Confessions of a Queen B*

by Crista McHugh

  I quirked a smile. “So is that the reason you’re my friend? Because I offer you protection?”

  “Damn straight, girlfriend. No one’s going to bully me as long you’re the Queen Bitch of Eastline. Of course, I’m dreading next year after you graduate and leave me here on my own.”

  “You’ll be fine. And if you’re still worried, I’ll start prepping you to become the next Queen B.”

  “I don’t know about that—it all depends on what the tiara looks like.”

  I bumped his shoulder with my own, laughing again and not caring who saw me. During the school day, I had to keep my game face on to rule as the Queen B. But now it was Friday night, and I was glad to have a friend I could joke around with, even if it meant letting others see I wasn’t a total bitch to everyone.

  “Besides,” Richard continued, “I’m not sure I have enough bitchiness in me.”

  “You’re as bitchy as the best of us.”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet.”

  It was time for kickoff. As soon as the ball flew into the air, I was lost. I had no idea what the game was about or if I should cheer or boo the refs. Thankfully, Richard knew more than enough to explain the basics to me.

  One thing was very clear, however. Brett was a god on the football field. He walked onto it like he owned it. All the players gathered around him, turning to him for guidance. And when he had the ball in his hands, things happened that electrified the crowd. Sometimes he chose to keep it for himself and run. Other times, he’d launch the ball down the field with such precision, it left me speechless.

  It was after one of those plays that Richard turned to me and said, “Now you know why he’s one of the top high school players on the West Coast.”

  “He’s better than the other quarterback—I’m not going to argue with you there—but one of the top players? Really?”

  “He already has eight colleges begging for him to sign with them.”

  “Wow.” But I could see why. He made it look so easy, so effortless as he shot the football in a tight spiral toward Sanchez. All the wide receiver had to do was hold his hands out, and the ball fell into them.

  The perfect pass.

  I was up on my feet, jumping and shouting with the rest of the crowd as Sanchez scampered into the end zone for a touchdown.

  Something rolled in my stomach when I realized what I was doing. I’d drunk the Kool-Aid and joined the cult.

  I sat back down and crossed my arms, pressing the doll into my cleavage. “Does he have any flaws?”

  “None that I can see,” Richard said in a dreamy voice, “except for the fact he seems to have something for you and not me.”

  “You mean because he’s straight?”

  “No, I mean because he’s staring right at you.”

  I followed Richard’s finger and found Brett standing on the sidelines just as he described. Our eyes met, and he winked at me before joining his teammates in high-fives.

  My stomach rolled again for an entirely different reason.

  Richard came closer and said just loud enough for me to hear, “Are you sure there’s nothing between you two?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” I watched as Summer broke away from the other cheerleaders to plant a kiss on Brett’s cheek. “How can there be when he’s with her?”

  “Yeah, bummer. Maybe he’s not that perfect after all.”

  The game ended with Eastline completely demolishing their opponent. Richard mentioned something to me that Brett had broken some kind of passing record, which I assumed would only increase his attractiveness to the schools that would give him a free ride for his throwing arm. I had to admit that I’d enjoyed the experience, maybe enough to come back as long as I had Richard beside me with his colorful commentary.

  We filed out of the stadium with the crowd and their infectious energy.

  “So, are you taking Morgan’s gift and hitting the clubs after this?” I asked.

  Richard rolled his eyes. “I wish. My grandmother is in town, and I have to play straight for a few more days if I want her to give me a car.”

  “What?” I pulled him aside, wondering if I heard him correctly.

  “My grandmother is old school from China. She doesn’t get the fact that I’m gay, and frankly, if I told her, she might keel over and die, so I’m pretending to be straight when I’m around her until I get my car. Once I have it, then I’m free to go where I want and I can send her pictures of me kissing all the hot guys on Capitol Hill.”

  “And I thought I was evil.”

  “We all play games to get what we want, Alexis—you included—so don’t judge me.”

  “I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

  “Right, you just keep telling yourself that, but you and I both know you’re lying.” He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at me. “I’ve been watching you, and I know someone’s getting you all hot and bothered, but you’re too proud to admit it because you think he’s beneath you.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t suffering from some temporary delusions brought on by too much pompom shaking?”

  He gave me a middle finger. “Any time you want that therapy session, let me know.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Phil,” I said as he walked away.

  It took about fifteen minutes for the crowds to thin enough to let me get close to the locker room. I leaned against the wall, listening to the players celebrate inside and becoming thoroughly disgusted by all their smack talk. It made me wish I’d packed along something intelligent to read.

  The door finally opened with a blast of Axe-scented steam, and the football team filed out. Of course, Brett was one of the last ones to leave. I held out the carrier for him. “Now that the game’s over, here you go.”

  His eyes shifted from side to side, and a tight smile formed on his lips. “Um, yeah, about that…” He pulled me aside so we wouldn’t trip up the other players.

  My jaw clenched, followed by a flare of anger that sent flames dancing in front of my eyes. I shook his hands off my shoulders. “Don’t you dare even suggest it.”

  “Please. Alexis, just until morning—”

  Summer cut him off by drawling out his name from the exit of the girls’ locker room. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

  “Oh my God.” I delivered each word like the punches my carefully restrained fists wanted to deliver. Instead, I had to rely on words because there was a good chance the entire team would jump me if I dared to injure their star quarterback. “You’re dumping the doll on me for another night so you can go fuck your girlfriend?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Fuck buddy, then.”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A few blinks later, he asked, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  “Don’t get all prudish on me. I know damn well you’re a complete asshole who’s just out to score off the field.”

  “And you’re so indignant and self-righteous, you won’t even let me get a word in edgewise.”

  Now it was my turn to be stunned silent and left blinking like an idiot. He’d pulled out words I didn’t think were in a jock’s vocabulary. He’d even used them correctly.

  “What I was trying to say is that if you agree to watch Junior tonight, you can drop him off at my house bright and early tomorrow morning, and I’ll take him all weekend. That way, you’re free to do whatever it is you do on weekends without having to endanger our project.”

  “I don’t know where you live.”

  “I’ll text my address to you in a few minutes.” He turned around to say something to Sanchez, who slapped him on the back and urged him to “dump the bitch and get going.”

  I crossed my arms, the doll dangling from the carrier in my hand. “We are not amused.”

  “A thousand apologies, Your Majesty,” Brett said with a mocking bow. “So, will you please keep Junior overnight?”

  “I can drop it off bright and early?”

  “Absolutely.”<
br />
  “And you won’t be too hungover to take care of Junior?”

  “Not likely,” he said with a cocky grin.

  “And I won’t run into Summer doing the walk of shame?”

  He had the decency to choke on a laugh. “Not a chance.”

  That made me feel a little better. “If I don’t get a text from you in ten minutes, I’ll start calling and interrupting any action you were hoping of getting.”

  This time, he didn’t try to cover up his chuckle. He pulled out his phone. “I’m sending it to you right now.”

  I heaved an exaggerated sigh. Another night of interrupted sleep, but it would be nice to be doll-free all weekend. “Fine. But I’ll be there at eight a.m. on the dot.”

  “I’ll be up and ready. And please wear something G-rated—I don’t want to have to explain your T-shirt to my little sisters.” His thumbs flew over the surface of his phone. A few seconds later, my phone beeped. “Now you have my address. Are we good?”

  Before I could answer, Summer appeared and tugged on Brett’s arm. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

  All I could think about as they walked away was that I hoped he had enough good sense to wear a condom.

  Chapter 9

  “Dear Ms. Carpenter, I know you desperately want to be elected Teacher of the Year by the student body, but supplying alcohol to students and partying with them on the weekend is not the way to do it.”

  The Eastline Spy

  March, Sophomore Year

  Eight a.m. came and went because I decided to sleep in on Saturday. It was a little past nine before I finally looked up Brett’s address.

  He lived in my neighborhood, just two streets away from me.

  How did I not know that?

  I got dressed, remembering his request to keep the outfit G-rated and settling for a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. Since he was so close, I decided it would be better to walk than drive. The last thing I wanted was for someone to see my car parked in front of his house. Just drop the doll off, and I was done.

  Except he didn’t answer the door. A young girl who looked a lot like him did.

  “Is Brett here?” I asked, fully expecting to find out he was still in bed, or worse, had bailed on me.

  “Yeah, he’s in the den with the twins.” The girl motioned for me to come inside. “I’m Sarah, his sister. You must be Alexis.”

  “I am.” I stepped through the door and entered a home very unlike my own.

  Like the kitchen, the rest of my house was in pretty much showroom condition, with the exception of Taylor’s room. Mom had a maid service come in twice a week to clean, and the three of us all had such busy schedules that we were hardly ever in the house. Everything inside was hard and modern, pristine and cold.

  Brett’s house, on the other hand, had a definite lived-in appearance. A dozen pairs of shoes in various sizes and kinds lined the entryway. The furniture looked rumpled and comfy. Toys littered the next room. And a delicious aroma came from what looked to be a well-used kitchen.

  But nothing prepared me for the sight that greeted me when I walked into the den. Brett was on his hands and knees, whinnying like a horse while two identical little girls giggled on top of his back.

  I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the scene. I’d finally gotten some dirt on Brett Pederson.

  An “oh shit” look crossed his face when he realized what I’d done. He sat up slowly, letting his little sisters slide off his back, and came toward me with caution guarding his movements. “Hi, Lexi.”

  “Having fun?” I quipped.

  His spine straightened, and his normal air of confidence returned. “Um, yeah, actually, I am.”

  Okay, I had to give him props for admitting he enjoyed playing with his sisters.

  One of the twins tugged on his arm. “Come back, horsey.”

  “Please!” the other chimed in, grabbing the other arm and pulling him back toward the castle play set. “We need you to finish playing Maximus.”

  Sarah stepped in and took the twins by the hands. “Brett has company. I’ll play horsey for a little bit.”

  The little girls erupted in cheers and scampered back to their game.

  “I told you my sister was good with kids,” Brett said, the smudge of finger paint along his cheek only adding to my amusement. “Why don’t we come this way?”

  He pulled me into the hallway leading to the kitchen. “By the way, great blog post yesterday. Thank you for getting those videos taken down. They were stressing Summer out.”

  I bit back a retort. Of course he’d be thanking me for keeping his girlfriend’s fake breasts from being displayed all over the internet. In helping my sister, I’d inadvertently helped my nemesis, too. But it was a small price to pay to keep Taylor safe.

  I checked him over. No red eyes. No bags under them. No self-satisfied smirk. Only a really gnarly bruise peeking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt, which I attributed to the game. “You’re looking better than I expected.”

  “This is nothing.” He rubbed the bruise on his arm. “You should’ve seen how banged up I was after playing Sky Lake last year.”

  If this was nothing, then I could only imagine what the players at the rival high school did to him. I wanted to ask him why he subjected his body to this weekly battering, but instead, we lapsed into an awkward silence I decided to break by offering the doll.

  He didn’t grab it right away. “Want to stay for breakfast?”

  My stomach chose that moment to growl, and the mouth-watering aromas from the kitchen called to me. But my brain urged caution. “I should be going before someone catches me here.”

  “Why?” He took a step toward me, his grin daring me to answer him even though he obviously knew why.

  I backed away, hitting the wall. Trapped. “Because I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about us.”

  He kept closing in on me, propping his arm up against the wall. My pulse quickened, and my mouth grew dry. Usually, I was the one in power. Usually, I was the intimidator. Usually, I could keep my shit together around the popular kids and have a few quick verbal jabs at the ready for situations like this.

  But nothing was usual about Brett.

  He lowered his head, his lips inches from mine. Something inside my stomach bounced up and down like a hyper child on a trampoline. My breath caught.

  But instead of kissing me like I thought he would, he moved his head to the side and dropped his voice into a whisper meant just for my ears. “Scared people will think we’re fuck buddies?”

  I couldn’t stop my lips from curling up into a smile that matched his. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  He pushed back off the wall and strolled into the kitchen, taking the frying pan from his mother’s hand and kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll take over the pancakes, Mum.”

  “You’re such a darling, Brett,” she replied, a thick British accent adding a musical element to her words.

  If she only knew what he’d said moments before.

  “Oh, and I invited Lexi to breakfast.”

  “Welcome.” She moved to the sink and began washing off fruit. I hadn’t expected her to be Indian, but now I saw where Brett got his dark coloring and insanely thick eyelashes from.

  The twins raced past me, jostling the doll that was still in the carrier in my hands. “Flip them, flip them,” their little voices chimed.

  Brett lifted the pan off the burner, shook it a couple of times, and flipped the pancake in the air, catching it back in the pan with well-practiced ease. The twins cheered, followed by cries for him to do it again.

  He caught my eye, silently asking if I was impressed.

  Coming from a household where punching the microwave’s buttons was the extent of any cooking demonstrations I’d seen, I had to concede that yes, I was impressed.

  “So, are you going to stay for breakfast?” he asked as he slid the cooked pancake onto a plate and buttered the pan for the next
one.

  “Does it taste as good as it smells?”

  “Better. I’ll even add blueberries to yours.”

  “Okay, you talked me into staying.” I wasn’t going to turn down a home-cooked meal, especially when it included entertainment.

  But as soon as I sat down, one of the twins flopped into my lap with a blue ribbon. “I’m Rapunzel, and I need you to braid my hair.”

  Brett remained focused on breakfast, but his lips twitched. He must have enjoyed watching someone else boss me around for a change.

  Sarah rushed over to intervene. “I can do that, Bitsy.”

  How she could tell the twins apart was beyond me, but I wasn’t going to back down from a challenge, especially in front of Brett. I handed Sarah the doll instead. “I can braid her hair, if you don’t mind making sure the doll is someplace safe.”

  Heaven only knew what those twins would do to it if they got their paint-covered hands on it. It would make Brett’s war paint look tame.

  “I need you to braid it so I don’t trip over it,” Bitsy said, pretending hair was as long as the fairy tale character’s.

  “And when you’re done with her, it’s my turn,” the other one demanded.

  Brett shook with laughter at the stove.

  I’d show him. “How about I braid the ribbon into your hair?”

  That got met with a chorus of “ooohs,” so I got to work. I may not be a fashionista who spent hours every morning perfecting my appearance, but I could braid hair. And thanks to Taylor making similar demands and a mom who was always too busy to do it, I’d gotten pretty good at it when we were younger. For a split second, I grew nostalgic for the time when my sister and I were still friends, when she looked up to me as her big sister instead of trying to deny that we were even related.

  Bitsy’s curls were a little challenging at first, but once I got them sorted out, I was able to weave the ribbon into her hair as I braided it, using the ends to tie it off when I was finished.

  “My turn,” the other twin said, shoving her sister out of my lap and crawling into the recently vacated spot. “I want you to do the same thing, but with a pink ribbon.”