But as I see Cooper and the dean herding the reporters into a room, I know that I can’t do that either.
I remember Grandpa once telling me, Sometimes you can’t find yourself until you’re lost.
I thought it was just another silly Southern saying.
But I get it now.
I was lost.
And, somehow, throughout this whole ordeal, I found myself.
I know exactly who I am.
And if Aiden is the boy of my dreams . . .
If he really is my moon boy . . .
My fate.
Then he’ll understand.
Someday.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17TH
Walked out.
Winter Formal
I try to rid my mind of Aiden and focus on the task at hand.
Keeping Eastbrooke safe from Vincent.
I walk toward the room where Cooper and the dean have corralled the press.
As I get to the door, they’re both walking out.
Cooper speaks to the dean in rapid-fire fashion. “She lied because she’s being stalked. I’m her bodyguard. We cannot let this get out on social media or Eastbrooke itself will be in danger.” Cooper points to some students on the dance floor who are on their phones.
“I can handle the students,” the dean says. “What I can’t control is the press.”
“I’ll handle them,” I say confidently.
The dean walks onto the stage and takes the microphone. “All right. Everyone listen up. Take out your phones. Excellent. I'd like you to delete any photos you took of Keatyn. If any of you posted about her, Abby Johnston, Eastbrooke, or what just transpired, I'd like you to delete it immediately from any and all social networks. At Eastbrooke, we pride ourselves on our students’ security and privacy. Each and every one of you knows security, excellence, leadership, and a sense of community is what keeps Eastbrooke strong. As is always our policy, we will be monitoring your social media to make sure you are showing yourself and our school in the best light. Anyone who publicly speaks of this will face detention and possible expulsion. Do I make myself clear?”
Cooper says to me, “One down, one to go. You ready?”
“I need to make a quick phone call first. While I do, could you find me some paper?”
He grabs a large decorative snowflake off the wall. “Will this work?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, that will work.” Then I call Damian.
“I heard what you did for Peyton,” he says immediately. “Thank you.”
“Is she okay?”
“Because of you, yes. But she’s a wreck. I’m headed to the airport now.”
“I have a favor.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“I’m about to talk to the local press. In order to keep them quiet about me being at Eastbrooke, I need to give them a bigger story.”
“Bait and switch. Hollywood does it all the time.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a bigger story to offer.”
“But I do. That’s why you called me.”
“You’re right. Damian Moran’s date in New York City with his new girlfriend would do the trick. But we’d have to fix Peyton’s social media first so Vincent can’t connect her to me.”
“Of course. We’ll do whatever you need. It’s the least we can do.”
“Aiden walked out when he heard the truth about my mom.”
“You told everyone the truth? Peyton was sobbing, so it was hard to follow exactly what happened. She just kept saying you saved her.”
“I told them who my mom is, but I didn’t tell them the truth about why I lied. I told them it was because I wanted to prove I could act.”
“Why didn’t you tell them about the stalker?”
“Because there are people here who would call Vincent themselves if they knew the real story. I have to protect my friends. Protect Eastbrooke.”
“You should be protecting yourself.”
“That’s next on the list. Okay, I have to go.”
“Let’s meet tomorrow to discuss.”
“Damian?”
“What?”
“Thanks for always being my friend.”
“I love you. I’m pissed and scared that you outed yourself but, at the same time, I’m proud of what you did for Peyton. Seriously, Keats, you've changed. I like it.”
Cooper motions for me to follow him.
“Thanks, Damian. I gotta go.”
I follow Cooper into a room where the press, three reporters and two cameramen, have gathered. All of them are young.
And, hopefully, hungry.
I was going to emulate my mother. She handles the press so well.
But my mom didn’t go through what I did with Vincent.
I’ll just be me.
I smile, shake each one of their hands, and introduce myself. “Hi. I’m Keatyn.” After that, I address them. “So, I have a huge favor. I'd like for you not to report what you just heard.”
“Are you kidding me?” the short, blonde reporter says. “Abby Johnston is big news.”
“You’re right. She is. But I’m not her. I mean, what would you report exactly?”
“That you’re at a boarding school using a different last name than hers. Trying to hide who you are.”
I nod, agreeing with her. “Except that my mom and I have had different last names my whole life. Douglas for me. Johnston for her.”