The Queen of Kentucky

by Alecia Whitaker

  “I just want to look nice!” I defend myself.

  “No, not that that’s a bad thing, Ricki Jo!” he says, glancing down at me and then back over his shoulder. “You look great. Really pretty, actually. Just, you didn’t care before and you were still”—he stammers on—“y-you know… pretty.”

  I smile. Honestly, hearing that makes me feel like every part of my body has lungs and just got a deep breath of fresh air. My folks call me pretty sometimes, but it sounds totally different coming from a boy—even if that boy is just Luke. Looking up at him, I see the back of his neck redden a little and think it’s really cute the way his hair curls back there when it’s time for a haircut. He’s still looking in the opposite direction, but he’s fidgety.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, tapping his leg with the stick in my hands.

  “Yeah,” he says looking back at me for a quick second. “Yeah, fine, just, you know. I don’t want you to get mad or anything.”

  “Why would I get mad?” I ask.

  “You know,” he says quietly. “ ’Cause you’re turning into those girls on the outside, and I’m afraid you’re gonna start changing on the inside, too. That’s all.”

  I think about what he says. Of course I want to look like those girls—they’re beautiful and popular guy magnets. I mean, I don’t want to be as bossy as Kimi or let a guy rule me like Sarah does, but it wouldn’t be bad to be more like Mackenzie or Laura. They’re really nice and they have that something. Seventeen calls it the “It Factor”: the inner quality stars have that makes them shine. I could use some shine, and I feel like the more I rub elbows with those girls, the better chance I have of some of that It Factor rubbing off on me.

  Speaking of Laura, she did ask me a little favor before I disgracefully bowed out of the sleepover….

  “Did you have fun with Laura at the party?” I ask, fishing.

  Luke looks me directly in the eye. “I had fun at the party, and Laura is nice, but we’re just friends.”

  “Well, I think she’s pretty and I think she likes you and—”

  “I think it’s none of your business, Ricki Jo,” he interrupts.

  “Ericka,” I correct.

  “Ericka at school,” he says, “but you’re still Ricki Jo out here. My normal, fun, best friend Ricki Jo.”

  He goes in for a noogie, but I maneuver my way out of it and jump on his back. He spins around a few times and I swing out from his body, my arms gripped tightly around his neck, shrieking. As we go round and round, I start to laugh. I laugh so hard that I let go and collapse in the grass. He picks up my stick and pokes me.

  “Stop!” I shriek, crab-walking back to the edge of the creek. He follows, poking my sides. “Stop it!”

  I wrench the stick away and throw it in the water, ruining his little game. I stick out my tongue and roll over on my stomach, resting my chin on my hands and searching the water for minnows and crawdads. Luke grunts and falls down next to me, poking a long finger in the water.

  “Why do you think they always walk backward?” I ask, peering at a huge crawdad that’s moving toward a big rock.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Crawdaddies are probably all teenagers. Teenage girls.”

  I chuckle and flick cool creek water at him. He gives me a warning look and I put my arms up in surrender. The last thing I need is a water fight.

  He’s right, though. A lot of the time, I feel totally backward. Like everything I do is inside out. I dress wrong and have to go back to square one to catch up with the style. I’ve never been kissed, so I read articles about other girls’ stories. Everybody I know is growing, while I seem to be stuck in the body of a ten-year-old boy. And my new friends all have crushes on the boy I’m in love with.

  Luke and I fall into one of our comfortable silences. My mind races as I watch life move below the water’s surface. Luke’s forehead is all crinkled up as he swirls his finger around in circles. The grass swishes in the wind, a constant, soothing, brushing sound.

  Twenty minutes sneak by, and then I yawn and stretch and roll over onto my back. Big, fluffy clouds blow across the sky in a hurried fashion. It’s going to storm.

  “Yeah,” I finally say, looking over at Luke. “Being fourteen kind of sucks.”

  He nods, hypnotized by the water. “Old enough to know better, but too young to do anything about it.”

  There’s definitely a storm on the way.

  “It’s golden blond, Ricki Jo,” my momma laments. “You can’t even see it.”

  I have used my momma’s Nair on my legs a few times before, and the hair just floated away in the shower; but my first JV game is after school tomorrow and I want to shave my legs. For real.

  “It’s just gonna grow back thicker, and black,” she warns.

  “Momma, you don’t have to stay in here,” I complain. “I can do it on my own.”

  She snorts and crosses her arms. “You’ll cut yourself to pieces.”

  After supper, I sneaked into my parents’ bathroom and stole her Venus razor and shaving cream. Back in the privacy of the bathroom I share with Ben, I foamed up my left leg and propped it on the sink. But after the first stroke I felt a terrible stinging and saw blood pouring out of a gash by my ankle. That’s when I freaked out and hollered like hell for my momma.

  “Okay, first of all, you have to use a new blade,” she says now, showing me how to click off the old one and replace it with a new one. She hands me the razor and I prop my leg back up on the sink. Then she tries to guide my hand up my leg. She actually tries to shave my legs for me!

  “Momma,” I whine. “I can do it myself!”

  She lets go and backs away, her hands in the air in surrender, and sits down on the edge of the tub. As I start again at the bottom of my shin, she leans forward. “Now, you don’t need to bear down so hard. And make sure you stay in a straight line.”

  I sigh heavily. She cleaned up the blood, I’ve calmed down, and now I wish she’d just leave me alone. She’s probably afraid I’ll bleed all over the white bath mat or something. I try to ignore her as I swipe, rinse the razor, and swipe again. She’s right about my leg hair—it’s totally blond—but it’s there. And it’s long. And every other girl I know shaves her legs already.

  “Ricki Jo!” my dad yells from outside the bathroom door. “Telephone call.”

  “Who is it?” I yell back, almost finished with my left leg.

  “It’s your friend Mackenzie,” he replies.

  “Oh! Okay, hold on!” I call, sliding the razor around in my excitement and nicking my knee. “Ow!” These Venus razors are nice, but three blades is a little excessive.

  “Take a message, Clark,” Momma yells, leaping forward to blot the new cut with an old washrag.

  “No! Pass the phone in, Daddy!” I shout, swatting at my momma to give me the rag and go get the phone.

  She shakes her head, a total basket case over nothing, and unlocks the door. My dad passes her the phone and she hands it to me, clearly annoyed.

  “Hello?” I say nonchalantly, as if I don’t have one leg cocked up and bleeding or an overbearing mother sucking all the air out of the room.

  “Hey, Ericka!” Mackenzie starts, excited. “I’m calling up the girls to go down to the movie theater for the seven o’clock.”

  “It’s always the seven o’clock,” I tell her. “And only the seven o’clock.”

  “Oh.” She pauses, clearly thinking she’s back in Minnesota, where there are movie theaters that show more than one movie, more than once a day. “Well, whatever, that’s the one. You want to go?”

  I look at my momma and know there’s nothing doing. For one thing, I have school tomorrow. Two, my right leg is still in Sasquatch mode. Three, she would have to drop me off and then wait around town ’til it’s over to pick me up. And anyway, I already saw this week’s feature. Dad took us Friday, for the family Friday five-dollar special.

  “Um, I don’t think I can make it,” I say sadly, “but thanks for inviting me!”<
br />
  “Totally,” Mackenzie says. “We’ll miss you.”

  Worried that I might be replaced in my absence, I say, “New Girls BFFs, right?”

  She giggles. “Totally. New Girls BFFs for-eva!”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Another rookie mistake on my part. Awesome. Turns out going to the movies isn’t at all about the movie itself. Who cares if I’d already seen it? I should’ve begged and pleaded to go again. If I had, I’d be taking part in the wild laughter going on between the girls—yeah, okay, the Fab Four—around Kimi’s locker. Instead, I stand outside their circle, looking for an in and trying to catch up with the incredible amount of drama that must’ve gone down last night.

  “I can’t believe he tried to hold my hand,” Laura whispers.

  The other three squeal and whisper over one another. Who? Who tried to hold her hand?

  I try to follow along, standing up on tiptoes as far as I can go, my entire torso pressed up against their Red Rover–esque embrace, but it’s no use. The four of them are huddled tightly around Kimi, oblivious to the rest of the world. Jimmy James approaches Sarah and she actually waves him off. Apparently, nothing interrupts a good social recap.

  “Where were you last night?” Wolf asks, loudly banging his fist against the locker behind me and making me jump.

  I turn from the girls and face him, feeling encouraged that he missed my presence, but still not my usual swooning self. I may have smooth legs, but I just lost the foothold I had in my quest for fabulosity. It sucks feeling left out—and all because a PG repeat wasn’t worth seven dollars.

  “I’d already seen it,” I tell him weakly.

  “Ah,” he says, opening his locker.

  I lean my head back against my own locker and close my eyes. Conversations roll past, steady, volume increasing and decreasing, the student body an ocean lolling through the hallways. Wolf leans over to me and lowers his voice. “Want to know a secret?”

  I open my eyes and nod. He leans in even closer and puts his hand up to the side of my face, moving a piece of hair away from my mouth. There’s that cologne again. There’s that spearmint breath.

  “I saw you at the movies on family night,” he says.

  I turn and look at him, stunned, and try to remember what I wore on Friday. Then horror washes over me as I remember my momma and daddy wearing their matching I’M WITH JESUS T-shirts.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I whisper.

  “Eh, I don’t know.” He shrugs, his attention back on his locker. “You were holding your dad’s hand, and I didn’t know what to say.”

  Oh. My. God. He’s right. In a moment of blind ignorance, I so desperately wanted a snow cone that I held my dad’s hand to butter him up for the three bucks. I had just spent more on Mackenzie’s gift than I meant to and I’m a sucker for frozen ice and blue syrup.

  Before I can explain, Mackenzie interrupts, the other three girls flanking her.

  “Hey, Ericka,” she says, and I smile. “Do you feel better?”

  “Yeah, totally,” I say, not wanting to explain my mushroom allergy in front of Wolf.

  Kimi breasts herself forward, aiming right for Wolf, but nearly taking my eye out.

  “Did you like the movie last night, Wolf?” she asks, and her gaggle giggles.

  He hangs on his locker, grinning at them, cocky as ever. I want to work my fingers down each button of his polo. I’m not sure what I would do after that, but I’m sure he looks good with his shirt off.

  “What movie?” he asks mischievously.

  All the girls giggle again and I look up at him, confused.

  The bell rings, lockers slam, and we head for homeroom. Wolf grabs my arm and pulls me back while everybody else leaves.

  “I go on Friday to see the show,” he explains, grinning like the Cheshire cat, “ ’cause if I go again on Sunday, the movie is the last thing on my mind.”

  “Who made out with Wolf?” I want to know.

  That’s all that’s on my mind. The cafeteria is buzzing and I’m sure that one of the girls here has tasted his lips and I want to find and kill her. And knowing the top fives of this particular crowd, I am emboldened and want answers.

  “I didn’t recognize the girl,” Sarah says.

  “How could you?” Kimi asks. “You were too busy kissing Jim-Jim.”

  They all laugh.

  “Or James-James,” Mackenzie adds.

  They all laugh again.

  I feel like missing the sleepover part of the sleepover was a major blow to my place in the clique, but skipping movie night really knocked me off my game. The girls are all friendly enough, but these inside jokes are starting to wear on my nerves. Mostly because I’m on the outside. Plus, as the fifth wheel, I have no one to whisper secrets to when the others pair off doing the same.

  “All of us but Sarah had him on our top five boys list, and none of you sat by him or saw who he was with?” I ask incredulously.

  “All I know for sure is that she is either an upperclassman or from another county,” Laura says confidently. “I stared for a long time, but I just could not place that ponytail.”

  Inexcusable. Frankly, I question Laura’s right to have him on her list at all. Popping Tater Tot after Tater Tot into my mouth, I seethe.

  The final bell has come and gone and I wait for Luke at his locker. Today sucked. Really sucked. I never thought I would say this, but I can’t wait to get on the school bus. I just want to get out of this building and go home. Maybe I’ll skip rocks with Luke or go four-wheeling or play basketball outside the Fosters’ black barn. I don’t care, as long as I’m doing something to get my mind off of how hard making new friends is… and how bad I wish Wolf had been kissing me last night.

  When Luke’s lanky frame turns the corner in front of me, I smile. When I see the redheaded girl at his side, my smile falters.

  “What’s up?” he asks, messing up my hair.

  “Ugh! What’s up with you?” I ask, frogging him hard on the forearm.

  “Ow!”

  “Hey, Candace,” I say, not really sure what else is appropriate.

  “Hey, Ricki Jo,” she says. I stiffen, but I sense more indifference than malice on her part, so I let it slide.

  Luke bends down to trade books out of his bag while Candace and I stand on either side of him, opposite each other, silent and awkward. Minutes pass. I look down and see Luke fiddling with his backpack zipper, obviously stalling. I sigh loudly, realizing that he’s waiting for us to make up, so I look for something to say to Candace.

  “What’s new?” I ask. Lame.

  “Nothin’,” she answers.

  “Didn’t you say something about the school paper, Candace?” Luke asks, looking up at us and obviously leading her.

  “I already asked her to join band and she thought it was dumb,” she replies, looking down at him defiantly. “What makes you think our new cheerleader is going to think the school paper is any better?”

  “School paper?” I ask, knowing she’s a good writer. She’s had two letters to the editor published in The Breckinridge Times. “Are you on it?”

  “I think I’m going to go to the meeting Thursday, you know, just to see what it’s all about,” she says, guarded.

  “That’s cool,” I say, forgetting our feud and feeling kind of psyched about the paper. “I didn’t know freshmen were allowed.”

  “Yeah.” She shrugs. “You just gotta submit a letter of interest and a work sample.”

  “Cool,” I say again, thinking about the story I just wrote in my journal about Kimi and the great babysitting fiasco. “So, you turn it in at the meeting?”

  “Basically.”

  “You should go, too, Ricki Jo,” Luke says, flicking his blond hair off his forehead and looking up at me.

  “Nah,” Candace says. “She’s too big-time. And probably really busy with cheerleading and her fake friends.”

  I blow a frustrated sigh through my bangs and face Candac
e. “Look, Candace, this is dumb. We were friends before and I’m sorry I’m not in band and I’m sorry you don’t like cheerleaders and I’m sorry I haven’t called as much lately and I’m sorry that you hate me for trying to make new friends, but we were friends before and I’m the same person, okay?”

  That was the longest run-on sentence of my life, and I need a breath. I want to say so much more, like how frustrating it is to base my friendships on extracurriculars or how hard it is to please everybody. And I feel guilty that she thinks I’ve blown her off, but also angry that she’s being so judgmental. But mainly, I just don’t have enough friends to have enemies. And I actually like Candace. And I want a truce.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Candace sighs, scraping the black nail polish off her thumbnail. “It’s a stupid fight.”

  “Thank you,” I say, leaning back against the locker next to Luke’s. I watch a few kids walk by and realize that I’m starting to recognize some of the faces in the crowd.

  “And, I don’t know,” I continue, looking over at Candace. “The school paper might be a good way for me to meet some more people.”

  “That’s true,” she says, softening the teeniest bit.

  “I kind of have a column idea in mind,” I go on, “but I don’t know how much they let freshmen write.”

  She glances at me, the closest we’ve come to eye contact. “From what I hear, they actually base it on skill, and not class. So you probably have a good shot.”

  “Yeah?” I say, loosening up. “Well, you’re a good writer, too, and I think it’d be a fun thing to do together.”

  Candace lightens up a little more. When she relaxes her shoulders and lets her facial muscles go slack, it’s like talking to a whole other person. I don’t know what makes someone that guarded, but it reminds me a little of Luke. I hope he’s never hurt as bad as someone must’ve hurt her. I shudder.

  “Anyway,” she says, “it’s in Miss Davis’s room on Thursday during lunch, so you should probably bring some food from home that day.”

  “Aw, man!” I groan. “And miss out on Salisbury steak?”