Page 41 of Get Me (The Keatyn Chronicles 6)
Just as I open my eyes, a hood is thrown over my head and I'm being pulled out of bed and down the hall.
It takes me a few moments to get my wits about me.
This is it.
Vincent has found me.
I think about fighting him here in the dorm, but decide against it. The noise would wake people up and then they would all be in danger.
As soon as we get outside, I attack.
I use my elbow to give him a shot to the ribs, then pull his arm down hard, knocking him off balance. When I feel him start to fall, I push my shoulder into him, knocking him down the stairs.
I quickly pull off the hood.
"What the fuck are you doing, Monroe?" Jake yells at me.
My insides stop shaking.
"Jake!? What the hell are you doing?!"
"I'm trying to kidnap you."
"Why?" I say, suddenly looking around in every direction. Did Jake out me to Vincent?
"Because I'm taking you somewhere special. I'm sorry, I've just been excited to do this since I got kidnapped last year."
"Jake, what the fuck are you talking about? When did you get kidnapped?"
He sits up and rubs his back. "I just told you I got kidnapped last year. It's an honor."
"Getting kidnapped is an honor? Are you serious? You know why I'm here, right?"
"Oh my god. I didn't even think of that. I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to tell you. But maybe, under the circumstances, I'd better."
"Ya think?"
"You are about to be kidnapped, teased, and then inducted into Eastbrooke fame."
"Fame?"
"Yes. You, Monroe, are about to become a prefect."
"But, I . . ."
"No buts."
"I don't know if I'll even be here next year."
"Whatever. If you don't come back, we'll deal with that later. Enjoy tonight. It's kinda corny, but it's kind of special too. And I'm not telling you anything else. I don't want to ruin the surprise. Now, will you let me put the hood back on you without kicking the shit out of me?"
"Sure."
He puts the hood back over my head and leads me down the sidewalk.
"I have to spin you around," he whispers. "So you don't know where we're going. The prefect room's location is supposed to be a secret."
"But you know where it is. If I'm a prefect, I'll know where it is. Why the secrecy?"
"Fuck if I know. But if you don't play nice with the all the old prefects who are here for the ceremony, they might change their minds."
"Okay, fine. Spin me."
Jake spins me around a few times and then leads me up the hill on the concrete, which makes it quite obvious what direction we are heading.
And, now that I have my wits about me and my heartbeat has slowed down to a reasonable rate, I kind of want to jump up and down and scream.
Because, me . . . a prefect?
I'm led into a building that I'm pretty sure is the student center and then down a set of stairs. We go into a room and then down another set of stairs.
Jake leads me a bit further then grabs my shoulders, turns me around, and positions me in a line. I can feel someone's shoulder next to me. Based on his cologne, I'd guess it's Dallas.
"Brothers and Sisters of Eastbrooke," a deep voice announces, "we welcome Keatyn Monroe into the fold."
My hood is pulled off, revealing a huge stone room, lit only by the candles being held by what I assume are years' worth of prefects, all dressed in red robes.
It's like a scene out of a movie where college students are taken to a dark basement and inducted into a secret society.
They take the hoods off the students one by one and announce them.
"Brothers and sisters of Eastbrooke, we welcome Dallas McMahon into the fold. Brothers and sisters of Eastbrooke, we welcome Logan Pedersen into the fold. Brothers and sisters of Eastbrooke, we welcome Ariela Ross into the fold. Brothers and sisters of Eastbrooke, we welcome Riley Johnson into the fold. Brothers and sisters of Eastbrooke, we welcome Maggie Morgan into the fold. And, lastly, brothers and sisters of Eastbrooke, we welcome Aiden Arrington into the fold. Seven prefects. A divine number for a divine responsibility."
He moves to address us directly. "Prefects, you have been chosen because of your leadership and sense of community. You are the new faces of Eastbrooke. The hearts and souls of this magnificent place. Those who will guide our students, be their collective conscience, and uphold all the traditions that define Eastbrooke. The video with the seven of you has given our school faces for students to identify with for years to come. That, combined with your philanthropy, leadership, and social efforts are why you were chosen to best represent our school for the coming year."
Each of the current prefects move to stand in front of the student they brought, with Jake stopping in front of me.
The main prefect announces, "Current prefects, please remove your robes and present them."
Jake unzips the black robe he's wearing and helps me put it on. Then he receives a red robe of his own.
"This is the changing of the guard. For the next semester, you will work alongside your prefect guides to help prepare you for the coming year."
As a circle of red robes forms around us, I'm handed a candle and instructed to get in a circle with the other new prefects.
Everyone sings Eastbrooke's school anthem.
Tears fill my eyes as they sing about tradition, honor, and glory; friendship, bonds, and love. All things that resonate clearly in my heart in a way they never have before.
Standing here, in a circle with my best friends, has solidified what Eastbrooke means to me. It's love, friendship, and bonds that I pray will never break. It's the parties, the late nights, the sneaking out, the homework, the sports, the planning, the clubs. All of those things have introduced me to a world I love. A world that, no matter what happens to me next, will always be in my heart.
I'm beaming with pride when the song finishes, then our candles are taken away and Eastbrooke prefect pins are placed on our lapels. "We proudly present you with this badge," a prefect says. "A symbol of all that is Eastbrooke."
Another prefect speaks to us. "The word prefect is from the Latin praeficere, meaning 'make in front.' The prefect tradition began here in 1948 with two male prefects. In 1967, we opened our doors to a co-ed population and were ahead of our time when we honored our first female prefect in 1969. For the last sixty-six years, students have been chosen in twos, fours, sixes, and this year, sevens, for their prowess in scholarship, leadership, and philanthropy. Tonight you join a society with only 216 members. Now, we'd like for you to meet some of those who have gathered to welcome you tonight."
The former prefects create a receiving line. The first hand I shake is that of Regina Bosworth, prefect, 1972. Then Alfred Norman, prefect 1952, and the oldest prefect here.
We shake hands with nearly one hundred former prefects. Many whose names I recognize from Stockton's walls, including two of its founders.
Then we're escorted back to our dorm rooms, where I find a prefect's polo and sweater laid on the end of my bed.
I'm wide awake after the ceremony, so I lean against my headboard and start going through all the millions of emails I've gotten announcing January sales at all my favorite retail stores.
I delete them and go through my spam folder.
I'm bulk deleting crap emails when one catches my eye. I quickly click it.
RE: Warren Taylor Agency script request.
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Keatyn--
Sorry it took so long, but here's the script you requested for A Day at the Beach, the working title for the remake of A Day at the Lake. Please see attachment.
Cheers.
I'm just opening the script when a notification pops up telling me I have an incoming call from Brooklyn.
I immediately answer it, praying it's actually him.
That's he's overtaken Vincent and is free.
Or that Garrett found him.
I say a quick prayer then open my eyes.
To find Vincent staring back at me.
"You called yesterday?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah," I reply. My eyes are fixed to the screen, trying to scan the background for any possible clue or indication to where he may be keeping Brooklyn.
At the same time, I'm patting the bed, searching for my phone. I have to record this.
Put your hands where I can see them," Vincent orders.
I hold my hands up. "Why?"
"Because I need to know you're not recording this."
"Why, are you going to say something incriminating?"
"No, I was seeing what you wanted. You called me last night."
"I'm coming back to Malibu. I'm ready to make the movie."
He smiles a genuine smile, looking like the Vincent who I thought was my friend. "Really? When?"
"I'm flying in from New York on Sunday," I lie. "Where should I meet you?"
"I think you know."
"On the beach?"
He nods.
"I want to talk to Brooklyn."
"I'm afraid he's unavailable at the moment."
"Is he alive, Vince?"
"Yes, Lacey, he's alive. We're just waiting for you to join us."
I nod, end the call, and immediately open the script and read the ending.
Even though it's late, I call Garrett.
"I just got the new script!" I tell him.
"Keatyn, what time is it there?"
"I don't know. Late. Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?"
"I was taking a quick nap. It's okay. What did you learn?"
"Well, first off, Vincent changed the name of the movie to A Day at the Beach. He added a bunch of special effects things that I sort of skimmed over but--have you ever seen the original?"
