The Queen B* and the Homecoming King

by Crista McHugh

  I shook my head. Brett had revealed more of himself to me than to any other person, but now, he’d closed himself off from me.

  And it hurt.

  “Just give him time,” she replied, her soft British accent adding extra comfort to her words.

  I glanced down the hall to see two little faces peering around a corner. The twins still wanted to play with me. It took away some of the sting from their brother’s behavior. “I believe the twins want their hair done.”

  Mrs. Pederson nodded, and both girls rallied around me, both of them talking a mile a minute and trying to outdo the other. But within a few minutes, they’d quieted down, and I was working on Bitsy’s hair. I listened to them talk about things I knew nothing about—cartoons and princesses and their favorite storybooks—but it didn’t seem to matter. They just wanted the attention that they normally would’ve gotten from Brett.

  I stayed after I’d finished their hair, soaking in their energy and enthusiasm and wondering if I’d ever been that way.

  Eventually, Mrs. Pederson came into the playroom. “Girls, I think Alexis needs to go home and start on her homework.”

  I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was three o’clock. I’d been at Brett’s house for over two hours, most of it in the company of four-year-olds rather than my boyfriend.

  Evie and Bitsy tackled me with hugs. “Thank you, Lexi,” they said, their voices in that perfect unison only twins seemed to manage.

  “You’re welcome.” I stood and followed Mrs. Pederson to the door. “Thanks. I lost track of time.”

  “Don’t apologize. You were good with the girls.”

  Her praise caught me off guard. I was good with little kids. Who knew? Maybe there was a chance I’d be good with the new baby, too.

  I glanced up the stairs. “Is Brett still sleeping?”

  “He was when I checked on him twenty minutes ago.”

  “Then I’ll come back tomorrow.” Brett had already made it clear he wasn’t in a social mood today.

  I just hoped that when I came back tomorrow, I’d have my old Brett back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I arrived at school Tuesday morning to find a crowd gathered around Richard’s locker. Once I pushed my way to the front, I saw why.

  Someone had trashed it. They’d spray painted “FAG” across the door in bright red letters and taped various hate messages around it. All of the notes were on the same white paper as the others in his locker had been, all in the same font.

  Apparently, Richard’s harasser wasn’t content with leaving discreet letters in his locker any more. He’d decided to make a bold statement.

  I snapped a few pics for my blog, already drafting my post to nail Sanchez when I turned around and found him lounging by his locker across the hall, his arms folded across his chest in a casual pose of arrogance.

  I took a step toward him, only to run into Richard.

  My best friend paled when he saw his locker. His nose twitched, and his lower lip quivered. Hurt and embarrassment flickered in his dark eyes before anger took over. “Really?” he said in the extra-sassy voice he used when he was hiding behind his Token Gay Guy façade. “Look at this mess. Whoever the interior decorator was should be fired. I mean, hello? The scarlet paint clashes with the surrounding décor, and Times New Roman is such a boring font. So 1988.”

  He started ripping through the paper barriers sealing his locker shut.

  I stepped in to help, tearing off one note to read it.

  Sexual deviants like you are destroying our school and our country.

  My jaw tightened with fury, and I spun around on my heels to finish what I’d set out to do before I’d collided with Richard. I marched over to Sanchez with the note in my hand. “I know you’re behind this, and so help me, I’m going to make sure you wish you’d never stepped foot in this school by the time I’m finished with you.”

  Sanchez put up his hands. “Whoa, watch it there, Your Royal Bitchiness. I didn’t do that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, seriously. I promised Brett I’d behave, and I am.” He yanked the paper from me and read it. “I mean, look at that. Do you think I’d use big words like ‘deviant’? I don’t even know what it means.”

  Okay, he had a point there. And the perfect grammar and punctuation on the prior notes didn’t sound like him, either. But it still didn’t clear him.

  He gave the note back. “I’m not the person behind this. I’ve already seen what getting on your bad side can do to me, and it’s not worth it. The team needs me more than ever, and Coach has threatened to bench me for three games if I don’t walk the straight and narrow.”

  “You’d help the team out more if you stuck to your routes and improved your stutter step to fake out defenders,” Richard said from behind me. “Maybe even agree to take the short crossing routes than just the long balls or the end zone routes. You know, be a team player inside of trying to be the star.”

  I’d expected Sanchez to lose it from the criticism, but his eyes widened with surprise, and his mouth hung open. “You know football?”

  “Duh. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m not into sports. I’d try out for the team, but I don’t think you could handle all of me.” He gestured to his short, skinny body as though it was the perfect specimen of a football player’s physique.

  And then something strange and amazing happened. Sanchez grinned. “Yeah, you’d probably toast our asses.”

  “Naturally.” And to add to it, Richard made a very obvious appraisal of Sanchez’s posterior.

  Sanchez backed away, pressing his bottom against the wall. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Then he turned back to me. “I don’t know who’s behind the note, but it’s no one on the team. And it’s definitely not me. If I have it out for someone, they’d know. I don’t stoop to crap like this. My parents came here from Mexico, and I’ve heard enough of that bullshit rhetoric about immigrants destroying this country to last me a lifetime. If you want to find the person behind this, find someone who talks like that. And say hi to Brett for me.”

  As Sanchez walked away, Richard and I exchanged glances. We both knew one person who fit the bill. One person who spouted this kind of hate mantra on a regular basis. One person who’d had it out for Richard since last week.

  Kelsey Buchannan.

  “Come on,” I said, not waiting to see if Richard would follow. “I think it’s time Kelsey and I had a little chat.”

  I entered the school office as though I owned it. “Where does Kelsey Buchannan have homeroom?”

  Mrs. Davis, the school secretary, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gave me a chilly smile. “That’s none of your business, Ms. Wyndham.”

  “Actually, it is. I think she’s behind this.” I paused long enough to show her one of the pictures I’d snapped on my phone. “And if you don’t help me get to the bottom of this, I’ll make sure to include that in my next blog post.”

  The chilly smile gave way to a resentful frown. Mrs. Davis had been the secretary at Eastline since before I’d arrived, and she’d seen the staff turnover caused by The Eastline Spy. She didn’t want to end up on the chopping block. “I don’t know what you think Miss Buchannan has to do with this, but I can tell you she’s been out sick since yesterday. Don’t make accusations you can’t support. I’ll make a note to have our custodial staff remove the paint. ”

  She turned back to typing on her computer, allowing me to digest this new bit of information.

  If Kelsey hadn’t been at school, then who else could it have been?

  ***

  Richard’s locker was scrubbed clean by lunch, and he waved me away when I offered to hang around to keep an eye out for him. He’d confirmed that Kelsey had missed debate team practice yesterday, and he promised to let me know if she was there this afternoon.

  When I got to my car, however, I found one person who wanted to prevent my getaway.

  Summer Hoyt le
aned against my car, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. The last time she’d met me this way, she’d warned me to stay away from Brett. I braced for a similar threat, but it never came.

  Her words still held a hint of hostility, though, as she asked, “How’s Brett?”

  “Why?” I asked, clicking the remote starter on my key fob and enjoying the way she jumped when the engine came on.

  “Listen, Alexis, I have better things to do than play games with you, so I’m going to get right to the point. Contrary to what you think, I care about Brett. All of his friends do. And as far as I know, you’re the only one who’s spoken to him since his accident. So, since you hold all the information, I’ll tolerate your presence long enough to know how he’s doing.”

  I studied her for a moment, and for some odd reason, my mom’s words flashed through my mind. When you love someone, you’re willing to make compromises. I doubted Summer loved Brett, but she cared enough to step away from her campaign to become Homecoming Queen to approach me for information, even though I was the one who’d “stolen” him from her.

  And because I cared about Brett, too, I decided to play nice for once. “He was half-asleep from the pain meds when I saw him yesterday.”

  “Any idea when he’ll be back?” she asked, her question lacking its usual bite.

  I shook my head. “I’ll let you know, though.”

  She straightened and gave me several rapid blinks. “What’s really going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why aren’t you flinging your insults at me or gloating about holding all the information?”

  “Because I’m not you.” I pushed her aside to open my car door and dumped my backpack into the passenger seat. “Do you have a message you want me to deliver to him?”

  She gulped in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. I’d known Summer for years, and ever since sixth grade, she’d fashioned herself into the perfect princess of the popular crowd. But right now, she looked like the girl I’d known in elementary school.

  The girl I’d been friends with before she betrayed me.

  “Just tell him we miss him and we can’t wait to see him again.” She turned away and practically ran back to the building as though she’d lose popularity points by hanging out with me any longer.

  The momentary shift in Summer’s demeanor troubled me during the entire drive to Brett’s house. Summer had a reputation for manipulating people and twisting the truth. She’d even convinced Brett I’d been the one who betrayed her in sixth grade, not the other way around. Was she trying to do the same with me? Or was she being genuine for once?

  Brett was still in bed like yesterday, half-dozing when I entered the room. He looked up at me with the same glassy eyes as before.

  “Still on the pain meds?”

  He licked his dry lips and nodded. “Tried to get up and show Mum I was ready to go back to school, but…” His voice trailed off, and his eyelids drooped.

  I pulled the chair over to the side of the bed and wrapped my hand around his.

  He opened his eyes long enough to give me a weak smile. “Sorry, Lexi.”

  “No need to apologize. I wanted to check in on you. Everyone at school keeps asking about you. Sanchez. Summer.”

  He lifted his head and gave me an incredulous look. “They came to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t rip them a new one?”

  “I was very polite with them. They care about you.” I laced my fingers through his before adding, “I care about you.”

  “Tell them I’m fine.” He plopped back against the pillows and closed his eyes again.

  But he wasn’t fine, and I weighed the consequences of covering for him or telling his friends the truth. Option one would help Brett save face, but option two might be necessary if he continued to wallow in the bitter hopelessness he was in now.

  Instead, I tried changing the subject. “I finally believe you about Sanchez. He’s not the one behind the notes in Richard’s locker.”

  “Told you so,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “I know you have it out for some of my friends, but they aren’t all evil. Even Summer.”

  “You know our history.”

  “And I know what she’s going through now. Her parents are divorcing, and she’s caught in the middle.”

  I flashed back on what I remembered of Summer’s parents. Her dad had made billions in the coffee industry by employing ruthless tactics to destroy his competitors. I remembered him once telling Summer, “If you’re not number one, you’re nothing.”

  Her mom was the daughter of a wealthy family from Hong Kong who’d made their money in real estate. Spoiled and self-centered, she was one of the women I’d see walking around our local mall with an assistant behind her carrying her little teacup Yorkie while she shopped in the highest-priced designer stores.

  Both of them had money. Both of them were used to getting what they wanted. And both of them were too wrapped up in their own little worlds to consider Summer.

  For the first time in years, a shred of pity softened my hatred toward Summer. “What happened?”

  “They were both having affairs, but her mom wants alimony and complete custody, and it’s all a big mess. Summer’s pissed at both of them and refuses to pick sides, but she’s also worried about what’s going to happen to her once the divorce is finalized. Her mom wants to take her to Vancouver to live with her family there, now that they’ve relocated there from Hong Kong. Her dad wants to keep her here. And she’s counting down the days until her eighteenth birthday so she can do what she wants.”

  I started to wonder if pain meds included some sort of truth serum because I was learning more about Summer through Brett than I did from my sister, who was supposedly one of Summer’s closest friends. He was spilling secrets she probably wanted no one to know about, and he was spilling them to me. What else would he say while under the influence?

  What troubled me even more, though, was my reaction to the news of Summer’s woes. A few weeks ago, I would’ve been jumping up and down at learning my arch-nemesis had feet of clay, and I’d be figuring out the best way to use it against her. Now, however, I actually felt sorry for her. Maybe it was because my dad’s advice about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes still lingered in my subconscious. Maybe it was that brief display of vulnerability I’d glimpsed in the parking lot today. Maybe it was because Brett had somehow managed to soften my hard edges over the last few weeks and taught me the meaning of compassion.

  I turned my attention back to Brett and caught him staring at me with a worried expression.

  “You aren’t going to broadcast all of this, are you?” he asked.

  “No, so long as you don’t share all of my secrets with the rest of the world.”

  “You mean like the part where you’re not as mean as people think you are?” he teased with a sleepy grin.

  “Shh! They’re not supposed to know.”

  Our fingers had remained threaded together throughout the whole conversation, and he gave my hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Batman, your secret is safe with me.”

  It was the same thing he’d said to me weeks ago when he was trying to penetrate my hard shell, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll let you rest.”

  I tried to rise, but he tightened his hold on my hand and gave me a wordless plea with his eyes that tore at the center of my chest. He was probably feeling helpless and vulnerable, too. His whole identity as the football star was in jeopardy, and I worried that he might get so lost in that title that he forgot he was more than Johnny Football Hero.

  I leaned forward and kissed him. When I pulled back, some of the doubt had vanished from his eyes. “I’ll come by tomorrow to check in on you.”

  “If I’m not back at school by then,” he countered.

  Some of the tightness in my chest eased. I was seeing glimpses of the Brett I knew again, and that gave me hope that he’d spring out of his pain pill–induced funk so
on.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday morning greeted me with a sight I never thought I’d ever see in the hallways of Eastline High.

  Richard and Sanchez laughing over something. Together.

  I walked over, telling myself this must be part of some stress-induced nightmare. “Um, Richard, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

  I glanced at Sanchez. Two weeks ago, the wide receiver had slammed Richard against a locker and called him a fag. I’d gotten the whole incident on film, and Sanchez had been suspended for three days. I half-expected the scene to play out again.

  Sanchez gave me a smirk, complete with one arched brow. “I’m not going to touch him, or your sister for that matter, so stop looking like you’re going to nail me for something. I’m actually here to offer Richard some protection.”

  “Am I a lucky guy or what?” Richard asked, his voice drifting into the mock-sigh range.

  “Not going there.” Sanchez shoved him, but it seemed more like the horseplay guys did with each other than bullying. “I was just telling him that I mentioned the short crossing routes to Coach, and he thought I was a genius.”

  “He obviously overestimates your intellect,” I replied, still not quite comfortable with what I was witnessing.

  Sanchez nodded to Richard. “It was his idea, not mine. But since he proved he knew a thing or two about the game, I figured I’d let people know if they fucked with his locker again, they’d have to answer to me. This is my part of the hallway, and I don’t want it trashed.”

  He zeroed in on me in a silent challenge. When I didn’t dispute him, he asked, “Brett coming back today?”

  “No idea. He was still pretty out of it yesterday.”

  “That sucks.”

  As Sanchez walked back to his locker, I kept waiting for someone to snap their fingers or throw back the curtain or jostle me awake from this craziness. “I knew going out with Brett would disrupt the space-time continuum.”

  “Just like I knew you two would make the ultimate power couple.” Richard grabbed his books and closed his locker. “Any news from Morgan?”