“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry. He won’t tell me anything. But he’s too freaking happy for it not to be amazing. So, I guess I’ll let you stay.”

I laugh. “Gee, thanks. I’m so honored.”

He clinks my glass and looks at me seriously. “You should be.”

After a couple beers, Dawson, Braxton, and “Daddy” Johnson come off the course. Peyton told me that all the girls call Mr. Johnson “Daddy Johnson” because he’s really good looking.

I will admit the four of them all together do make a pretty nice picture. All dark hair, dark eyes, muscles, and cocky attitudes.

Braxton rushes over to us, clearly trying to win some kind of race. He sits on my lap and says, “Baby, we need to talk.”

I can’t help but laugh at him. “And what do we need to talk about? The fact that you’re small enough to sit on my lap?”

Camden says with a snort, “If Riley was the cheap imitation of the real thing, then Brax is the pocket-sized version.”

Braxton hops off my lap and says proudly, “Ain’t nothing about a Johnson that’s small.”

Camden high-fives him just as Dawson and Mr. Johnson join us.

“Is he bragging about winning already?” Mr. Johnson asks. “Because you should know he’s a cheater.”

“I didn’t make up the silly scramble rules. And Dawson has obviously been spending too much time with this one.” He tilts his head in my direction. “And not enough time on the course.”

Dawson sits down next to me and gives me a sweet kiss. “At least I have something better to do than chase my own balls around.”

Braxton does a little huff and folds his arms across his chest. He’s ready to spout off a comeback.

Probably a dirty one, because his dad says, “Don’t even say it, Braxton. You need to mind your manners in front of the ladies.”

“Did you decide to ditch the tea?” Dawson asks.

“Yeah, it was really boring,” Peyton replies. “So I made Keatyn sneak out with me.”

The boys all talk about their golfing. The best shots. What little contests they think they might win. I’m listening to their conversation when I catch Braxton typing into my phone.

I grab it from him. “What are you doing?”

“Putting myself in as a contact. You need to text me tonight with the party info. My brothers tell me nothing is going on after curfew tonight. But I don’t believe them.”

“Everyone is going to the after-party. At least everyone I know.”

“Can you get me in? I’m a good dancer.” He stands up and does a couple dance moves.

“I wish I could. The security for the event is really tight. It’s the first time the school has allowed something like this, so each student has to show their student ID to get their wristband. You have to have the wristband to get on the bus and into the event.”

I can tell Braxton’s brain is in motion. “So I just need to get a school ID and a wristband and I’m in? That should be easy.”

“Don’t you dare, Braxton,” his dad says. “We don’t need you getting kicked out before you ever get in. You want to come here next year, don’t you?”

He hangs his head in defeat. “Yeah.”

“Then behave.”

He raises his head and smiles. “Can I have beer instead?”

His dad and brothers just roll their eyes and continue their conversation. Braxton sends me a text.

Braxton F*cking Johnson: You need to hook me up with a wristband. I know you set up the security. Dawson was bragging about it. He was bragging about some other things too.

Me: Dawson never brags about other things and, sorry, but no.

I change his name to something a little more normal.

Braxton: My life sucks. I’ve been here for three days and haven’t got laid.

Me: You’re a little young for that, I think.

Braxton: I’m not. I’m ready. I’m SO ready. Hook me up. There was a party last night and you didn’t invite me. I was hurt.

Me: I didn’t go to a party last night. Neither did Dawson.

Braxton: I know that Riley snuck out.

Shit. How does he know that?

Me: Where did you hear that?

Braxton: Dallas.

Me: Probably went to see Ariela.

Braxton: Nope. I asked.

Me: I don’t know then.

Braxton: He calls you baby. He doesn’t call his girlfriend, baby. What’s up with you two?

Me: He’s my friend. Tell you what. You’re coming back for the Prospective Student weekend, right?

Braxton: Hell, yeah, I am.

Me: Be a good boy and don’t get in trouble for Homecoming and I’ll take you to a party then.

Braxton: You swear?

Me: No, I’d say that you’re the one who does all the swearing.

Braxton: Fucking right, I am.

“I have to go,” I say, checking the time on my phone.

“I’ll walk you,” Dawson says.

“You’ll what her?” Braxton says really loudly.

“WALK,” their dad says to Braxton. “Get your mind out of the gutter, son.”

As we walk away, Dawson is laughing. “I like my brother’s idea better.”

“Really? I never would have guessed that,” I say with a smirk. “You want me to look good tonight, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then I need to go get my nails done.”

“I have a few things errands I need to run myself.”

“What kind of errands?”

“Champagne kinds of errands.”

“Yum.”

When we get to my dorm, he gives me a steamy kiss and says goodbye.

I go into my room, grab my handbag and keys, then text Annie, Maggie, and Katie.

Me: Ready to head to the salon?

Annie: Still at the boring tea. Where are you?

Me: Coming to rescue you. I’ll pull my car up. You run out. LOL It’s okay to leave for our appointments. We have to look beautiful for tonight.

As I walk to my car, I’m suddenly very aware that there are a lot of people milling about that I don’t know.

Riley’s words about how it would be the perfect time to sneak on campus start running through my mind. I feel very paranoid as I walk to my car.

Twice, I see someone with Vincent’s build and hair color and have a momentary freak out.

When I get close to my car, I carefully look behind me and around me.

I peek under my car and then walk along it, making sure no one is hiding in the cargo area. Then I hit the unlock button, jump quickly into the car, and lock it back up.

I’m probably just being silly, because I really do feel safe here.

Didn’t Garrett tell me to listen to my gut? And to that little voice inside my head that lets me know when I’m in danger?

I take a deep breath and clear my head.

I don’t feel danger, so I start my car and go pick up the girls.

Not the jealous type.

8:30pm

After dinner, the walls on each side of the banquet hall are slid open to reveal the dance floor.

I enjoy being appropriately held in Dawson’s arms all night. It’s strange being in his arms for such a long period of time without attacking each other.

Although it doesn’t stop him from whispering all the things he’d like to be doing right now.

Or what he wants to do later.

Or trying to talk me into a quick visit to his dorm, or the bathroom.

Or anywhere, really.

At a little before eleven, the Homecoming Court is assembled for our procession and then the announcement of the King and Queen.

We walk to the middle of the stage when our names are called and then line up on the stage.

The Dean thanks the Homecoming Court and gives a short speech about exemplary students, all aimed at the alumni and parents as opposed to the students.

Then he opens an envelope and says, “And this year’s Homecoming King is Dawson Johnson!”

I let out a somewhat dignified whoop as the crowd cheers.

Last year’s Homecoming Queen, the leggy Samantha that Camden was flirting with at the golf tournament, walks across the stage, places a crown on Dawson’s head, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

The dean is handed another envelope and slowly opens it.

He smiles and says, “And this year’s Homecoming Queen is Peyton Arrington!”

Peyton gets teary-eyed and walks to the center of the stage. Dawson holds out his elbow for her and they smile for the flashing cameras. Camden, who I didn’t realize was last year’s King, walks out onto the stage, grabs Peyton, and dips her back for a sexy kiss on the lips.

All the students hoot and whistle.

He pulls her back upright then places a tiara on her head.

I think ahead to next year. How cool it would be to have Dawson come back, place a crown on my head, and dip me back and kiss me?

I look out into the crowd and realize that I survived the dance. The dance was really the part I was most worried about. It felt a lot like my birthday party. People all around.

I tried to act normal, but I stuck as close to Dawson as I could.

I catch him smiling at me. He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a soft tan dress shirt that is just slightly darker than the nude color under my dress, a black suit with a tan pinstripe, a black tie, and shiny black wingtips.

I watch the assistant dean place a bouquet of red and yellow roses in Peyton’s arms.

Peyton beams and her smile lights up the stage.

But another brightness catches my eye. Aiden is smiling at his sister. I can tell he’s so proud. And he looks extremely handsome standing there. He’s wearing a grey Armani suit, the palest of blue shirts, an artistic gray and blue striped tie, and by far the coolest shoes of the night. I had seen them earlier and hadn’t noticed. They just looked like basic black Prada dress shoes, but up here in the bright light you can see the perforated pattern on them and the bright blue undertones.

He catches me looking at him and gives me a little wink. At least, I think he’s winking at me. There’s no one behind me and I don’t think he was winking at Ariela or Maggie, who are standing beside me. I give him a little smile back.

Music starts playing again and Dawson and Peyton descend from the stage for the Royal Dance.

I glance at Whitney. There’s no mistaking the venom in her glare.

She’s pissed.

Pissed she isn’t out there dancing with Dawson.

Pissed her perfectly scripted life hasn’t gone according to plan.

About halfway through the dance, Dawson and Peyton break apart. Dawson dances with his mom and Peyton with her dad.

I picture myself dancing like that with Tommy.

But if I danced with Tommy, that would mean the truth about who I am would have to come out.

Vincent would have to be in jail.

And if he was, would I come back?

Would everyone hate me for lying?

Or would I go back to my old school?

My old life?

Everyone claps, breaking me out of my reverie, and indicating the end of the song.

Dawson comes up to the stage and holds his hand out to help me descend the stage.

I’m happily swaying in his arms when Whitney says, “May I cut in? For old time’s sake?”

Jake holds out his arm to me, so I politely let her dance with Dawson.

Dawson looks stiff, but she looks happy.

She doesn’t look like a scheming bitch when she dances with him.

And, while I’m not the jealous type, I’m practically giddy when Dawson ends their dance halfway through and takes me back in his arms.

Like a red Solo cup.

11:15pm

Dawson and I walk down to the dorms, so we can pick up our bags to take to the hotel. Then we stop off at the student center, show our school IDs, and get our wristbands.

The school was really concerned about students inviting friends to come to the event, so, for liability reasons, we had to devise a way to make sure the party stayed closed.

The rule is: no wristband = no entrance. No exceptions.

Whitney and Jake meet us at the limo. Jake gives me a hug and whispers, “Thank you. But, beware: she’s in a pissy mood after not winning.”

Dawson had taken his crown off and put it on me at the dance. I realize I’m still wearing it, so I pull it off my head and tuck it into Dawson's duffle bag. I don’t want to make her feel worse.

“Champagne is in order, I think,” I say to Jake.

He opens one of the bottles he brought along and pours some in a flute for Whitney.

She doesn't even bother to wait for a toast. She just drains it.

Jake refills her glass and then grabs another flute.

“Oh, here,” I say to Jake and hand him two red Solo cups. “Put ours in here.”

“Very classy,” Whitney sneers.

“It has nothing to do with class, Whitney. I’ll never drink out of limo glasses. They don't wash them. Just sort of Windex them off between uses. Way to many germs for me. Besides, nothing says party like a red Solo cup.”

“Maybe your kind of parties.”

“Yes, my kind of parties. Shots. Dancing on the bar. You know, fun stuff.”

Jake asks Dawson for a red cup, fills his glass, and toasts, “No more parents. No more alums. Watch out club. Here we come."

“Whooh!” I yell, and take a sip.

Dawson pulls me into his arms. “Are you going to dance on the bar tonight? That sounds hot.”

“Definitely.”

Dawson is all over me in the limo.

"I can't wait to help take this off,” he says, touching the bow on my shoulder.

Jake puts his arm around Whitney and as hard as she’s trying to pretend things are perfect, she looks like she's ready to cry.