Best Friends Never

by Isabelle Drake

  Her again. Dressed to get noticed in a snug black-and-red striped crewneck, skinny jeans and sweet ballet flats.

  “Sorry. Don’t have time to chat.” Lexi scowled at Monica’s peach-glossed smirk. “I’m busy getting a better grade than you. Again.”

  Monica leaned down and whispered in a candy-coated voice, “Well, I just wanted to let you know you can stop freaking out. I got a text from Jon.”

  Lexi dropped her pencil and looked up. But Monica wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the pair of guys behind them, glancing from one to the other. When she was finally done sucking up their admiration like she was Kim Kardashian or some other famous-for-being-famous wannabe, she looked back to Lexi, her expression saying of course they love me. It was the usual thing. Everyone loved perfect Monica Sanders.

  Dr. Newberg, typical off-the-wall science teacher, drove that point home by smiling at Monica as he announced, “Time to pack up the equipment. Put your reports and slides on the front counter—be sure they’re labeled with your name and lab number.”

  Once the scraping of stools against linoleum filled the room, Lexi grabbed Monica’s arm. “Why aren’t you telling anyone you talked to Jon?”

  “I didn’t talk to him. I got a text from him.”

  “Whatever. Why didn’t you tell the cops?”

  “He doesn’t want me to,” she replied, turning back to the guys who’d been staring at her, smiling at them with her glossy lips.

  Relief battled with shock. Lexi stepped between Monica and the guys. “Why not?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Monica raked her gaze across Lexi’s face. “Stop looking like that—and don’t you tell anyone either. Just be glad he’s okay and keep your mouth shut. Worry about yourself. And your signatures.”

  Across the table, Jazz scowled at Monica’s back as she finished packing up the microscope. After clicking the case shut, she hauled the clunky box off the table and headed to the storage closet, dodging the students already coming back then disappearing into a cluster by the closet door.

  Jazz was an awesome friend, but every summer she went to Montreal to stay with her grandparents. If Jazz didn’t go away every June, then Lexi never would’ve gotten mixed-up with Monica. But she had, so now she had to deal what she’d done with her. Ready to fight back, Lexi slipped on her own phony smile. “How’re you doing with your signatures?”

  “Better than you are, I’m sure,” Monica replied, moving her phony expression back to her admirers, lowering her voice. “If you spend all your time trying to sign Ash I’ll have the whole team on my list before he even considers texting you. Unless, of course,” she looked up from under her mascara-coated lashes, “you finally decide to put out.”

  Lexi ignored the second dig as she studied Monica, committing the moment to memory so she could play it over and over in her mind, her very own YouTube clip. “Ash and I didn’t waste time on texts, he just asked me over.”

  Monica scoffed. “So you aren’t the school’s biggest tease anymore? When did you find time to turn in your Lifetime Virgin membership card?” She laughed, throwing her head back dramatically as she strolled off, her suddenly sharp gaze a reminder to keep quiet.

  At least keeping quiet was easier than being afraid.

  “What’s the big deal about the list anyway?” Jazz asked Lexi as they swerved through the hallway, dodging a group of students from AP Spanish selling raffle tickets for their annual trip to the Guatemalan rainforest. “You’re already in the boosters. I get that you want another thing to put under extracurricular activities, but are you sure you want all that responsibility? I know if anyone can handle it you can, but still…”

  “I’d be good at it,” Lexi replied as they rounded the corner by the counseling offices and cut through the mob of anxious kids waiting to turn in their progress reports. They paused by one of the giant, rain-smeared windows to watch a series of lightning bolts slash across the sky, slicing through the autumn trees like bony fingers. Heavy thunder shook the building and churning gray clouds covered the sky.

  “And that Monica,” Jazz said, sliding a glance to Lexi after a particularly fierce flash of lightning. “What did she want? And why is she such an epic she-beast?”

  Lexi avoided Jazz’s gaze and lifted her finger to trace the lines of water streaming down the window. “Who knows what she wants? She’s a freak.”

  “You got that right. No wonder she never has any friends.” Jazz moved away from the window. “See ya at lunch.”

  Monica a she-beast? Jasmine didn’t know the half of it. And she wasn’t going to. And neither was anyone else.

  Just as Lexi was about to turn the other way and head to history, she spotted the baseball team’s freakiest but best-playing pair, second baseman Tony Jackson and shortstop Scott MacArthur.

  She moved away from the wild storm outside as she smoothed her hair into place and, wearing her best you’re-going-to-sign-for-me-now smile, called, “Hey, Shortie, hi, Spaz.”

  Spaz rolled up, tipping the brim of his oversize white Tigers cap so it covered one of his bright blue eyes. “Yo, Lexi, I done told you, it’s S-Paz.”

  “I’m not calling you that. Not now. Not ever.” Good God. But what else can you expect from a guy who put rims on a Jeep Wrangler?

  “Why you hatin’ on me like that?” He rolled his head one way then the other. “Why can’t you show a brother some luv?”

  Watching him run his fingers across the gleaming silver hat size sticker, she shook her head, held out her auction sheet and Bic. “Sign this.”

  “Due to the sad news on the streets, S-Paz and his boy aren’t doin’ buiznass today,” Spaz said, reaching down to haul up his insanely huge jeans.

  How could he not know that scene was so completely over? “Sign now and I won’t remember that Pretty Ricky poster you had hanging in your locker all through middle school.” Then, crossing her gaze to Shortie, she added, “I won’t remember that dance when you and—”

  “Gimme that.” Shortie signed, then passed the sheet and made sure Spaz took care of business.

  The whole incident was over in a matter of seconds.

  “Thank you, boys,” she called over the ringing bell, trotting down the almost empty hall.

  Tiptoeing into history class, she scooted past the first two rows and tucked herself into her assigned seat.

  Miss Crossman, perched on her desk in a horrible black and red polka-dot dress and looking as subdued as everyone else, leaned over to make eye contact. “Lexi?”

  Lexi’s heart thumped. She really did not need to get sent to the office. “Yeah?”

  “The quiz has been postponed until tomorrow.” She tapped the sheet of paper in her hands against her desk and added, “I was just telling everyone that Coach Filpot’s funeral will be on Saturday.” After saying some stuff about counseling available during lunch and after school, she started with where they’d left off the day before.

  Lexi tried to get into whatever Miss C was saying about the oh-so-important Whiskey Rebellion, but the only thing rolling around her head was Jazz’s question—what’s the big deal about being president?

  It’d be easy to convince her friend that she wanted the spot to make her look good. Everyone knew Lexi picked school activities based on how they’d look on college applications.

  Everything she did—like adding to the ever-growing pile of college packets on her desk—she did to get closer to getting into the best school possible. Sure, having a degree would be great someday, but that stack on her desk represented something more important—her ticket out of Cherry Grove.

  But the plain truth about the president’s spot was that it’d give her instant respect. And it wasn’t her future that fueled her desire for respect. It was her past. Back when she let losers—like Dale—take advantage of her and control her life.

  A year ago, when she’d gotten her license, she’d figured out what a total manipulator her stepdad really was. It was obvious he hated losing control,
because he’d taken every opportunity he could find to butt into her life. And ask questions.

  Where was she going?

  Who would be there?

  Why did she want to hang out with them?

  Each time he came up with another ridiculous concern, he’d share it with her mom. Eventually her mom had started thinking Dale knew what he was talking about. Why couldn’t she see the only thing he cared about was wedging himself between them, keeping the two of them from being close the way they’d been before he’d shown up?

  When he’d started taking those out-of-town jobs, Lexi had hoped things would get better between her and her mom, but they hadn’t. Sure, they got to spend time together while he was away, doing mom and daughter stuff, but her mom constantly talked about him like he was still there, like he mattered. In a way he was there, because he always reappeared, claiming he had to sign in at the union local to see what companies were hiring welders. Every time he showed up, she welcomed him back as though his coming and going was normal, as though all husbands acted that way.

  Lexi ran her finger down the edge of the desk, assuring herself for the thousandth time that she’d never let herself be treated like crap again. The first step to making that happen was getting named boosters’ president. She’d start under Taylor during basketball season then take over completely in the spring. Next year things would be perfect. Her last year in Cherry Grove would be everything she wanted it to be. Why? The boosters’ president was on top. Whatever she wanted—she got. Invitations, attention, best seats anywhere, rides to everywhere and most of all—no-questions-asked, just do-what-I-say—respect.

  “What’re you smiling about?”

  The husky whisper came from the next row over. Outfielder Peter Archer—auction list prospect—had pulled his gaze away from the drizzle-spattered window.

  Luck was on Lexi’s side and this chance to sign up another player wasn’t to be wasted. With practiced ease, she forced the raw emotions deep inside where they couldn’t do damage, broadened her smile and angled over. “I’m thinking about you. And me.”

  Peter’s grin was full of promise. “You think you can talk me into signing?” Heading into his third season, he knew the girls were in fierce competition to get the most signatures. He folded his arms across his faded Cherry Grove hoodie. “You won’t get your chance till Friday night.”

  “We don’t have school on Friday, so make it Thursday.” Lexi gave him a slow once-over, admiring the way his long legs nearly hit the underside of the desk.

  His smirk told her he noticed her looking and liked it. “Pick you up at eight?”

  Lexi nodded, shifting her gaze back to Miss C and letting her smile drop. Progress, yes, but it wasn’t him she was really after.

  Chapter Three

  Some Jokes Aren’t Funny

  Thursday night after dinner, shower steam swirled around Lexi like a protective cloud, pushing away the insecurities that threatened to cling every time she went out with a guy.

  She’d gotten pretty good at keeping those annoying doubts at arm’s length, but still, that look on a guy’s face when he realized she really did mean no—sometimes it was hard to take. Not because she cared what they thought, but because it made them harder to handle.

  At least with Peter they both knew she was after his signature. He’d see how much he could get. She’d give as little as possible.

  Sure, the whole night might be a hassle, but in the end she’d get what she wanted.

  Even after Lexi rinsed out her conditioner and shaved every possible place on her legs, she still had some extra time, so she covered her face with an orange facial mask then stretched across her bed, waiting for the mixture to do its thing.

  “Lexi?” her mother called from behind the door. “Can I come in?”

  Not the best time, but Lexi still couldn’t completely give up on having a real relationship with her mom. Trying not to crack the mask, she replied through her teeth, “Sure.”

  Lexi lifted herself up as the door swung open.

  Indescribably horrible pleated jeans and a garage sale sweatshirt. It was her mom’s usual at-home uniform. Lexi could comment about the dreadful outfit, but why bother? Her mom would never change.

  “Who’re you going out with tonight?” she asked, sliding the stack of college information packets aside and propping herself against the white wicker desk. Photographs of booster girls were scattered across the glass top behind her.

  “Peter Archer. He plays baseball.”

  Lexi added that second piece of information not because it mattered, but because for some inane reason her mom loved it when she went out with the jocks. Maybe she thought they came from good homes.

  Better families.

  Translation—richer families.

  “You’ll bring him in so I can meet him?” she asked, a hopeful light in her hazel eyes.

  Lexi lifted herself onto her elbows and took in her mom’s second-hand clothing disaster. The pants were the second reason the answer to that would be no.

  The first?

  The last time she’d brought a guy in for her mom to meet, she’d fussed over him like he was some actor in a lame TV show and she was one of those ladies who served lemonade and homemade cookies. Her mom always acted the same way with Dale, hanging around him like he needed constant special attention. Maybe she thought treating guys that way made her attractive, but it really just made her look ridiculous and, even worse, easier to step on.

  But Lexi couldn’t say all that. “If we have time, I’ll bring him in.”

  “That’ll be fine,” she said, nodding vaguely as she gazed around the room. Eventually she came back around to look at Lexi. “How’s everyone at school feeling about Coach Filpot?”

  “Bummed.” Thinking about the guys in science earlier that week, she added, “Some are saying stupid stuff but most everyone still feels bad, especially because it was so sudden.”

  Her mom nodded again. “That staff are shaken up too. I’ve been trying to call Mrs. Filpot all week, but she isn’t answering the phone. I left some voicemails, but well…” Her mom picked up one of the group photos. “Can’t say that I blame her, you know, for not wanting to talk to anyone. I remember when after…”

  Lexi wanted to encourage her mom to talk about those times but after the week she’d had, didn’t have the strength. Dealing with Monica, worrying about getting the signatures, and the thing with Jon had her stretched so tight even the smallest emotion might make her lose it. She pushed herself all the way up. “Have to rinse.”

  “I won’t keep you.” Her mom tipped her head, that hopeful light starting to shine in her eyes. “I’m sure you want to look good for your guy.”

  Your guy.

  Oh please.

  Her mom put the picture down, straightened it so it was perfectly in line with the others, then stood, looking over suddenly, the pain of thinking about losing her first husband gone. “Don’t forget about the surprise I promised.”

  The real smile that spread across Lexi’s face felt strange but good. “Oh, right, I haven’t.”

  “Great.”

  Then the moment was gone.

  After her mom started down the stairs, Lexi headed for the bathroom to rinse off the mask and dig her scented moisturizer from the linen closet. Glancing at her too-short legs and flat butt, she knew she didn’t have a perfect figure, but compared to the other girls at school she looked as good.

  Except Monica.

  Monica stood about three inches taller. With perfect, eye-catching C boobs that most girls had to pay for with their graduation money.

  Everything about Monica looked perfect.

  Witness the partial list—National Honor Society, student government treasurer, regular office volunteer, consistent doer of all things right. All the teachers liked her. Why wouldn’t they? She did everything they told her to and managed to do—or look like she was doing—the right thing even when they didn’t.

  Family-wise, she also l
ooked perfect. Both her parents were accountants and they all lived together in an awesome brick Georgian in the Briarwood subdivision, right across the street from Zoë Weinberg, whose mom was the real estate queen who owned practically half of Cherry Grove.

  Lexi had the grades—better than Monica’s, in fact—but not that complete perfection. Perfection so plastic it would snap if tested. But Lexi wasn’t about to do anything to test it, because the nasty secrets hiding inside Monica’s life were so foul they could ruin them both. And that instant respect Lexi craved? Not a chance. And losing that would be just the start.

  Thank God Jon was okay.

  After tossing the lotion back into the closet, Lexi sprayed herself with the matching body spray, promised herself she’d stop obsessing over Monica—at least for the night—then marched back to her room. While she was pushing in silver hoop earrings, the bass of Ke$ha blaring out of Peter’s mounted speakers nearly shook the framed photos off her desk. Then the street fell silent, followed by the thud of a car door.

  No way was she going to put Peter through the Ridiculous Pampering Experience. She tied her shrunken pink hoodie around her waist as she tiptoed down the steps. The corny sound of laugh track TV floated in from the other room as Lexi crept out of the door and hurried to the curb.

  Peter had climbed out of his black H2 and stood on a corner of the leaf-covered grass with his hands shoved into his tattered Red Monkey jeans, tugging them even lower on his narrow hips. He grinned. Or was it a leer? “I don’t think I’ve ever picked up a girl who was actually ready when I got there.”

  “No big deal,” she replied, jogging toward him. “I put on some clean clothes”—she flipped her hands back, inviting his appraisal—“and here I am.”

  With the band of his black Hanes cutting a path across his tight stomach, and his sun-bleached curls covering one eye, he looked damn good. But then his personality ruined the moment because instead of saying something decent, he stared at her boobs then checked out her crotch.

  Lexi liked knowing she could get a guy’s attention, but those looks bugged her. Sure, it was normal to look at people but a guy didn’t have to be gross about it. Like each guy had his own pair of invisible X-ray goggles, and he spent his whole day looking for some girl to test them out on.