supposed to lose my virginity to my perfect boyfriend. The boy who’s been dying to have sex with me, but who says I’m worth the wait. The boy who would know prom night is the night.

In the limo, he’d wag the hotel key in front of my face and kiss me passionately. He’d tell me I’m beautiful and he can’t wait any longer. At the hotel, there would be rose petals, candles, and champagne. He’d kiss me and tell me I’m beautiful again. Then he wouldn’t wait any longer. He’d slide the straps of my dress off my shoulders and carry me to the bed, where he’d ravish my body.

I plop down into the sand and let out a big sigh.

Obviously, the casting director screwed up. Sander is not willing to do all that is required for his role.

I think it’s time to cut my losses and scrap the project. Start over.

Earlier this week, I mentioned to RiAnne that I was considering breaking up with him. She said, You’re the perfect couple. Why would you do that?

But I know she’s wrong.

The perfect couple would be doing it in a hotel room right now.

I look out at the ocean glittering in the moonlight and wonder where he is.

Where is my perfect boy?

Could he be staring at the moon at this exact moment, wishing for me, too?

Sometimes I swear I can almost feel him.

Oh, for God’s sake, Keatyn. What the hell is wrong with you?

Both of us staring at the moon?

Obviously, I’ve read too many freaking fairytales to my sisters and watched too many stupid romance movies with my mom.

Or, maybe I’ve heard the story of how Mom and Tommy fell in love at first sight too many times.

But it’s sooooo romantic.

I love hearing Tommy’s version of it the best. He’s so damn dreamy when he tells it. His eyes light up and he lowers his voice, like he’s telling you the world’s best secret. He talks about how their eyes met. About how he felt instantly tongue-tied. How, when he shook her hand, he could see their future. How he knew she was the one.

I was on the same movie set. I’d been being a little brat about Mom dating, and I wanted to hate Tommy.

But I couldn’t.

We were on location in France. Mom’s character was a liaison for the American Ambassador to France, who gets caught up in a murder investigation and falls in love with a French investigator. Tommy had a cameo role as a French businessman who was dealing weapons to anyone with the money to buy them. Their big scene was when they dance together at a benefit. When you watch the movie, you can practically see the sparks flying.

Tommy had been on set for only two days. Both times I had seen him, he was coming out of makeup just as I was coming out of my dance class. Mom had a former French prima donna teaching me ballet. The ballerina insisted I wear a pale pink tutu with a black leotard and matching tights. I didn’t mind the tutu, but thought it was boring. So I got one of the costume designers to help me tie dye it in multiple shades of pink and sew sequins all over it. The ballerina had just chewed me out for my American lack of respect. Tommy told me my tutu was beautiful at the exact moment I needed to hear it.

I’m pretty sure I fell in love with him right then and there.

I walked back in the room, where the ballet teacher was still stretching, and told her that Tommy Stevens liked my tutu, that I was going to keep wearing it, and that if she wanted to teach me, she’d have to learn to appreciate my artistic expression.

Later that afternoon, after my schoolwork was finished, I got to sit very quietly on set next to the director, Matt Moran. Even as a very little girl, the process of making a movie intrigued me, and I wouldn’t make a peep because I wanted to be allowed to watch.

After Matt yelled cut, Tommy walked up to me and asked me if I’d like to go see a real ballet with him.

In Russia.

Then he asked me if it’d be okay to take my mom along.

I remember looking at Mom to see if she wanted to come with us. I still remember the tears in her eyes, the big smile on her face, and her nodding yes at me.

Kym found both Mom and me beautiful dresses to wear, and Tommy took us to Moscow in his private jet.

It was the best first date ever.

For both of us.

I feel a little sorry for the boy that falls in love with me. He’s gonna have really big shoes to fill.

I think about Brooklyn. How he looked walking down the beach the first time I saw him. How cute it was when he swam out and taught me how to surf. It was my fifteenth birthday. We had just moved into Tommy’s Malibu beach house, and I got the present I’d been asking for: Mom and Tommy told me I could stay here, even when they were traveling, and go to high school. Then Tommy told me if I was gonna live on the beach, I needed to learn how to surf. He gave me a bunch of tips, but he told me the best way to learn was to just get out there and try. So I did. Over and over again. I fell so many times, but I wanted to learn so badly. Brooklyn paddled out after a couple hours of my feeble attempts and taught me.

The second our eyes met, I knew.

Knew I was in love with him.

Knew it was love at first sight.

But then I found out that love at first sight doesn’t work out so well when the person you fall for doesn’t fall back.

"S'up, Keats?" I hear Brooklyn call out. I turn to see him walking up the beach toward me. “You just get home?”

I stand up. My beautiful dress is wet and sandy, but I know it still looks pretty blowing in the breeze.

“Yeah, I just came out here to think."

He walks closer to me. "You look really pretty. What’s wrong? Did Cinderella not have fun at the ball?"

Ohmigawd! Did he just say I look really pretty?

“Prom was fine,” I lie.

We sit back down in the sand. I take a drink of beer then hand it to him. He takes a swig and hands it back.

"So why do you look upset? Come on, Keats. What’s up? Someone wear the same dress to the party?"

I sigh. Brooklyn doesn’t think much of Hollywood-type parties, high school parties, my friends, or my boyfriend. He thinks they are all shallow and vapid. Which means he’s probably not the best person to say this to.

"I'm thinking about breaking up with Sander,” I say quietly.

“You should. He’s an arrogant asshole and a whiner.”