Confessions of a Queen B* Page 3

  I didn’t have time to inspect the locker room until mid-morning break. It was thankfully empty when I walked in. A few seconds later, I spied the desktop camera sitting on top of the lockers. I snapped a towel toward it, knocking it onto the ground. It had a small antenna, but no plug, no source of power. I turned it over, searching for any clues about its owner, before turning it back to me.

  “Listen, asshole,” I said into the lens, pouring every ounce of Queen Bitchiness into my voice, “I’m on to you, and you don’t want to piss me off any more than you already have. Take those videos down, or else.”

  Then I tossed the camera into one of the feminine hygiene bins, doubting whoever was behind the videos would wade through the sea of tampons to retrieve it.

  Mission accomplished.

  I was actually feeling pretty good until I ran into Summer in the hallway. She got in my face, one perfectly manicured claw inches from my nose. “Taylor told me what you said, so I’m going to deliver this message in person. Stay away from Brett.”

  I was so tempted to tell her he’d been the one who’d chosen to work with me, but until I knew the reason why, I was keeping that to myself. Instead, I would have to be content to push her buttons in other ways. I swatted her hand away. “Sorry, Summer, but we’re going to have to work together very closely for the next two weeks. After all, we are sharing a baby.”

  Her face turned red. “He’s mine.”

  “So you think.”

  She froze, and a look flashed across her face as though she finally realized she was falling right into my trap. The laughter that followed sounded tight and false. “What am I worried about? What chance does someone like you have with him, especially when he has me?”

  I lifted my chest, fully aware of how my T-shirt clung to my bust. “Maybe he’s tired of playing with silicone parts.”

  Summer glanced down at my au naturel size Cs and scowled.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to Calculus.” I stepped around her, moving on before the Queen Bee had given me permission to leave.

  I didn’t need her permission for anything.

  ***

  My skin tingled as Brett slid into the seat next to me. “I need your phone number,” he said as the bell rang.

  My stomach dropped in a free fall of panic. “Why?”

  “In case I want to hook up sometime,” he whispered, grinning.

  The air burned in my lungs but refused to move.

  His grin widened. “Just kidding. I was thinking it would be useful in arranging handoffs for the baby.”

  Unfortunately, Brett’s conversation had caught Mr. DePaul’s attention. “What’s so important that you’re holding up class, Mr. Pederson?”

  “I was just trying to get Alexis’s digits,” he announced to the class, which erupted into snickers.

  How many days would I be suspended for giving the star quarterback a black eye?

  I pretended to read something on my laptop, rage simmering just beneath my skin. Forget any shreds of respect I might have had for Brett. He and Summer deserved each other.

  “Your social activities can wait until after class.” He pulled out the bin of babies again. “Okay, today we’re going to go over the intricacies of the dolls you’ll be carrying around for the next two weeks. Let’s start with the need for you to be very gentle with them, not only because real babies are delicate, but because these are sensitive pieces of equipment that run about nine hundred dollars a pop. If you break one of them, you’ll not only get an F, you’ll also get a bill. Are we clear?”

  He waited until most of the class nodded. “Now that we’ve laid down the most basic rule, come up and get your doll and your project codes.”

  Brett got ours and brought it back to the table, fascinated by the miniature computer disguised as a baby. He pointed to an unnatural opening on the doll’s back. “USB drive. This must be where DePaul gets the information from at the end of the project.”

  Before I could ask him to explain that, Mr. DePaul launched into an hour-long lecture about the doll. How to turn it on. How to enter the project code assigned to us so we’d get credit for our time with the baby. How to simulate feeding and changing. How it was important to charge the doll every night. With every requirement, my anxiety rose a bit more, especially since he was ending each section with, “Failure to do so will result in an F.”

  I eyed the doll with a mixture of wariness and resentment. My class rank would not suffer because of this stupid project.

  “What’s wrong?” Brett asked, taking notes while he continued to look at the PowerPoint presentation in the front of the class.

  “I’m not very maternal.”

  “No shit.”

  “Aren’t you worried about screwing up and failing?”

  He shook his head. “I have three little sisters. Been there, done that as far as babies are concerned.”

  Thank God one of us had a clue what to do with this doll. “So you’re going to show me how to change a diaper, right?”

  “Why don’t you ask your mother to teach you?”

  “She’s too busy ridding the Eastside of acne and wrinkles.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Your dad?”

  “Too busy screwing his latest graduate assistant.”

  Then he turned to me with the one thing I never wanted to see in his eyes—pity. “Broken home?”

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughed softly. He’d just managed to get under my skin again and exposed a weakness, and he knew it. “Okay, I’ll show you how to change a diaper, but on one condition.”

  I dreaded to ask what, and he didn’t wait for me to respond.

  “You have baby duty today.”

  And so it begins—super jock was already trying to dump the project on me. “Why?”

  “Because I need time to bribe my sister to babysit. You take the baby today, and in the morning, we can switch off, twenty-four hours at a time. Sound fair?”

  I looked at the doll, still hearing Mr. DePaul threatening to give an F even though he’d stopped talking a couple of minutes ago. “Your sister is old enough to babysit?”

  “She’s thirteen and helps take care of the two younger ones all the time.”

  I wasn’t quite convinced. Taylor was fifteen, and there was no way in hell I’d let her near this doll.

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this, Lexi.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Fine,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “The alternative is me taking Junior here to practice and hoping he doesn’t get tackled or mistaken for a football.”

  “Your sister will work,” I said in a rush as I visualized Sanchez tossing the baby in the air and breaking it. Then I caught something in his words that I’d missed before. “So you’re not going to make me do all the work?”

  “Fat chance. I want an A, and if DePaul finds out I’m not pulling my share of the work, I’m not getting it.”

  I cocked my head to the side, trying to decide if I believed his bullshit or not.

  “By the way, I brought something from home that you might find helpful.” He pulled a black contraption from his backpack. “This is an infant carrier—very useful when you want to keep your hands free while carrying the baby.”

  I tried to make sense of all the straps and fasteners, but after a few seconds, I was completely lost. I gritted my teeth. I would have to ask Brett for help. “How does it work?”

  “Here, I’ll show you.” He looped two of the straps around my shoulders and snapped them into place. “The X goes in the back, and the pouch goes in the front like so. Then, you put the baby here and lock into place.”

  Five seconds later, the doll was pressed against my chest, and Brett was conveniently helping it rest its head comfortably on my boobs. And much to my horror, I kind of liked him standing this close to me, touching that part of my body. It was far from actual groping, but every little brush of his fingers sent a little shiver throug
h me. I was running dangerously close to giving into my hormones and letting him continue.

  I slapped his hands away before it was too late. “Hands off!”

  He backed away, hands up in front of him. “What? You have a nice rack.” His gaze lingered on that part of my anatomy. “In fact, I’m a little envious of Junior there.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” I turned around and tried adjusting the doll so it wasn’t being smothered in my cleavage. The reprieve also gave me a moment to pull myself together. My cheeks were still burning from the realization that I was suffering from a bad case of Brett-itis. “Actually, I can. You’re a bonehead jock who’s too busy thinking with his dick.”

  “God gave men both a brain and a penis and only enough blood to use one at a time,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “Well, start thinking with your other head before I take the lower one out of commission.”

  “And we’re back to the ball-busting.” The amused glint in his dark brown eyes told me he’d witnessed my moment of weakness, that he saw the flush that still lingered in my face (and other parts of my body I refused to acknowledge). “So, back to getting your phone number…”

  I closed my eyes to clear my head. “Just for exchanges, right?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “Yes.” So far, every conversation I’d had with Brett ended with me alternating between wanting to punch him in the face or jump his bones.

  “No worries.” When I opened my eyes, he was focused on his phone. “Anytime now.”

  I gave him my number, which he entered into his contacts. Part of me wanted to snicker. How pissed off would Summer be once she discovered my number in his phone?

  “Do you want my number?” he asked when he was done.

  “Kind of hard to get to my phone with this doll strapped to my chest.”

  His eyes flickered to my chest again. This time, I managed to limit my response to pure annoyance and snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Eyes up here, bucko.”

  “Fine, let me write it down for you.” He tore a scrap of paper off something in his backpack and scribbled his number on it. He pressed it into my palm, reviving that irritating shiver I got every time he touched me. “I’m sure you’re just dying to conveniently misplace this, but please wait until after the project is done.”

  The slip of paper reminded me of the one I found yesterday, but the bell rang before I could confront him about that. He was gone, and I was left with an eight-pound computerized doll and a growing sense of confusion when it came to Brett Pederson.

  ***

  One perk about having enough credits to only have to go to school for half a day was that I could leave at lunch and not be subjected to what the cafeteria called food while surrounded by a bunch of adolescent idiots.

  Which was perfect because Junior started screaming in the car on the way home.

  My shoulders tightened, and my knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as I was forced to listen for almost two miles. I was a frazzled set of nerves by the time I pulled into the driveway and rushed inside, setting the doll on the kitchen counter. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked it, silently wishing a message would scroll across its face telling me exactly what to do.

  Instead, I was left to figure it out on my own. The doll had come with one reusable diaper, and I vaguely remembered Mr. DePaul saying we had to remove it and replace it to simulate a diaper change. Two minutes later, I think I had it back on the right way, but Junior was still screaming its electronic head off.

  “Bottle,” I whispered, rummaging through my bag for the fake bottle with the sensor built into the tip. “Let me just stick a bottle in his mouth and pray it works.”

  Thank God it did. The electronic crying turned into sucking and cooing, indicating a happy baby.

  Too bad I didn’t share its contentment. I slumped against the kitchen counter and held the bottle in the doll’s mouth until the noises stopped.

  If Eastline High wanted to discourage teen pregnancy, their point was well taken. I was going straight to my family doc and demanding to be put on the pill pronto, even though having sex was the furthest thing from my mind right now.

  Of course, the minute I thought about sex, that little flopping in my stomach that appeared every time I was near Brett returned, the unwelcome little nuisance. I needed a date with someone the exact opposite of Brett Pederson. Someone mature, intelligent, politically correct.

  Oh, screw that. I just needed a good old-fashioned make out session with someone.

  Just not him. He was way too dangerous for my liking.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Morgan. “Do you want to hang out at The Purple Dog tomorrow?”

  “I dunno,” she replied. “Will you have the doll with you?”

  “Nope. Brett said he was going to hire his sister to babysit. I’ll be childless.”

  “Awesome!” Her voice perked up. “I’ll introduce you to Gavin, and then you can tell me what you think about him.”

  “And Gavin is Mr. Tattoo-less?”

  “I never said he didn’t have tattoos—just none that I could see. I’m sure if I got him naked, I might be pleasantly surprised.”

  “Time out. You just met him this weekend, and you’re already talking about getting him naked?”

  “I’ve been going through a dry spell,” she countered, a pout coming through the airwaves. “The last time I got laid was July at Lake Chelan.”

  “Two months is such a long dry spell.” I eyed the quiet doll, thanking my lucky stars that my virginal status meant I wasn’t in danger of contracting one of those. “Speaking of which, who did you hook up with down there?”

  “Just some hottie I met on the lake.” I could see her giving a nonchalant shrug as she said it. “He liked my piercings and could do wicked things with his tongue.”

  “Please stop. I don’t need the visuals.” Especially since I had a pretty good idea which piercings she was referring to.

  “You sound like you could use a good boink-fest. Should I see if Gavin has a friend to take away your V-card?”

  My gaze drifted back to the doll again. “No, thank you.”

  “Fine. Then tell me this—did you give Brett your number?”

  I let my forehead fall to the granite countertop. Despite the initial whack, the cold stone soothed my pounding head. “Are there any secrets in our school?”

  “Not when it comes to this whole you and Brett thing. The entire school is talking about it. And you should’ve seen the shit-fit Summer had when she found out about the phone number request.”

  “First, there is no ‘me and Brett thing.’ ” A little wiggle of disappointment nagged my gut as I said that. Even though he epitomized everything that was wrong with the social hierarchy in high school, I kept getting little glimpses of the person who hid behind the role of star quarterback. It was a person who intrigued me. “We’re just working together for a class project—”

  “That he switched places with someone to work with you on.”

  “Which I still have no idea why.” And was precisely one of the reasons I couldn’t easily dismiss him as the bonehead jock.

  “Maybe he’s harboring a secret crush for you,” Morgan said in an overly dramatic tone, complete with the “duh-duh-DUH” at the end.

  I thought back to the way he kept checking out my chest this morning before getting the “you’re being delusional” wake-up call. “He’s dating Summer.”

  “Yeah, that does put a kink in my theory. He’s probably trying to get dirt on you so he can pass it on to her in exchange for sex.”

  I tried to laugh it off. “You mean she’s not dishing it out for free?”

  “No way. Girls like Summer use sex as a commodity that will only be given out once the party has met her demands. They end up becoming useless, arm-candy country club wives like my mother. I swear, I think she demands diamonds from my dad before she’ll put out.”

  And I tho
ught my “broken home” was bad. At least my parents split before their dysfunctional relationship made me any more cynical than I already was about romance. “Thanks for the warning, though. I’ll be extra careful around him.”

  “Or you could just try flirting with him and seeing what happens.”

  “No way. I’m paired up with him until next Friday, and that day can’t come soon enough.”

  “Fine, suit yourself. As for me, I would never turn down a chance to find out what Brett’s lips taste like. He’s just too yummy.”

  The granite countertop was no longer soothingly cold, especially after the rush of heat to my face. I lifted my head and massaged my temple with my free hand. “Not tempting enough.”

  “Liar.”

  Dammit.

  “So are we on for tomorrow or not?” I asked, steering the conversation back to my original question.

  “Definitely on! I’ll meet you there at two.”

  Morgan hung up just as Junior started screaming again.

  Chapter 4

  “The 4:20 is still alive and well on campus, but only if you have a medical marijuana card. Just follow your nose to the grove at the end of the football field for your daily dose of vitamin THC.”

  The Eastline Spy

  June, Freshman Year

  I was just dozing off again when my phone rang. I fumbled for it and answered with a groggy “Hello?”

  “Good morning.” Brett’s voice, way too cheerful for this time in the morning, filled the airwaves. “Sounds like you had a rough night.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Aw, you shouldn’t say that, especially when I’m trying to schedule a time and place to take Junior off your hands.”

  I lifted my head and cast my bleary-eyed gaze toward my clock.

  I had fifteen minutes to get to school.

  Shit!

  “Alexis, are you there?”

  “I slept through my alarm.” I jumped out of bed and shimmied out of my pajama pants while holding the phone to my ear.

  Brett was laughing on the other end.

  “Make it quick,” I snapped.

  “Fine. I’ll meet you by your locker when you get here.”