The Queen of Kentucky

by Alecia Whitaker

  “Score!” Luke hollers, holding his hands up high as a lime-green air hockey puck clangs into my goal. When the lights were dimmed for the couples’ skate, we left the hot and horny party guests out on the floor and made our way over to the arcade.

  “Hey, guys,” Laura says, skating up to the edge of the table. Her long auburn hair is curling down in front of her left eye and it’s all I can do not to tell her to get it out of her face. I hate that I’m becoming my mother. “Nice shot, Luke,” she purrs. Her flirting needs work.

  “Uh, thanks,” Luke says, fishing around in his jeans pocket for more quarters.

  “You wanna play?” I ask, offering her my chunky white paddle and giving her big matchmaking eyes. Luke jerks his head up and gives me a murderous look.

  “Um, no thanks,” she says and smiles at me kindly. She really is cute as a button. Then she turns to Luke and takes a big breath, then flips her hair over her shoulder. “I was actually wondering if you might want to skate the next song with me?”

  She is looking up at him with mild desperation in her charcoal-lined eyes, and even on roller skates, she’s leaning in on tiptoe. He looks over at me, six feet two inches of total fear, and I sell him out—sell him right down the river.

  “Yeah! You all go skate,” I say. “I gotta go to the bathroom, anyway.”

  Laura’s chipmunk cheeks go even rounder as she beams at me. Without hesitation, she grabs Luke’s hand and pulls him toward the rink, and although she’s at least a foot shorter than he is, she’s able to move him along based on the strength of her determination. He turns and shoots me a hateful look, while I hold my arms up and mouth, Score!

  But helping Laura means losing my wingman, and the only thing left to do is wait out the ridiculously long couples’ skate. Leaning against the rail and watching the other kids roll past is absolute torture. The lights are low and the DJ plays sappy R&B slow jams over the speakers. When Justin Bieber’s “That Should Be Me” comes on, I totally relate. I have proven that I can out-skate any girl at this party, yet I’m on the sidelines right now. The couples’ skate is obviously not about skill. The magic is in the hand-holding and the disco ball.

  “Whew!” Wolf says, slamming up against the rail beside me, totally catching me off guard.

  I jump back and scream, which sends him into fits of laughter. I get myself together and put my hand on my hip, flirty pose engaged.

  “Lookin’ good out there,” I say, wishing I were on his side of the rail.

  “Why aren’t you skating?” he asks.

  I don’t think it’ll help my cause to say ’Cause nobody’s asked me, so I shrug and play it off. “Too good, I guess. Would put all the boys to shame.”

  He laughs. “You’re pretty competitive, aren’t you, Ericka? Like, you hate when I get a better grade than you in Spanish.”

  “Once,” I remind him. “You scored one point higher on one quiz.”

  “And I’ll never let you forget it,” he says, his cocoa eyes sparkling. “But seriously. You haven’t skated with anybody, and you’re really good. It’s kind of hot, to tell you the truth.”

  I blush, which is a minor reaction considering that my blood is flowing like raging hot lava through my veins.

  He puts both hands on my shoulders and looks directly into my eyes. “Why don’t you ask some good-looking guy to take you for a twirl?”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but it’s pretty clear that Wolf is hinting that I should ask him to skate. What the what? I tuck my hair behind my ear, then remember that Seventeen says that only accentuates big ears and pull it loose again. I lick my lips and take a deep breath. Asking Wolf to couples’ skate is like bungee jumping without a cord—it may be the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  Or it could be the stupidest.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  I look him dead in the eyes, summoning up both my courage and my sense of reckless abandon, but before I can even squeak out one syllable—

  “Oh!” he says, looking over one shoulder and dropping his hands. “Kaitlyn’s free now. I gotta get over there!”

  He rushes off, blowing me an air kiss.

  My mouth should get used to falling open when he’s around, either from his good looks or from his total lack of comprehension of all things polite. Did that just happen?

  My face in my palms, I lean on my elbows against the rail, invisible, and fall into an intoxicating state of self-pity.

  I can’t watch anymore… and yet I can’t stop watching. Like a rubbernecker slowing down traffic by staring at a gruesome accident scene, I can’t peel my eyes away. Mackenzie has not skated with the same boy twice and yet has not stopped skating. Sarah is glued to her boyfriend’s side (well, his tongue), and Kimi is unsuccessfully trying to skate, hold hands, and text message at the same time. Laura and Luke have gone around a few times, both threatening to fall at any moment and take the other down with them, but both seeming to enjoy themselves as well. I find myself wishing Candace were here. I’m not very good at making fun of people, but she’s a pro—she feels no remorse—and although I think it’s wrong, she really makes me laugh.

  “Are you Ericka?”

  And then, there is a boy. A cute boy. A cute boy with green eyes and curly brown hair. And he’s talking to me.

  “Yeah, I am,” I say, straightening up and blushing for sure.

  “I’m Mark,” he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Mackenzie’s brother, um… a sophomore at your school, um… our school.”

  He’s really nervous.

  I’m really flattered.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “um, Mackenzie said you’re really cool and nice and… um… you want to skate with me?”

  I don’t know why I ever closed my mouth after Wolf skated off, because it’s officially hanging open again. I nod, attempting to breathe, and he takes my hand. After one lap, I feel comfortable and pretty. I look over at Mark’s profile and smile. He doesn’t have Wolf-esque model looks, but he’s cute and nice and nervous. I make him nervous!

  In front of us, there is a small traffic jam of idiots on wheels. Mark tenses up, clutching my hand a little tighter. I see Wolf holding the pole near the end of the oval floor, trying to swing Kaitlyn around for lap two. I feel cocky and proud, and I want to show Wolf what he’s missing.

  “Excuse us,” I say, and then I spin around, grab Mark’s other hand to face him as I skate backward, and lead him through the bottleneck. We weave easily through the throng of skaters and I feel Wolf’s eyes on me before I turn and see him fall. I can’t help but giggle as I look over at Mark again.

  “You’re pretty good,” he says, allowing himself to be pulled around the rink.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Yankee Doodle,” I tease, wondering how many first kisses have occurred under the magic spell of the disco ball.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  “Wow,” I whisper as Dr. Watts drives up the tree-lined driveway to Mackenzie’s house. It’s right by the hospital and sits back off the road, a towering home that looks like it could be right out of Gone with the Wind or something. A home so fancy that it has a name: Chesswood Manor.

  I’m squished in the backseat of the minivan between the window and Kimi. As the skating party died down, I realized that the BFF sleepover included more than just the New Girls when I saw Sarah, Laura, and Kimi waiting at the front door with their sleeping bags and totes. And now I’m in the very back, Kimi turned away from me to face Sarah, constantly elbowing me as she complains nonstop about how Sarah’s boyfriend was looking at other girls at the party. Mackenzie, Mark, and Laura are squished in the seat in front of us, loaded down with gifts and balloons, while Dr. Watts drives and Mrs. Watts goes through the pics on her digital camera.

  “Home sweet home,” Mackenzie’s dad announces, putting the minivan in park. We climb out one by one, and I stretch outside on their cobblestone driveway. My momma would love this place.

 
; “Just take your things straight down to the basement, girls,” Mrs. Watts directs us as we enter their chandeliered and wood-floored foyer. To my left is a formal living room, complete with a baby grand piano and velvet settee, which I have previously seen only in the movies. To my right is the formal dining room, with a china buffet and a long oak table, the polish gleaming under yet another chandelier.

  I lug my sleeping bag and backpack down the stairs in front of us alongside the rest of the girls, but I’m dying to know what’s upstairs and to see the rest of the house. Their kitchen is probably like one out of a restaurant or something. I bet they have a pool.

  Yet all thoughts of the upstairs are banished when I see the basement. It’s completely finished, decked out from floor to ceiling with pictures of Mackenzie and Mark. I look around and see a small gym, a pool table, a Ping-Pong table, a foosball table, a gigantic flat-screen TV, and a huge wraparound couch. The basement is teenager heaven. It’s also pretty much the size of my whole house.

  “This is awesome,” I say to Mackenzie, setting my things down in a corner.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” She shrugs. “I liked our house in Minnesota better, but this is good ’cause Dad’s so close to the hospital. We get to see him a lot more.”

  I wonder what kind of doctor he is. Probably a surgeon, like on TV. In fact, he’s kind of handsome, in an older-guy, McDreamy sort of way.

  “He’s a heart specialist,” Mackenzie says, as if reading my mind. I nod casually, making a mental note to block all telepathic vibes I may be sending into the universe. It would be pretty creepy if she knew I think her dad’s sort of hot.

  “Ericka, help me move this,” Mackenzie orders, snapping me out of my thoughts. I walk over to the Ping-Pong table and help her fold it up and push it against the wall. Then we push a recliner and reading table out of the way as well.

  “What are y’all doing?” Sarah asks from the sectional, the noise we’re making apparently pulling her away from the constant texting she’s involved in on her iPhone.

  “Making room to tumble!” Mackenzie exclaims, and then she does an impromptu aerial, right there, without warning.

  Everybody screams and runs over to Mackenzie. Sarah and Laura are already pulling their hair back into ponytails and Kimi searches her bag for an elastic headband. Before I know it, they are taking turns doing tumbling passes down the lush carpet of the basement alley Mackenzie has created. I am in awe of them, and feel super self-conscious.

  “Not too high,” Mackenzie warns Sarah, who must have springs attached to her heels. “I basically just want to help Ericka.”

  All four of them look at me, and then collectively light up. It dawns on me that I am their project. And then it dawns on me that I’m okay with that.

  “Okay, so you need to get the back handspring down,” Laura says, planting herself across from Mackenzie. “Stand in front of us.”

  I do as I’m told. At first, I feel pretty scared. Call me crazy, but something about throwing myself blindly backward seems not so smart. I can’t see where I’m going, and it’s hard to fearlessly toss my entire weight back. Then Kimi, in all of her bossiness, takes control of the situation and basically threatens my life if I don’t do it. I don’t want to look bad in front of these girls; plus, I tell myself, I’ll be one step closer to accomplishing the ten goals of Project Ericka.

  Deep breath drawn, prayers said, I lean back over their arms… and voilà! I do a back flip! (A very slow back flip—kind of like a back bend over Mackenzie’s and Laura’s arms where I get stuck, leaving Kimi and Sarah to grab my calves and heave me over—but a back flip nonetheless!)

  We spend an hour working on tumbling, and then we cheer. Mackenzie and Sarah teach the rest of us some of their Boys’ Varsity cheers, since that’s what we all aspire to. I find the motions and chants easy, but the jumps and splits impossible. I see a trampoline out back and think how cool it’d be to have one of those. I could practice my jumps on that thing all the time.

  Worn out, we all grab bottles of Gatorade from the fully stocked downstairs fridge. I crash on the oversized ottoman, which is the perfect size for me, and the other girls sprawl out on the couch. I feel like part of the group, one of the girls, a friend. I push my sweaty bangs back off my forehead and sigh, content. Mackenzie cracks the back patio door to let the September breeze cool us down.

  “Are we gonna eat soon?” Kimi asks.

  I lean up and look over at her, stunned to see that she’s standing there in her bra, rubbing lotion on her arms. Her boobs are enormous—they really are. And now I’ve seen them… well, the top halves, anyway. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think I feel my own nipples sink back into my chest—which sucks, because lately they’ve really been making some headway.

  “Yeah, let’s order pizza. Is that okay?” Mackenzie asks. We all nod in agreement and I hope to God that Mark doesn’t come downstairs. If he sees Kimi the Exhibitionist, he’ll forget I exist. Not that I have a crush on him or anything, but it was nice to be noticed. When Mackenzie picks up the phone to call in our order, I grab my pajamas and go change in the downstairs bathroom, wary of getting involved in any group nakedness.

  Now, maybe it’s just me, but I feel that when going to bed alone, as most freshman girls do, one need not worry about what one wears. Yet, as I come out of the bathroom and carry my party clothes back over to my bag, I notice everyone else changing into actual pajamas and/or nightgowns, ranging from flirty to sexy. Kimi’s wearing a lace-trimmed zebra tee with matching boy shorts, Sarah’s wearing polka-dot satin pajamas, Mackenzie’s pulling a cute cotton sleep shirt over her head, and Laura is in flannel pants and a tank top with a built-in bra. Meanwhile, I have on an oversized University of Kentucky basketball T-shirt and sweatpants. Compared to the other girls, I look like a small boy.

  As I berate myself for not scanning Seventeen for sleepover wear, I walk over to the couch area and plop myself down next to Laura, who’s uncoiling the headphones to her iPod. Mackenzie is flipping through this month’s OK!, and I make a note to get my hands on that magazine before the night is over. Sarah is back to texting on her iPhone, and Kimi has moved from lotion application to painting her toenails. The way she has her leg hiked up, her knee pushes against her chest so that one of her C-cups is thrust out into the spotlight. It is seriously hard not to gawk, so I ask Laura to show me her favorite playlist.

  “Oh, definitely this one,” she says enthusiastically, passing me one of her earbuds. “I call it Make-Out Jams, and it’s awesome.”

  Make-out jams?

  “Ooh, what’s on yours?” Kimi asks, her black bob flicking up out of her face and her dark eyes sparkling at the mention of male groping.

  “You know, kind of a variety, ’cause you never really know the guy’s taste. So, like, Mariah Carey’s ‘Touch My Body’—”

  “Love that song,” Sarah pipes up without missing a beat as her thumbs fly across her phone’s screen.

  “ ‘Sex on Fire,’ by Kings of Leon.”

  “Now that’s a jam for when it’s really getting hot and heavy,” Kimi interrupts knowingly. She secures the cap of her nail polish and stretches out her short but toned legs, admiring her handiwork.

  “And Dave Matthews’s ‘Crash Into Me,’ even though it’s a total oldie.” Laura looks at me and sort of winces, as if she’s embarrassed.

  I nod and feel like I have to say something. “But it’s a classic,” I manage, all sorts of false confidence. Make-out jams? Seriously? I wouldn’t care what I was listening to. I’d just be stoked about making out.

  “My guilty pleasure is John Mayer’s ‘Your Body Is a Wonderland,’ ” Mackenzie confesses. “I mean, whenever I’m thinking about a boy I like or something, I put that song on.”

  “It’s on here,” Laura says, thumbing through her playlist, and almost immediately I hear it in my right ear.

  “What boys do you like?” Sarah asks pointedly, looking up from her iPhone for the first time in half an h
our. She pulled her bangs back with a bobby pin when she washed her face earlier and I can’t help but think how much prettier she looks without all that stringy hair in her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Mackenzie says, curling her legs up under her on the couch and majorly blushing. She’s obviously embarrassed, and obviously lying. We all oooooh and suddenly the room is abuzz with boy talk. I love it.

  “Come on, Mackenzie,” I goad her, feeling mischievous. “Who do you like?”

  “Nobody!” she squeals, putting her hands up over her face. Laura and I laugh and clap, and Kimi reaches over to swat Mackenzie’s legs with her magazine.

  “Seriously,” Sarah says, all business. “You’re new, so I’m sure you’ve been checking out the guys. And you, too, Ericka. I mean, there are a lot more boys at Preston County than there were at Saint Pat’s.”

  “Yeah, did you ever make out with any of the Saint Pat boys?” Laura asks me, her round face flushed with excitement. “ ’Cause I think Trevor Barker is sort of cute.”

  My eyes go big and my smile gets a little goofy. I liked this game better when it was all about Mackenzie. I mean, yeah, I have a major crush on Wolf, but I don’t know if I want to announce it to the world, especially since these girls have all seen what a jerk he’s been to me. I would look so stupid. And as far as my experience with the boys at my old school, holding hands with Mike O’Conner at the sixth-grade ice cream social probably doesn’t count for much.

  “Oh!” Kimi interjects. “You all tell us who you like, and we’ll tell you if we’ve hooked up with them already. Or who else has. Or if they’re, like, a good kisser or whatever.”

  The three of them look back and forth between my face and Mackenzie’s, waiting for some good gossip. I take a sudden interest in the loops of Mackenzie’s plush shag carpet and she seems suddenly preoccupied with an imaginary hangnail. This is obviously not going the way Sarah had hoped, and she sighs dramatically.

  “Okay, fine. You don’t have to say your main crush. Let’s just do a top five. Like, for me, I’m obviously in love with Jimmy, and I don’t like anybody else.”