Stalk Me

Mandy’s mother’s voice is angry. “Is that how your nose got broken? Did you and this girl get into a fight?”



“Yes! She was mad at me because her boyfriend is a liar and a cheater! And I would never do something like that to a boy. I’ve never done oral sex. Ever! All we did was kiss, I swear!”



Vanessa says sympathetically, “I was afraid you would say that, Mandy. I’m sorry to have to show you this, but, well, as they say, pictures speak louder than words.”



She slides another photo onto the coffee table.



One of Mandy doing exactly what she was doing to Cush.



Vanessa took the photo to show me proof of Cush’s infidelity, before she found out he was drugged.



Mandy’s parents gasp.



“I’m sorry to have to show you this, but as you can see, your daughter is lying. If you look closely at Brandon’s face, you will see that he looks almost asleep; not at all like a young man receiving oral stimulation should look. That is because your daughter drugged him.”



“She what?” Mandy’s mom yells.



“I did not!” Mandy yells at Vanessa and stands up.



“Sit down, Mandy!” her father says sternly. “This is a very serious accusation, Vanessa.”



“I understand that, sir. Let me continue with the events of the evening. Even with the shock of seeing this when she walked in, Miss Douglas could tell that something was wrong with her boyfriend. She knows that Brandon is a serious athlete. He never does drugs, and he only has an occasional beer. She yelled at Mandy, and asked her what she did to him. Mandy told her that it was no big deal, but that she had slipped a little something in his drink.”



“And that’s when she punched me in the face. She broke my nose! I should be pressing charges against her!” Mandy yells.



“Miss Douglas greatly regrets that your daughter’s nose got broken, but it was an accident. She was worried about her boyfriend, pushed your daughter out of his room, and slammed the door in her face. That is how her nose got broken.”



“That is such a lie! You are the biggest liar!”



Vanessa slides another sheet of paper onto the table. This one filled with typing.



“This is written testament from seven people at the party who witnessed the door getting slammed in your daughter’s face. These are not sworn legal testaments but can quickly be made into such if necessary. Miss Douglas asked me to escort your daughter and her friend, Alicia, out of the party. Needless to say, we don’t want people who would do this to our friends anywhere near us. After that, I quickly got everyone to leave. Miss Douglas called home, explained the situation, and had their family physician meet them.”



She slides another piece of paper onto the table and taps her nail again.



“Here are the doctor’s notes on Brandon’s condition. And here are the toxicology reports that show high doses of valium in his bloodstream. Were it not for Miss Douglas’ quick actions, Brandon Cushman could have died.”



Vanessa stops and lets this all sink in. You can hear Mandy’s mother sobbing.



Vanessa continues. “We have forwarded all this information to both Mr. Cushman’s soccer coach and the cheerleading coach.”



“They can’t kick me off the cheerleading team. We weren’t at school!” Mandy says in a know-it-all voice.



“Mandy, dear, when you drug the school’s star soccer player, you break a moral code. You’ve already been removed as a cheerleader and so has your friend, Alicia. You have not received notification yet, but that is the least of your worries. Aside from the situation at school, there could be legal ramifications as well. Obviously, Brandon could press charges. Here are sworn statements from both Miss Douglas and myself, in which we share that Mandy admitted to us that she drugged Brandon. My father, Patrick Flanning, is a partner in the law firm, Flanning, Marks, and Cole. He suggested that rather than ruin your daughter’s life with criminal charges I present this to you, her parents. He thought you might like the opportunity to handle this as a family. Provided that her punishment is suitable to the crime, Mr. Cushman has agreed not to press charges.”



“You are such a bitch! I can’t even believe you would listen to these lies!” Mandy screams. “She’s the meanest—”



“MANDY, SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!” her father yells.



Her mother sobs louder.



Vanessa gets up. “I’m very sorry to have met under such unfortunate circumstances. I wish you and your family the best during these trying times. Here’s my father’s card. He will be expecting an email or letter from you with Mandy’s punishment by four pm today. Thank you for meeting with me.”



You see Vanessa let herself out.



Then the camera focuses on her face. She smiles at the camera and says, “I think that went pretty well.”



Damian looks at me. “Wow. Did that girl really do all that stuff or was Vanessa lying?”



“No, it’s all the truth. Well, except for the part about her nose hitting a door. I did punch her.”



“Sounds to me like she got what she deserved.”



“Did she? She did it all because she wanted to be popular.”



“What did her parents do?”



“Sent her to a rehab center for youth who make destructive decisions. This fall, she will attend the very strict and religious St. Margaret’s School for Girls. Her friend, Alicia, will be a social pariah.”



“What did her friend do?”



“Helped distract Cush, so she could put the valium in his beer.”



“Well, she deserves it too.”



“I told Vanessa to destroy her.”



“You what?”



I tell Damian all the gory details. Spill my guts completely. Starting with when Vanessa threatened to tell everyone my relationship with Sander was a sham, and ending with Cush breaking up with me.



“I ruined her life,” I tell him.



“You didn’t ruin her life. I think she got what she deserved, but the video, that was to show people what happens if they mess with Vanessa and her friends, right?”



“Yeah, that’s why I don’t want to go back to school. I can’t get out of it. Cush and I tried and look what happened. Cush hates me and he should. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I want to be.”



“Who do you want to be?”



“Just me. If I’m popular because people like me, fine. But I don’t want this. I don’t want to be the girl people are nice to because they are afraid not to be.”



“I’m probably not going to be much help there. I was home schooled like you and Brook. I didn’t have to deal with that. Although even in the band there’s jealousy. We’re Twisted Dreams. We’re a team, but lately a lot of the focus has been on me. Because of who my dad is; because of the way I look.”



“You should’ve named the band, Teen Dreams. All those little teenyboppers are going to have posters of you on their walls. You know they are, Damian. You’re adorable, and the way your eyes look when you sing makes girls melt. Hell, I know you, know what a big dork you are, and even I melt a little.” I laugh.



“Shut up. It’s not like I mind it. Especially if it helps us sell records. And if we sell records, we all make the same amount of money. Troy doesn’t complain. Although the girls seem to think he’s hot.”



“Troy is hot, and he’s a great drummer and a great DJ, but he’s not the guy singing to you. It’s you. Your voice. It’s special. So, is being a rock star not all it’s cracked up to be either?”



“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know when I’m a rock star.” He laughs, takes a sip of wine, and leans back in his chair. “Maybe I should write a song about that.”



“About what?”



“About being your own person. About not worrying what people think. About not worrying about being popular.”



“Most teens could probably relate.”



“That or I could write one about your eyes.”



“My eyes. Don’t be silly.”



“I’m not. Actually, I’ve written one about your eyes.”



“You have?”



“Yeah. The color of them. The way they look so bright every time you look at Brook. I’ve never really had a girl look at me like that. It’s obvious you love him. So, I have part of it written. Unfortunately, not much rhymes with Keatyn. There’s beatin’, sweeten, tweetin’, meetin’, heatin’. Not very romantic, but I’ll figure it out eventually.”



“You’re funny.”



“Wanna hear what I have so far?”



“Sure, why not.”



I refill our glasses while he grabs his guitar, strums softy, and sings.



“Her eyes get bright every time he’s around.



The ocean waves beat out her heart’s sound.



Their love begins as a ripple and grows into a tidal wave.



But he’d surf through uncertainty just to see that gaze.



Oh baby, if you only knew,



Oh, baby, the feelings I have for you,



Oh baby, if you could only see,



Oh, baby, it needs to be you and me.”



He stops singing and knocks his fist on his guitar. “I can’t finish the song.”



“It’s beautiful so far. It really is. You wrote that about me and B?”



“Yeah, but I think I can’t finish it because you haven’t started it.”



“What do you mean?”



“You and Brook. You need to give it a chance. Then I think I’ll be able to finish the song.”



My phone vibrates with a text. I look down, read it, and smile.



B: The waves miss you.



“Who just texted you? Wait, I already know. Your eyes had that same look, that same light. It’s Brook, right?”



I clutch my phone to my chest. “Yeah, he says the waves miss me.”



“He misses you. Talk to him, Keats. Hang out with him this summer. Get away from your friends. I’m calling him.”



“Don’t you dare!”



He gets up and runs away from me.



I hear him say, “Brook, how’s it going?”



“Awesome. Guess who I’m sitting here with?”



“Our little surfer girl. Heard you two haven’t talked in a while. What’s up with that?”



Damian nods his head. “Yeah, so talk to her now.”



He shoves his phone in my face.



I shake my head no.



He mouths, Talk, to me.



I keep shaking my head. I can’t talk to him. I can’t.



Damian gives me an angry face and shakes his fist at me.



I take the phone and hold it up to my ear, but I can’t speak.



I don’t know what to say.



“Hey, B,” I finally say, since it’s all I could come up with.



“I lied,” he says. “The waves don’t miss you. I do.”



Tears instantly spring up in my eyes.



“I miss you too.”



“So I saw your Facebook status. That you’re single again.”



“Yeah, well, it’s a long story.”



“When will you be home?”



“I’m not sure. I was supposed to leave Saturday, but things have been kinda crazy. I was thinking about staying here longer.”



“Oh,” he says quietly. “I was looking forward to hanging out.”



Damian gives me big eyes. Then he whispers, “Why don’t you do both? Have him come here. You can hit some of Europe’s hot surfing spots and come to some of our shows.”



I smile.



That’s a brilliant idea!



“What would you think of coming here? Damian says we could hang with the band on tour. That we could surf Europe’s hot spots. What do you think? You up for an adventure?”



“That all depends,” Brooklyn says slowly.



“On what?”



“Us.”



“What about us?”



“I want there to be an us, Keats. Do you?”



I suck in my breath. Those are the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long.



The tears that were prickling my eyes start streaming down my face.



“I want there to be an us too,” I choke out.



“I’ll be on the first plane I can get.”



Tuesday, June 28th



Know when it’s right.



3pm



When I picked Brooklyn up from the airport, we were one of those couples who everyone hates. The couple that stands there making out because they are finally together. We spent our first days exploring the beaches near the house. It seems like when I’m here with my family, we tend to go to the same places over and over.



We spent days driving a little convertible around, lying in the sand, swimming in the ocean, and kissing.



Lots and lots of kissing.



We found a place to rent surf boards, and we played around in the water. We walked to little cafés and shopped in quaint stores. We spent our nights drinking wine from the wine cellar and kissing.



He found an old book of poetry in the library and recited poetry to me.



I was as happy as I’d ever been, but I sort of felt like I was hiding a secret.



Last Brooklyn had heard, I was a virgin.



In our short time together, Cush and I had quite a bit of sex, and I’ve been trying to decide if I should tell Brooklyn about it or not.



About a week after he arrived, we’re swaying on a hammock in the back yard doing nothing but holding hands and watching the clouds go by.



“Look at that one,” he says. “It looks like a parrot.”



I laugh. “It looks more like a horse to me.”



He leans in and kisses me. It’s weird how even though kissing is kissing, every guy you kiss feels different. When Sander and I kissed, it was sweet. Mostly friendly. When Cush and I kissed, it was fiery. When Brooklyn and I kiss, it feels like a day at the beach.