The Queen B* and the Homecoming King Read online

  I stumbled into the kitchen, where Taylor was mixing up a Greek salad from our favorite takeout restaurant. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Upstairs.” Taylor pushed a piece of paper on the counter toward me and took her takeout container with her. “I’m hopping in the shower.”

  I read the note.

  Going to bed early. Dinner’s in the fridge. Love, Mom

  That was it. No mention of wanting to talk to us. No mention of Pete. No mention of a reason why she was in bed at an hour where she was normally still at the office.

  And for the first time in my life, I found myself worrying about my mom. What if Pete had ended things with her? What was she going to do?

  I crept upstairs and cracked open the door to her room. It was dark, but I could see the outline of my mom in the bed. The gentle rise and fall of her chest told me she was asleep, so I quietly closed the door and hid in my room the rest of the night, trying to figure out the best way to bring up the conversation I dreaded with my mom.

  Chapter Eight

  With the knowledge that Summer still thought she might have a chance with Brett, I purposely chose my outfit Friday morning to silence her doubts about us.

  Brett’s team shirt.

  On game days, the entire school was encouraged to don team colors to promote Eastline pride, but I’d never participated in the ritual until now. When Brett gave me an Eastline shirt a few weeks ago, I didn’t even understand the significance of it until Morgan pointed out it was his team shirt. The front had the same logo as other school shirts, but the back had Brett’s name and number. Basically, it was one step below having his letterman’s jacket, and by wearing it, I was publicly proclaiming that we were a couple.

  It was a little big, but comfy, and I had to admit, I got a little thrill from wearing it.

  Thanks to Taylor’s intervention yesterday, I didn’t fear the five minutes it took to put on a little makeup and apply the smoothing serum to my hair. It didn’t change my appearance enough to proclaim that I was trying too hard, but it did add a certain polish that I had to admit I liked.

  Especially if Brett stared at my lips again like he did yesterday.

  My mom’s bedroom door was open, but when I went downstairs, she was already gone. I’d have to check on her later.

  Taylor, however, was waiting for me in the kitchen in a tiny cheerleading uniform that barely covered her ass, tapping her foot in impatience. She gave me the once-over and nodded, her lips rising in a mischievous smile. “I can’t wait to see Summer blow up today.”

  “You’re such a good friend.”

  “No, I just want to be head cheerleader, and you’re helping me get there.” She grabbed her bags and headed toward the garage before I could ask about how she planned to use me to her advantage.

  She was bent over her phone, texting a mile a minute when I slid into the driver’s seat. “And what are you telling Summer now?”

  “Nothing about you. I’d hate to give her any advance warning.”

  “But…”

  “But what? You’re wearing Brett’s shirt. That says enough.”

  I would never understand the in-crowd mentality—it defied logic—so I decided to give up while I was ahead.

  I should’ve expected the curious stares when I arrived at school. After all, I was the Queen B*, the meanest girl in school. I had no business being with the Football Hero everyone worshipped and adored. Yet the moment I arrived on campus wearing his shirt, I had the whole school’s attention. Taylor, who craved attention the way that most people craved air, couldn’t wait to ditch me. I was used to the wave of whispers that followed me when I passed through the hallways, but this time, it wasn’t my reputation that ignited them. It was the shirt on my back.

  And the hot guy waiting at my locker with a cup of steaming latte.

  “Good morning, Lexi.” Brett handed me the cup and moved behind me. A second later, his fingers had once again found the ticklish spot just below my ribs.

  I squirmed and fought back the laughter, but it was useless. My giggles escaped, earning me several more curious looks from passersby. “Brett, stop before I spill my coffee on both of us.”

  He relented on the tickling, but moved even closer until his body was pressed against mine. My heart hammered from the closeness, and every protest I could think of died on my tongue. I liked being this close to him, and I had no desire to push him away.

  “I like seeing you in my shirt,” he murmured, his lips almost buried in my hair.

  “Well, it is the biggest game of the year,” I replied nonchalantly, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him in a PDA that would be a total violation of rule number two.

  “So, you’re coming tonight?”

  “As if Richard would let me miss it.” I looked up and gave Brett a teasing grin. Richard may have been my initial excuse for attending every football game so far this year, but the main reason now stood before me.

  He twirled one of my curls around his finger, his other hand pressed firmly into the small of my back in a way that dared me to try and escape. The temperature of the hallway suddenly seemed to be cranked up to a hundred and ten degrees—perfect for encouraging shirt shedding—and at that moment, I didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought about us together.

  “And we’d hate to disappoint Richard,” he teased back. The sexy timbre of his voice sent delicious shivers down my spine.

  “Did someone mention my name?” The familiar voice of my best friend shattered what had been quite a romantic moment between Brett and me.

  I broke away. “I, um, was just telling Brett how we were going to carpool to the game tonight,” I stuttered.

  “We don’t have to, you know. I passed my driving test last week.” Richard turned to Brett. “Are you ready for the big game?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” For the first time this week, he didn’t look exhausted. His dark eyes gleamed with well-rested alertness, and the press of his smooth cheek against mine contrasted with the scratchy stubble I’d come to enjoy this week. He tangled his fingers with mine long enough to give my hand a squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see you in fourth period.”

  I watched Brett until he disappeared around the corner.

  Richard slumped against my locker with a dramatic sigh. “You are one seriously lucky girl.”

  “What about you?” I asked, eager to turn the conversation away from Brett before the students around me overheard more than I wanted the public to know. “Did they release the names of the debate team?”

  Richard shook his head. “I got an email this morning saying they’re still trying to finalize the roster.”

  Which meant that Kelsey was still campaigning to keep Richard from making the team.

  “Anything else you want to tell me?” I took a sip of the latte Brett had given me and merged into the flow of the hallway toward Richard’s locker with a smile on my lips. Brett had figured out my favorite coffee drink during the first week of working with me on our class project and hadn’t forgotten.

  “Just that I went by Morgan’s house last night, but she wasn’t home. Her parents, however, were trippin’.”

  Trippin’ was not a word I’d use to describe Mr. and Mrs. Kurlander. Superficial, tight-ass, straight-laced—those would be far more accurate. “Any reason why?”

  “They were actually worried about her. Said she hasn’t been acting like herself lately, which is saying something since that meant they actually turned their attention away from themselves to notice her. They were trying to find her, too, but she kept texting back that she was at the library studying.”

  Morgan never studied at a library. It was too quiet and oppressive for her…unless she’d found a neglected section of the library that was perfect for hookups.

  Concern leaked into my voice as I asked, “Anything else?”

  “Just that she asked for money to buy some new clothes the other day.”

  Richard’s face reflected the mixture of surpris
e and fear that was doubtless on my own. Morgan hated shopping, which made me wonder if she was spending it on something else. Her fake ID had gotten her a host of tattoos and piercings already, and it would probably pass at most of the liquor shops and recreational marijuana shops in the area.

  In other words, she had the means to get into trouble. But it was the sudden change in her behavior that had us both on edge.

  I tried to ignore the knots forming in my gut, but I couldn’t. Even though she was pissed off and not speaking to me, she was still my friend. “Should we try to track her down this weekend?”

  “You mean like doing a stakeout in front of her home?”

  “If that is what it takes.” I took a sip of the coffee to steel my resolve with a shot of caffeine.

  “You know I don’t do mornings, but I’ll be willing to hang out after noon.” Richard stopped in front of his locker and opened it.

  Another slip of paper fell to the floor.

  A deviant like you has no right to be here.

  Richard raised his brows as he read it. “Oh, deviant. They’re using big words now.”

  “It’s still a threat, Richard.”

  “It’s just words.” He tried to take the paper from me, but this time, I didn’t let go.

  “But this is the third message.” I tried holding it up in the air, but when he almost snatched it away from me, I stuffed it in the one place he wouldn’t dare go.

  Inside my bra.

  He put his hand on his hip and looked up at the ceiling with a small groan. “Not fair, Alexis.”

  “You should take this seriously,” I argued, ignoring the uncomfortable bulge the wad of paper created against my chest. “Someone’s targeting you.”

  “As much as I’d hope the world would get over it and move on, someone’s always targeting me. It’s part of being gay.”

  “But it shouldn’t be.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the principal’s office. “Don’t you find it a little more than ironic that once Principal Lee put you in charge of the anti-bullying committee last week, you started getting those notes?”

  I left out the part where they’d also been preceded by Sanchez’s threats.

  Richard shook himself free from me. “I’m going to be late to class.”

  He turned around and walked away from me.

  Fine. If he wasn’t troubled by it, then so be it. Whoever wanted to intimidate him had failed, and that was a plus. However, I wasn’t ready to so easily dismiss it.

  The Queen B* had found a new case to crack for her blog.

  ***

  When I arrived to fourth period, Summer appeared to be on the brink of tears as she said something to Brett. I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or smugness that rose into the back of my throat, but it all vanished when he saw me and stepped away from her mid-conversation.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said softly to me before giving me a little smile and turning back to Summer.

  Although part of me was happy he interrupted the head cheerleader to speak to me, the other part of me wondered what was so important that he needed to finish his conversation with her. Even though I knew he was probably telling her she had no chance with him, I couldn’t ignore the irrational fear that she was trying to steal him from me.

  Of course, now he also knew what a manipulative bitch she was, so he was less likely to fall for her sob stories and be at her beck and call like he’d been.

  He slumped into his chair as the bell rang. “Geez, she needs some serious help,” he said, running his hand along the side of his face.

  My worries faded, and I couldn’t resist the urge to ask, “What’s going on with Summer?”

  He looked at me as though he was weighing the consequences of revealing the topic of the conversation. There was little love between me and Summer, and I’d targeted her more than once on my blog. “It’s…stuff.”

  Of course Brett would be too much of a gentleman to reveal Summer’s secrets. And I was too occupied with Richard’s harasser to delve into the matter. I managed to pull the note from this morning out just before Mr. DePaul started his lecture and slid it under the table to Brett.

  He read it, and his brows drew together and formed a deep crease above his nose. Then he gave it back to me and opened up his instant messaging program.

  Do you know why someone would give this to you? he wrote.

  Not me, I typed back. It was in Richard’s locker this morning. 3rd one he’s gotten.

  Why would someone mess with him?

  The other two notes called him a fag. I glared at Sanchez and wished I could burn holes into the back of his head with my eyes.

  Brett looked up from his keyboard and followed my gaze. His jaw tightened until the muscle that ran alongside it bulged. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not him.

  How do you know what I’m thinking?

  Because I know you’ve been after Sanchez all week, and I’m telling you it’s not him.

  My hackles rose from Brett defending him. Brett always tried to find the good in people, and although it worked in my favor, it pissed me off when it came to obvious assholes like Summer and Sanchez. But he’s already threatened Richard once this week, not to mention what he did to him last week.

  And I’ve already warned him to lay off, Brett typed. Besides, this isn’t his style.

  What is that supposed to mean?

  Brett drew in a deep breath and released it through his nose. Sanchez isn’t a coward. If he wants to make a point to someone, he does it in person. He doesn’t hide behind anonymous words.

  Then he clicked out of the IM program, a signal that he’d said all he wanted for now. But once class ended, he placed his hand on my arm. “Lexi, I know you’re upset because Richard’s your friend, but I swear it’s not him. You have to trust me on this.”

  “And what if you’re wrong? I mean, you were wrong about Summer.”

  He withdrew his hand and stretched in his chair. “Guys are much more transparent than girls.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If we have it out for someone, they’d know.” He gave me a goofy grin and laced his fingers through mine. “Just like if we have a thing for someone, they’d know.”

  “Don’t think you can soften me up with a few sweet words.”

  He stood and pulled me to my feet until I collided against him. “How about a few kisses?”

  “Rule number two,” I reminded him, ignoring the erratic hopping in my stomach. I almost hoped he’d follow through on his threat, despite my warning.

  Lucky for me, he did. His lips barely brushed against mine, but it was enough to fill me with those warm gooey feelings that evaporated all my prior anger.

  Unfortunately, it was enough to cause Mr. DePaul to clear his throat and signal for us to take it outside his classroom.

  We left hand in hand like a happy couple—still a blatant violation of rule number two. Not that I cared.

  But the second we were out of the room, he pulled me aside. “Lexi, I agree, those notes suck, and I wish I could help you find the person behind them, but believe me when I say that Sanchez has been even more focused on tonight’s game than I have been all week, and they’re not from him.”

  “Then why do I always catch him lurking around Richard’s locker when the notes appear?”

  “Their lockers are in the same area.”

  Okay, he had a point there. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that Sanchez wasn’t completely innocent. “Then maybe it was someone else from the team?”

  Brett shook his head. “Everyone saw what happened to Sanchez, Ren, and Austin after you exposed their bullying in your blog. They know not to mess with you or Richard.”

  “Then who could it be?”

  “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t have a clue. But I know if anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s you.” One of his teammates called his name from down the hall just then, and his attention shifted. He gave my hand one more squeeze befo
re pulling away. “I’ll see you at the game.”

  Judging by the number of times he’d mentioned the game, I knew his mind was focused on that. I’d have better luck talking to him about this afterward. The only thing that bugged me was the fact he might be right. Sanchez seemed to be as preoccupied about tonight’s game as Brett was. But if it wasn’t the usual suspects on the football team, then who was it?

  I wandered toward Richard’s locker, toying with the idea of setting up a video camera like the one that had been used in the girls’ locker room a few weeks ago and aiming it at Richard’s locker. That way, maybe I’d have a chance of catching the culprit.

  I arrived at the same time as Richard. My best friend clamped his hands around my upper arms and jumped up and down. “Guess who made the debate team?” he said, his voice squeaking with excitement.

  I cheered and gave him a hug. “As if there was any doubt.”

  He let go and took a step back, his hand on his stomach. “I wish I had been as confident as you. I think I might’ve gotten an ulcer from the stress of it all.” His huge grin reappeared. “But I don’t care. I made the team!”

  He bounced a few more times before colliding with a person behind him. His over-the-top enthusiasm vanished, and he turned, coming face to face with Ajay. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay.” Ajay straightened and adjusted his bow tie, taking a second to run his finger along his collar as though it was a smidge too tight. “I just wanted to come over and congratulate you.”

  The tips of Richard’s ears darkened, and I could’ve sworn he blushed. “Thanks,” he replied, suddenly bashful.

  The same tension formed between them where they stared into each other’s eyes and acted like they wanted to say more, but their mouths refused to obey.

  Ajay took another step back and absentmindedly reached up to touch his bow tie again. “Well, um, see you at practice on Monday.”

  He spun around on his heel and retreated like a person terrified of getting caught in the wrong place.