Keegan
I step through the open window of my bedroom after dark, clutching my phone in one hand, my journal in the other.
Then I sit on the flat roof that extends over the front porch and take a deep breath, enjoying the slight breeze. The long, hot summer will soon ease into fall.
A huge oak tree with spreading branches stands in front of the house, its massive trunk touching the bricks that have turned the front yard into a parking lot.
Several of the branches reach over the roof, with one scraping the shingles near my bedroom window.
My phone dings with a text from my dad, checking to see if I got moved in okay.
He wanted to come with me, but he can’t take any more time off work. He used up his vacation time when my mother was sick. His co-workers even donated their time. But it still wasn’t enough.
Dad I’m all moved in. The house is ok, livable. Good thing I left when I did. Me and the WW almost came to blows last night.
I add an SMH emoji and hope my dad will know what that means.
My mom would have lectured me for referring to her mother as the Wicked Witch; she’d have said it was wrong, no matter how much Virginia Cooke might deserve it.
But my dad understands.
My phone dings again: Glad you’re ok. Wish I could have been there. Take care of yourself. You better call me if you need anything.
I will. I’m gonna be ok Dad. Plz don’t worry about me. I add a couple of heart emojis and hit Send.
Then I notice I missed an earlier text from Megz, my best friend: So are you FINALLY Ikana fucking official?
Yup, I type, smiling, I’m moved in (house sucks). I start classes tomorrow. Gotta also try to get the editor on the campus paper to give me a shot tomorrow. Wish me luck.
She responds immediately: U don’t need luck sunshine. UR not like the rest of us. UR keegan rich AF crenshaw/cooke.
She sends another text with a line of fist emojis I’m not sure how to interpret.
I hate when Megz brings up my family. It’s basically the only time we fight, when she acts like I have no struggles because my grandmother owns the Cooke Ranch and is the most powerful politician in the state.
She acts as if everything comes easy for me. Which is total bullshit.
Another text: U there? Did I piss off the princess?
Frowning, I decide to let her stew for a while. Megz is probably sitting in her fancy dorm at OU right now with a couple of hot guys at her beck and call. She has that ability, to get people to do whatever she wants.
We met junior year of high school when Megan Morgan transferred in after she was sent to yet another foster home. For a kid from such an unstable background, she’s done well for herself.
We stayed out all night partying when she found out she’d earned a full scholarship to the University of Oklahoma. I got grounded for that. But it was worth it.
Megz makes the best of every situation. No matter what, she always comes out on top. It’s something I admire about her.
But sometimes she likes to take jabs, and that pisses me off.
Ok bitch stop ignoring me. I’m sorry about the family remark. Jeezus you are so fucking sensitive.
After a moment, my phone dings again: HELLO????
Megz drives me crazy sometimes. But there’s nobody I’d rather hang out with. I already miss her.
I could have gone with her to OU; she begged me to. We could have gone through freshman year together. But I wanted Ikana.
I send her an entire row of eye roll emojis, then set the phone aside and blink away a couple of tears.
It’s ridiculous to feel like crying right now. I’m here, at my dream school, ready to make a fresh start. So why am I so mopey?
I guess I’m wondering if I can pull it off. I fought hard to get here. What if I fail? What if I disappoint my dad?
Worse, what if I prove my grandmother right?
I miss my mom so much. If she were alive, I’d be calling her right now, and as usual, she’d make it better.
I stare up at the full moon and the stars and remember how she told me, while she could still speak, that she’d be looking down on me from above. I want to believe that’s true.
A few more stinging tears run down my face. And then, right on cue like she knows I need it, Megz texts one of her standard lines. In all caps, of course: CALM YOUR TITS GURL.
Impossible not to break into a smile.
Another text comes in: Even from a hundred miles away i can feel you getting all tense. U are SO predictable, keekee. But I love u to pieces.
“Thanks, Megz,” I mutter out loud, wiping my eyes and sending her a kissy face text.
I grab my journal, pulling out the Mont Blanc pen I keep inside it. The journal and pen were a gift from my mom for my 14th birthday. I haven’t missed writing even a single day since then. I’ve gone through at least a dozen journals.
Maybe it’s childish. But it’s become a comforting routine for me.
I doodle in the margins, pondering how to describe the day that began with an early morning drive through the rolling hills of eastern Oklahoma. A day that included meeting Blue and Hunter.
It also included my encounter with Kendra, who barely acknowledged me as we passed on the stairs this afternoon.
Drenched in some perfume I didn’t recognize, she was wearing a short, swishy dress with glittery sandals. She looked me up and down, frowning. “You’re the new girl?”
She shook her head disapprovingly before I even had time to respond and kept going up the stairs.
Not exactly friendly. What the hell did I do wrong?
I don’t want to think about Kendra right now though.
I’m still doodling, but I’m not seeing the ink on the page. Instead, I’m seeing the beautiful front and scarred back of Blue Daniels. I keep replaying my meeting with him; I keep wondering about him.
Where is he from? Has he been in the military? How did he end up at Ikana College and in this house? How did he get those scars?
There’s something about Blue, something that gets to me. It’s not just that he’s sexy or obviously has a story to tell.
There’s something between us. I can sense it, even if I don’t want to.
I try to steer my thoughts back to what matters: doing well in all my classes and getting a reporter job at The Daily, Ikana’s award-winning student newspaper.
The beginning reporter slots on the paper are filled, as I was told last week in an email from the paper’s editor-in-chief. He finally responded to all my phone messages. I’d figured if I bugged him enough, he’d see how badly I wanted the job. How motivated I’d be to do well at it.
I wanted to get the job on my own, without dropping the name I knew would get his attention. But he just told me to try again next year.
That’s not part of my plan.
I take a deep breath, noticing how loud the cicadas are. “Dammit, Keegan,” I growl at myself, “Focus.”
I shake my head, hoping to clear it. Then I make myself start writing.
~~~
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