Confessions of a Queen B* Page 4

  That stopped me cold. “You know where my locker is?”

  “Everyone in school knows where your locker is so they can steer clear of it. I’ll see you in a bit.” He hung up.

  I raced around my room, grabbing the first clean shirt I could get my hands on, followed by a pair of jeans. Screw brushing my teeth. I was halfway down the stairs before I realized I’d left the doll up there. I ran back up, snatched the doll from my desk, and ran back downstairs just in time to see Taylor getting into an Audi A4 with gaudy bright teal rims. The car peeled off like the driver was auditioning for one of those drift racing movies.

  Must be a guy with a small penis.

  At least it meant I wasn’t going to be held up because of a makeup emergency today, even though I was worried about my sister making it to school alive.

  Parking was a nightmare because I was getting to school so late. I squeezed my Prius into a spot so tiny, I had to hold my breath to get out of the car. If I had a dent in my door by the time I left, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  The first bell rang as I was running through the front door.

  Damn it! I’d never been late to class. Ever. I dashed down the halls to my locker, fully expecting to be stuck with the doll until fourth period, never imagining Brett would’ve waited for me at the risk of being late himself.

  And yet, there he was, leaning against my locker with a cup of coffee.

  He grinned at me. “Good morning, Lexi.”

  “Shut the hell up and take the doll.” I shoved it toward him and entered in my combination.

  “Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.” He held the cup under my nose, the calming scents of vanilla and hazelnut soothing my ire. “Care for some coffee?”

  I took the cup and tasted it. It was perfect. The last of my anger melted away to the point where I almost liked Brett.

  Almost.

  “How did you know what I usually get?”

  “All I had to do was give the barista your name, and she knew exactly what you’d want.” He reached into my bag and retrieved the carrier, slipping it on with enviable ease. “It seems you make quite an impression wherever you go.”

  I took another sip of my coffee to keep from telling him to piss off. It required too much energy, I told myself, when in truth, I figured I could let him off this one time since he waited for me while bearing gifts. “Why did you get me coffee?”

  “Because you sounded like you needed it.” He pointed to my mirror. “By the way, you might want to do something with your hair. You look like shit.”

  I knew I’d forgotten to do something this morning. One glimpse of the frizzy mess on top of my head, and a new wave of panic rose into my throat. I dug around my bag to find the hair tie I kept on hand for just such emergencies. A minute later, I’d managed to pull my hair up into a somewhat tame bun.

  Brett remained right by my locker, looking at my shirt with a bemused grin.

  Uncomfortable warmth crawled up my neck. “What are you waiting for?”

  “We’re already late, and you still haven’t given me the bottle for Junior here.”

  I pulled it out of my bag, grateful I’d remembered to put it in there during the morning insanity. “Is that all?”

  “For now. Love the Monty Python quote, by the way. Very appropriate.” His grin widened. “See you in class.”

  He turned around and continued on to whatever he had for first period.

  I glanced down at the shirt I’d put on this morning and groaned as I read it. “Huge Tracts of Land.” Lovely. At least he got the reference.

  I pulled my emergency hoodie from my locker and zipped it over the quote emblazoned across my chest before heading to class, armed with my large nonfat vanilla hazelnut latte.

  By the time fourth period rolled around, I was feeling more like a human being. And as much as I hated to admit it, the coffee helped. When Brett slid into the seat next to me, I mumbled my thanks.

  “What was that?” He leaned closer, giving me a good whiff of him.

  Yummy, I think was what Morgan called him. I was beginning to agree, at least on some accounts.

  “I said thank you for bringing me coffee.”

  “No worries.” He waved the doll’s arm at me. “Junior here hopes you’re less grouchy now.”

  “I’m only running on about seventy percent bitch level at the moment. That doll is the spawn of Satan, by the way. It kept screaming every two to three hours last night.”

  Brett nodded. “Just like a real baby.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Nope.” He opened up his laptop to begin taking notes. “Try having twins.”

  “I’d kill myself.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure my parents considered that from time to time, but they made it through okay. My sisters are now four.”

  “You have twin sisters?”

  “Yep. Best birds and the bees talk my parents could’ve ever given me. I’m so not ready for kids.”

  At least that explained why he was so laid back with this whole fake baby thing. “Just make sure you don’t breed with Summer,” I said, remembering my conversation with Morgan yesterday.

  He turned to me, his brows bunched together and his mouth opening to say something before Mr. DePaul cut him off by jumping into his lecture.

  It seems the school board did approve the safe sex lecture because today’s PowerPoint was all about STDs and how to use condoms. I glanced around the room to see how many people were squirming in their seats, finally coming to Brett. He was calm and focused on the presentation, his fingers flying over the keys as he took notes.

  Probably in preparation for this weekend.

  I needed brain bleach every time I thought of him and Summer together.

  The bell rang before I realized it. “So, should I bring you coffee tomorrow?” I asked, shocked I’d even offered to act like his personal secretary.

  ‘Nope, hate the stuff.” He snapped his laptop closed, the doll still strapped to his chest. “Thanks for offering, though.”

  ***

  “He likes you,” Morgan said after I’d recounted the whole Brett-coffee incident from this morning.

  “Or maybe he was just feeling sorry for me.”

  She shook her head. “Guys don’t do thoughtful little things like that unless they’re trying to impress a girl or get her in the sack.”

  “He’s dating Summer, remember?”

  “Whatever.” She checked the clock on the wall. “It’s almost three. Gavin should be here any minute now.”

  “You know when he’s working? What did you do—take a peek at the master schedule?”

  “No, I just asked him.” Her eyes lit up as a lanky, surfer-looking guy strolled into The Purple Dog. “There he is.”

  “Oh, let’s not be too obvious that you’re into him or anything, shall we?” I pretended to be reading while I watched Gavin set his stuff under the counter and put on an apron. His straight blond hair fell into his eyes, which appeared to be blue. His tee shirt bore the logo of Casual Industries, a popular clothing line here in Seattle, and it stretched over his muscles as he moved. He was laughing at something one of his co-workers had said. “Not bad,” I said once I finished my assessment.

  “Yeah,” Morgan agreed, her voice all dreamy. “I can’t wait to get him naked.”

  “Isn’t that moving a little fast?” Images from today’s STD lecture flashed in front of my eyes, and I shuddered. As far as I knew, Morgan hadn’t caught anything.

  Yet.

  She shrugged. “So maybe I’ll try going slow for once, see where it leads.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.” I turned back to the Faulkner novel I had to read for my second-period AP English class. “Maybe you’ll be able to keep a guy longer than a week.”

  “Maybe.” The way she said the word made it sound like she wasn’t quite convinced it was such a good idea. “By the way, can we call your dad to help me with my philosophy assignment? I have so
much to read, and it’s so boring.”

  “Why did you take the class?”

  “Pre-req.” She held up the worn copy of Plato’s Symposium, the neon orange “USED” sticker marring the image on the cover. “I’d love the quick rundown on this, and if he was willing to throw in some topics for a paper, I’d worship your dad forever.”

  “Don’t even go there. You know how my dad is with his graduate assistants.”

  “Awesome book,” a male voice with a distinct Southern Californian accent said behind me. I looked up to find Gavin standing with his hands on the back of my chair. “I wore my copy out from reading it over and over again.”

  He sounded like a stoner, but was obviously well acquainted with Plato. Must be a philosophy major.

  “And what did you think of it?” Morgan asked sweetly.

  “It’s about love.” Gavin let go of my chair and crossed his arms, sounding slightly more intelligent than before.

  Morgan scribbled that down. “Like love between men and women?”

  Gavin laughed. “Some, but there’s some really interesting passages there about homosexuality.”

  Morgan sent me a panicked look that asked if she was chasing after the wrong type of guy.

  I decided it was time to step in and save her. For once, the summers spent with my dad lecturing me about the great works of philosophy would come in handy. “Like Phaedrus’s argument for gays in the military?”

  “Or Aristophanes’s tall tale about the origin of soul mates, babe.” Gavin pulled a chair up to our table, staring at the words on my T-shirt peeking through my half-zipped hoodie. At least, I hoped that was what he was doing. Based on the time he spent staring at my chest, though, I could safely say he wasn’t gay.

  I pulled the zipper up on my hoodie, ignoring the little warning bells going off in the back of my mind. “But then Socrates comes and basically calls them all idiots.”

  Gavin laughed harder this time. “Pretty much. Are you a philosophy major, too?”

  Morgan was looking at us—or to be more precise, at Gavin looking at me—and frowning.

  “My dad’s a professor of philosophy.” Time to divert his attention back to my best friend before I received a swift kick under the table for monopolizing the conversation. “Morgan is still undeclared, but she’s leaning toward philosophy. Perhaps you can suggest some of your favorite works.”

  I immediately got the “what the hell are you doing” look from her.

  “It’s like asking me to pick a favorite wave on the North Shore of Oahu.”

  “Just a few suggestions, then, ‘to fondle the interest in a potential lover of philosophy,’ ” I replied, quoting a line from Plato’s Symposium.

  He paused, and then tapped Morgan’s book with a wider grin. “Ah, Socrates, nice.”

  And now we were back to the “shut the hell up around the guy I like” glare from Morgan. I squirmed in my seat, feeling a little bit too warm under the intensity of their heated attention. I got the distinct impression Gavin was flirting with me, and Morgan was getting pissed off. I longed to shed my hoodie, but I didn’t want to flaunt my “Huge Tracts of Land” and make this situation even more awkward than it already was.

  Gavin started rattling off some of the well-known classics: Aristotle. Augustine. Thomas Aquinas. Machiavelli. Descartes. Pascal. Hume. Locke. All stuff covered in a Philosophy 101 class.

  When he finished, I said, “All classics. Perhaps you’d be willing to discuss some of them with Morgan as she reads them.”

  His gaze flickered over to her before turning back to me. “Okay.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. She finally saw where I was going with all this. “Yes, Gavin, I’d love to talk about philosophy with you any time.”

  His smile tightened. Not a good sign. “Sure, Morgan. Now, if you two ladies will excuse me, I gotta get back to work.”

  As soon as he was out of hearing range, my best friend gave me a small squeal. “That was brilliant, Alexis. I’d much rather have him as my philosophy tutor than your dad.”

  “Well, then, start reading so you have something to discuss with him.”

  She bent back over her book, reading Plato with far more enthusiasm now that she knew it would get her something outside of the classroom.

  I tried to focus on my own homework, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling I got from Gavin. He seemed more interested in me than in my best friend, and that always spelled trouble.

  Chapter 5

  “What does it take to get a letterman jacket? Athletic talent. Or, in the case of Benji Gapul, a $25,000 donation to the school’s athletic program, courtesy of Daddy.”

  The Eastline Spy

  December, Freshman Year

  Thursday got off to a much better start. I was able to get a good night’s sleep without having a screaming electronic doll waking me all night long. I had plenty of time to shower and add some de-frizzer to my hair. And I wasn’t wearing any suggestive T-shirts (unless you considered the Batman logo suggestive).

  Brett texted me to say he’d meet me at my locker for the doll handoff. I drove to school, my stomach doing little flip-flops of glee, anticipating that Brett would look as miserable as I felt yesterday.

  No such luck.

  If anything, the jerk looked better than normal.

  Damn it.

  He grinned and started unstrapping the carrier when he saw me. “Made it on time today, eh?”

  “How can you be so cheerful after that thing kept screaming all night?”

  “I’ve got the diaper-bottle-burp drill down. Once you have it, you’ll see it’s easier with babies.” He held out the carrier with the doll still strapped inside. “Should I help you put it on again?”

  “So you can feel me up in the process?” He was so perfect, it was infuriating, so I had to find a flaw in him. In this case, it was turning his offer to help into a dick move.

  “If that’s an invitation…”

  Sure, if you want to, that traitorous little voice in my head replied.

  “It’s not,” I snapped, ignoring the rush of heat that flowed along the surface of my skin while I tried to navigate my arms through the confusing tangle of straps.

  He raised both brows. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “I don’t need a man to help me out with something as simple as this.” Except somehow, I’d managed to put the carrier on upside down and was holding the doll by its head to keep it from falling out.

  “May I please help you so we don’t both end up with Fs because you dropped the kid?” He came closer, that annoying bemused grin still on his face, and took the doll out of the carrier. “Just unbuckle it here, turn it around, and secure everything before you try to put the baby in.”

  His finger brushed the area along my ribs when he pointed out where I should unbuckle it, and a delicious shiver raced up my spine. I hated my hormones sometimes, especially when they overruled my brain concerning Brett Pederson. It was screaming for me to run away before I made a fool of myself by drooling over him, but I ended up inching closer to him. I’d always thought his eyes were plain brown, but the sun streaming in from the skylight above revealed tiny flecks of green and gold in them.

  And those eyes were fixed right on me.

  “Yo, Pederson, you’re playing a dangerous game getting that close to her without protective equipment on,” Sanchez shouted from down the hall, ruining what had been a “moment.”

  As if I was capable of having a moment with Brett.

  “I’ve got it under control,” Brett shouted back before dropping his voice to add, “You’re not going to hurt me, right?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?” He wasn’t backing away, so neither would I.

  “On how pissed off you’re going to make me.”

  “And how would I piss you off?”

  He was baiting me. I knew he was, and yet I played right along with him. “Your existence pisses me off.”

  “Is that all?” Hi
s grin widened.

  The asshole was mocking me.

  “Do I need to make you a list?” I shoved him back and adjusted the carrier, following his instructions.

  “Maybe. How long would that list be?”

  I snatched the doll back and tucked it away. “Not worth my time.”

  I’d barely made it ten feet before Richard fell into step beside me. “Okay, what is going on between you two, because that was some serious tension?”

  “The only tension between us is the one in my arm that’s keeping me from slapping that arrogant little smirk off his face.”

  Richard pretended to cover his mouth, mimicking a shocked expression. “Oh my God, you’ve progressed to violent thoughts. Do we need to schedule an intervention at the fro-yo place this afternoon so we get all that hostility out over a cup of mocha chocolate chip?”

  “No, thank you.” I liked my hostility right where it was. It was the only thing keeping me from admitting that yeah, maybe I was slightly attracted to Brett.

  I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Summer looping her arm through his. The message was as clear as day. He was hers, and I had no chance in hell of ending up with someone like him.

  Not that I’d want to. It would mean I’d have to be nice to Sanchez and the rest of the team.

  But that didn’t keep me from thinking about how things might be different if we weren’t in this tiny microcosm of hell called high school.

  ***

  I stiffened the moment Brett slid into the chair next me, Richard’s accusations still whirling around in my mind. Go to that angry place. Go to that angry place.

  But he shifted ever so slightly, sending a current of his scent toward me. I breathed him in and crumbled. Who was I kidding? Brett was like one of those addictions that needed its own twelve step program. The first step was admitting you have a problem.

  Hi, my name is Alexis Wyndham, and I have the hots for the quarterback.

  I could just imagine a chorus full of girls from this high school answering back, “Hi, Alexis.”

  At least I wasn’t alone with infatuation.

  Because that’s all it really could be, anyway. The Queen Bitch and the Football King had no business being together. It might trigger some space-time continuum implosion.