Confessions of a Queen B* (9 page)

He led us to an empty spot on the bleachers right in front of the bench and led us there. “I think this has a nice view, don’t you think?” he asked as he sat down.

I looked to where he was pointing and discovered a nice view of Brett’s ass. “Possibly.”

“Are you sure you’re straight? I mean, if I had a chance to work side by side with Brett, I’d be all over that boy.”

“He’s the most infuriating guy I’ve ever met.”

“Denial.” He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. “We need to have that therapy session over fro-yo and figure out a way to get you some action.”

“I don’t need any action with him.”

“Bullshit. Besides, this isn’t about needs. It’s about wants, and I saw that little exchange between you two yesterday.” He gave me an evil grin. “You totally want him.”

“What I really want is to be done with high school and off to college.”

“And I want to be in the middle of a Johnny Weir and Adam Lambert sandwich, but I still have to make do with what I have in the meantime. Like this.” He held out his hands toward the field. “So, I’m making the best of it and rating all the players on my Gay-o-Meter.”

Laughter forced its way up my throat and spilled over. I could just imagine Richard writing little comments along the roster about who he thought was hiding in the closet.

“But if you had a choice, would you rather be here or at a club on Capitol Hill?” I asked once I stopped laughing.

“Why not both in one night?” He pulled out his wallet and showed me the shiny new fake ID. “Morgan hooked me up.”

“You look more twelve than twenty-one.”

“Fuck you.” He put away his wallet. “Actually, I take that back. I don’t want to fuck you. Sorry, but you don’t have a penis.”

“No apologies necessary.”

I scanned the stadium, taking in the atmosphere. The scents of kettle corn and hot dogs wafted over from the concession stand. The megawatt lights chased away the darkness and created a world of daytime brightness. The chants of the cheerleaders echoed through the crowd, growing louder by the second.

Beside me, Richard chanted right along with them, mocking their pompom shaking movements. At the end, he stood up and wiggled his ass like the dance team girls did in their tiny skirts below, earning matching frowns from Summer and Taylor. “See, I told you I’d make an awesome cheerleader,” he said as he sat back down.

“I’m not arguing with you. I think it sucks that they wouldn’t let you on the squad.”

“They just aren’t ready to handle all this.” He gestured to his thin-framed body that made him look younger than his sixteen years.

“More like they were all worried you’d flirt with the players and steal their boyfriends.”

“I like how you think.” He laid his head on my shoulder. “One of the many reasons I love you, Alexis.”

My heart hiccupped at that moment. I had to admit, it felt good to be loved. My thoughts turned to my conversation with Brett earlier today. “Richard, do you think I should try to be nicer?”

His eyes widened. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, but it’s sometimes exhausting to be the Queen B, 24/7.”

“I know it’s always exhausting to re-establish your place at the beginning of the year, but don’t go soft on me, please. If you do, then I lose the protection I’ve gained from being your friend.”

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.”

“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.