Confessions of a Queen B* Page 10

Until he really pissed me off.

  “But yeah, when I tried to drop the doll off, he invited me to stay for breakfast.”

  “He what?” Morgan’s eyes widened. “You do realize you’re the first person I’ve heard of who got invited to spend more than five minutes in his house, right?”

  I choked on my mocha chocolate chip. “I find that highly unbelievable.”

  “It’s true,” Morgan continued. “I had algebra with Kaitlyn Matsumura, and she used to complain about how he’d meet her at the door and go. I think in the three months they dated, she only met his sister once, and she never met his parents.”

  Kaitlyn was one of the popular girls Brett had dated briefly during our sophomore year before he became the über-football star, before Summer had set her sights on him and scared the other girls away. Kaitlyn ended up transferring later that year, but I’d never heard about the reason she and Brett broke up. I’d always assumed it was because he went after greener pastures—in this case, Summer.

  “So I wonder why he invited me over.”

  “Obviously not for your fashion sense.” Richard pointed to the My Little Pony on today’s T-shirt, his nose wrinkled. “I think our next intervention needs to be in wardrobe.”

  “Are you offering makeover services?” Morgan teased.

  “Oh, please, I’m gay, but I don’t give makeovers. However, I do think Alexis needs to dress in something other than what a five-year-old would wear.”

  “Please, you two, focus. I’m getting to the meat of the story.”

  “Ooh, she said meat.” Richard wiggled in his chair. “So did you two go up to his room and get all hot and heavy?”

  “Nowhere even close to that.”

  “You disappoint me.” Morgan gave me a playful pout. “So, are his parents vampires or something?”

  “No, they’re actually quite normal. His sisters, too. Nothing strange there.” Although now I was wondering why he brought me to breakfast and not his old girlfriend. “He even made delicious blueberry pancakes.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t bump your head and dream all this up, à la Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz?” Richard asked, his mouth hanging open.

  I shook my head. “And after we ate, he mentioned that he liked seeing me smile.”

  “So did you ask him to publicly dump Summer?” Morgan asked. “Because that would make me smile, and I’m not even into him.”

  Richard smacked her arm. “Stop being so evil for a moment and let’s help Alexis dissect that statement. So, I take it you weren’t all in your Royal Bitchiness mode during breakfast.”

  I shook my head. “And I actually found myself laughing with him and his sisters.”

  “Which meant he found a way to get under your armor.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it right away. Was that what he meant when he said he saw I wasn’t a complete bitch?

  “Uh-oh, our Queen B went soft on us,” Morgan said, exchanging worried glances with Richard. “Do we need to remind you why we hate him and everyone else in his crowd?”

  “But that’s the thing—I don’t think he’s like the others.”

  “Bullshit.” Morgan shoved her half-eaten cup of frozen yogurt away from her. “He’s screwing Summer, isn’t he?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Of course he is. Guys our age will screw anything that stands still long enough, present company excluded.”

  “No offense taken,” Richard said, scraping his cup clean. “If it doesn’t have a penis, I’m not interested.”

  “He’s totally playing you, Alexis.” Morgan leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Think about it—he switched places to work with you because he knew you’d get all anal-retentive about it and he’d get a good grade on the project from you doing the brunt of the work.”

  “That’s not the reason he gave when I asked him about it.” A sharp pain filled my chest as I said the words. Even now, his admission still stung.

  Morgan backed away, mocking shock stretching her face. “Oh? And what reason did he give?”

  I swirled the chocolate chips and what was left of the marshmallow cream into my yogurt. “He said he did it because he wanted to help me get over myself.”

  “What. A. Fucking. Asshole,” Morgan said loud enough to earn a glare from a mother with several small children at her table. “He’s going down after that. What shall we do to show him that if anyone needs to get over themselves, it’s him?”

  A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve been the first person to hop onto Morgan’s revenge bandwagon with an exposé on my blog, but now I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go down that path. At least, not with him. Yes, I was hurt and angry and wanted to grab him by the hair and bang his head against the wall until I’d rattled the frustration out of my system. But something held me back. I wished to God I knew what it was, but I couldn’t name it.

  Maybe I was going soft.

  If so, I was screwed.

  The sharp jangle of the bell on the door pulled me from my thoughts, and my heart hardened with hatred when I saw Summer Hoyt coming in.

  Nope, I wasn’t going completely soft.

  She stopped just inside the door and stared at me through heavy lidded eyes as though she was deciding if she wanted to patronize the same place I’d desecrated.

  I met her gaze, daring her to come closer.

  Several seconds stretched by, each one reminding me of how good it felt to be a Queen B, of how much I enjoyed the power I wielded against the superficial and obscene in our high school like Summer. I forgot all about Brett Pederson and my doubts. Right now, I had no desire to get over myself. I was relishing my crown instead.

  One corner of Summer’s mouth rose into a smirk, and she pulled out her phone. A moment later, she said in her sugary-sweet slut voice, “Brett, honey, I’m at the fro-yo shop, and I was wondering if you wanted me to get anything for you?”

  My throat started to close in a moment of what I could only assume was jealousy. I took a deep breath, swallowed past it, and continued to stare her down.

  Her smirk widened into a “screw you” grin. “Of course. How about I bring it by your place so we can enjoy it together?”

  “So that’s how she convinces guys to spend time with her,” I said to Morgan and Richard. “Bribery.”

  “Gee, and I always thought it was because she put out,” Morgan replied.

  Summer’s lips fell, and it was my turn to give the “up yours” grin as I overheard her say, “But we never spend time at your—”

  “I told you so,” Morgan whispered.

  “Fine, I’ll meet you at the park.” When Summer caught the three of us hanging on every word of her conversation, she straightened her shoulders and added in a voice reserved for D-grade porn, “Maybe we can take a little walk and get lost for a while. I know a very private place we can go to for a little fun.”

  She hung up a second later, but the damage had been done. For the first time, I was beginning to believe that maybe there wasn’t anything going on between Brett and Summer. And even if there was, she was obviously desperate for more.

  Morgan silently dared me to mention breakfast at Brett’s house so Summer could overhear, but I remained silent. Until I was certain of his motives, I was going to keep what happened yesterday morning to my tiny circle of friends.

  However, my best friend wasn’t content to keep that information to herself. Morgan’s jaw hardened, and she looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “So Brett makes really good blueberry pancakes, huh?” she asked loud enough for Summer to hear.

  The head cheerleader froze, her spoonful of gummy bears hovering over her mountain of vanilla frozen yogurt.

  I kicked Morgan under the table.

  She yelped and reached down to rub her shins, but it was too late. She’d let my secret out, and by tomorrow, the whole school would know I had breakfast with Brett.

  Correction—that Brett had made me breakfast.

  All I could do now was go with
it and take advantage of the situation. “Yep. He even flips them in air as he cooks them.”

  Summer tossed the spoon on the counter, completely missing the container of gummy bears, and stomped off to the register to pay for her yogurt. She was breathing hard like she’d just completed a series of high kicks, a flush of color in her cheeks. Then she stormed out of the fro-yo place and tore out of the parking lot with such urgency, her BMW left skid marks on the pavement.

  Morgan collapsed into laughter, banging her fist on the table. “That was awesome!”

  “Why did you do that?” I asked, gripping the table to keep from smacking her on the back of the head.

  She wiped the corners of her eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because maybe I wanted to keep that information private.”

  “And miss out on a chance to throw it in Summer’s face?” She pointed to the still-warm tread marks outside. “Did you see her face when she put it all together and realized you’d done something with Brett that she hadn’t?”

  I blew a breath and released the table. “Okay, fine, yes, it was pretty damn funny to see her lose her shit.”

  “It was like the best moment of our senior year so far.”

  “Want to know what I found funny about all that?” Richard point to the abandoned cup of mocha flavored frozen yogurt on the counter. “It seems Miss Thang was in such a hurry to leave, she forgot Brett’s fro-yo.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t hers?” I asked, refusing to believe Brett liked the same flavor I did.

  “Because while you were getting all Clint Eastwood on Summer, I was actually listening to the other end of the conversation.” He flicked his ears. “These babies heard every word Brett said.”

  Part of me wanted to know, but I was too busy riding the high I got from winning this showdown with my arch nemesis to ask right now.

  Morgan pulled out her phone and began typing. “I have the perfect meme for this. I’ll post it to Tumblr when I get home.” She slid out from her seat and headed for the door, not looking up from her phone. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and don’t let me down, Alexis. And we’re still on for Tuesday at The Purple Dog, right?”

  She was gone before I could tell her I wasn’t finished yet, but I already knew what she’d say. Forget about Brett. He’s not worth worrying over. He won’t even bother speaking to you once the project is over. That’s just how people like him are. High school sucks, but it will be over soon. Focus on college guys.

  Except as I glanced across the table at Richard, I saw I wasn’t the only one left with more questions than answers. He started with pointing at my half-eaten bowl and asking, “Are you going to finish that?”

  “No,” I said slowly. “Why?”

  “Because I’m still hungry.” He grabbed it and took a bite. How he remained rail thin when he ate like that was beyond my understanding. “That’s not the only leftovers I’d be interested in, if you know what I mean.”

  A group of popular kids from the class below me invaded the shop. I took that as my cue to get going. “Need a ride?”

  “Puh-lease.” He grabbed the yogurt and took it with him, still stuffing his face as he added, “I suppose if I have to bum a ride off someone, at least it’s with you.”

  “Still no car from grandma yet?” I asked as we walked out.

  “Getting closer.” He slid into the passenger seat. “I overheard her asking my dad if he thought I’d like her old Lexus.”

  “And would you?”

  “Hello? It’s a car! And it has leather with heated seats. Do you realize all the naughty thoughts that are going through my head when it comes to that?”

  “No, not really.” And I really hoped he wouldn’t follow Morgan’s lead and jump onto the TMI train.

  Richard waited until we were out of the parking lot before he spoke, all sass gone from his voice. “So, I take it we weren’t finished with the intervention, were we?”

  “Not even close.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Should I even push the issue?

  Richard decided to do it for me. “Well, then, let me point out a few things you might have missed, sweetie. First off, all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

  “Thank you, William Shakespeare.”

  “You’re totally welcome, and yes, I freely admit to being a player in every sense of the word, but that’s not where I’m going. What I mean to say is that we’ve all been cast in roles for this High School Musical wannabe. You’re the token Mean Girl.”

  “I prefer Queen Bitch.”

  “Same thing. I’m the token Gay Guy, Morgan’s the token Goth Girl, Summer the Brainless Head Cheerleader, Brett the Superman Football Hero, etc. But that’s not who we really are.”

  “If you’re going to start singing show tunes, I’m stopping the car right now and kicking you to the curb.”

  “Oh, sweetie, if I wanted to torture you, I’d go all Justin Bieber on you.”

  “Ack, don’t!” I feigned horror in between chuckles. “But since you actually sounded serious at first, I’ll let you continue.”

  “All I’m saying is that while we’re at Eastline, we settle into our little niches and act the way everyone expects us to act, but sometimes, that’s just not enough. I mean, yes, I’m glad to be the token Gay Guy. I’m glad I came out for everyone to see. I’m glad I’m not living in shame of my sexuality and trying to fake being all macho just so I can be one of the boys. And I’m glad that most of the students are cool with me being gay. But with that comes the fact no one really takes me seriously.”

  “Are you sure none of that has to do with the fact you tried out for the cheerleading squad last year?”

  “Oh, that was just a bit of fun. And it’s all part of my token Gay Guy persona. I’m catty and the life of a party and gayer than life, and that’s fine—I have fun going to the extremes. People expect that from me, and it, you know, makes them more comfortable with the fact I like penis. But if I tried to discuss the Declaration of Independence with someone in AP Government, do you think they’d listen to what I have to say? What if I’d tried out for the debate team instead of the cheerleading squad? Do you see what I mean?”

  I stopped at a red light and let what he’d said sink in. “So, are you accusing me of using my Queen Bitch persona as a shield because I’m too chicken-shit to be myself?”

  “You said it, not me.” He looked out the window as the light changed. “Look at Morgan. We both know she acts the way she does to rebel against her parents. It’s a little immature, but it keeps her from dealing with them. And let’s face it, they are a messed-up pair. She’ll be so much healthier mentally once she moves away from home.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But I don’t know if you’ve noticed lately, but she’s calming down a bit. She hasn’t screwed Stupid Surfer Boy yet, for example.”

  “Thank God.”

  He turned back to me. “You got that ‘ew!’ vibe from him, too? I mean, what is she thinking? He’s so not her type. He reeks of Frat Boy.”

  “Stereotyping, are we?”

  “In his case, yes.” A few seconds passed as Richard grew serious again. “But back to where I was going with my Dr. Phil moment—you have a chance to do something most of us only dream of.”

  “And what’s that? Eat blueberry pancakes with Brett Pederson?”

  “I was going to suggest something else, but that would totally throw me from this rare moment of maturity. What I’m trying to say is that you can break the mold and shake things up in this upper middle class suburbia hellhole.”

  My palms grew sweaty just thinking about where he was going. “By doing what?”

  “You and Brett—the Mean Girl and the Quarterback, the Queen B and the Homecoming King. Think of the possibilities there, Alexis.”

  “We are so not couple material,” I said quickly enough for even my airhead sister to have recognized the denial behind my words if she’d heard me.

  “
You were the one he invited over to have breakfast with his family.”

  We pulled into Richard’s driveway right behind a gold Lexus sedan. Must’ve been his grandmother’s car.

  But Richard didn’t make the slightest move to get out. He stared at me, drumming his fingers on his lap. Like the good friend he was, he wasn’t leaving until I’d unburdened my soul.

  “Fine. So when Brett admitted that one of the reasons he switched places with the person who drew my name was to help me get over myself, I sort of lost it and told him I didn’t need his pity. I even threatened to post a picture of him on my blog that would seriously damage his reputation.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, nodding.

  “But in truth, I was freaking out because I got to see a side of him I didn’t know existed, and then he said he liked seeing me smile, which I interpreted as he sort of liked me, but I was too proud to even consider going out with him because we’re so different, but in truth we’re really not that different, and oh my God, I’ve fucked up.”

  I was panting by the time I finished my confession. If I’d been Catholic, I’d probably have been clutching my rosary on the other side of the screen waiting for the priest to deliver my penance. Instead, I had the venerable Richard offering counsel.

  He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, trying to appear grim even though his lips twitched with amusement. “So why did you need me again? It sounds like you already know what you did and what you need to do.”

  I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, I knew what I’d done. I’d taken Brett’s act of kindness and thrown it back in his face. “How the hell can I fix things without apologizing? Before last week, I wouldn’t have even considered doing that, but every time I think about the way he looked at me when he said he liked seeing me smile—”

  My voice broke, and bitterness filled my mouth. “It’s just not going to happen, okay?”

  “You know, you’re getting too hung up on the sex thing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can see it in your eyes. Let me guess, when you two had that ‘moment,’ you were alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Richard leaned over. “And he was standing close to you?”