The Queen of Kentucky

by Alecia Whitaker

  We both laugh and Luke stands up looking self-satisfied. He closes his locker and we walk toward the back of the building.

  “I think they do the yearbook, too,” Candace says thoughtfully.

  “Oh! That’d be fun,” I say, imagining a shot of myself on top of the pyramid at tonight’s JV game. Then I think about Photoshopping a pic of Wolf and me together in the yearbook: Best Couple. In your face, mysterious ponytailed wench. “That’d be really fun.”

  “Did you know that Sunday night is, like, make-out at the movies night?” I ask Luke once we’re settled in a seat at the back of the bus. We slide down low and put our knees up against the seat in front of us, blocking out all the other kids and making our own world.

  “Uh, how do you think Claire got pregnant?” he asks.

  “At the movie theater?” I exclaim, stupefied.

  “Good Lord, Ricki Jo, you’re so gullible.” He laughs. “No, not at the movies. But seriously, the movies, The Square, wherever. Horny teenagers will go anywhere to get it on.”

  As we bump through the west side of our county, he asks me about my classes and cheerleading and I ask him about his classes and how things are going at home. Not surprisingly, I do most of the talking. When we finally get close to his stop, he asks me to get off with him.

  “Um, I can’t go down to the pond in my school clothes,” I say. It’s always been a lame rule, but now that I buy clothes with my own money, I take it a little more to heart. Plus, kitten heels aren’t really made for farm life. “Let me go change and we’ll meet after.”

  “Come on,” he says. “Thumper had babies and I want to show you.”

  Luke’s little brother has a black rabbit, and the thought of seeing its bunnies convinces me to go with him. I take off my shoes and follow him down the ribbed rubber aisle of the school bus, trying to avoid any candy or gum that the screaming munchkins sitting up front may have dropped.

  We climb down the bus stairs and cross in front of it to Luke’s yard. I see that pack of mean dogs in the road up ahead and, not long after, hear the bus driver yelling at them to get out of the way. Claire is on the front porch swing feeding her baby girl, and their little brother squats nearby playing with his Tonka trucks.

  “I heard Thumper’s a momma,” I say, grinning down at him. “Let’s go out back. I want you to show me the bunnies and tell me all their names.”

  He looks up at me but doesn’t smile.

  “What’s wrong, buddy?” Luke asks, bending down and ruffling his sandy hair. Looking up at Luke, the little guy’s eyes fill with tears. When we look over at Claire, we know something’s wrong.

  “Where’s Momma?” Luke asks.

  “Taking a bath,” she answers.

  “And Daddy?”

  She looks him in the eye. “Out back.”

  Luke looks away, his face hard, fists clenched. “He hit her?”

  She sighs and looks over at their little brother, who is focusing intently on his trucks. “As soon as the boys went out to feed, he came hobbling in the living room, looking for a fight,” Claire says softly. “He always waits ’til the boys are gone.”

  “I should’ve been here,” Luke says.

  Claire stands up, baby on her hip, and walks over to Luke. She’s about his height, and she looks him straight in the eye. “Lukie, you’ve got a big heart, but he’s a big man. And ain’t nothing you can do about it. Understand? Nothing you can do.”

  I stand in the yard, the grass cool between my toes, and look away. I am not supposed to see this.

  I turn from the porch and look over toward the back of my house, way over the hills, way over what’s happening in front of me, way over Luke starting to shake in Claire’s arms. I think about the times the Fosters had “tiffs” and his momma sent us down to the pond. I think about Luke’s busted lip at my cookout.

  I know Mr. Foster gets mean when he drinks, cusses and throws things (that’s why I’m not allowed to work his farm without my dad being there, and why I can’t be over at Luke’s if his momma isn’t home), but it didn’t seem real before. Even when Luke talks about it, which is hardly ever and not in detail, it still seems far away, like one of those things that only happens in the movies.

  Tears spring to my eyes before I realize it, startling me from my trance. I wipe my eyes and face the road, my back to this nightmare. Knowing Luke and his pride, he won’t want my pity.

  And he won’t want to talk about it later.

  Dad’s diesel truck hiccups its rough rhythm all the way to town. We sit quietly, just the two of us, eyes trained hard on the same green scenery we drive by every day as if this were the first time. From the passenger window, I watch the sun slide down in the sky slowly, slipping behind houses and barns and the new subdivision near the city line. My mind works overtime.

  I try to concentrate on my cheerleading chants, marking the motions in my seat and blocking out the memory of the look on Luke’s face when I left this afternoon. Momma curled my hair before I left the house, so that my ponytail has a perky, spirally bounce. I feel pretty in my uniform—a sleeveless maroon tank with PCHS across the chest in gold, and a pleated maroon skirt with gold trim. Momma’s right, the skirts are short, but we get to wear these cute maroon panty-type things over our real panties so we don’t flash anyone.

  I am the image of pep.

  So why do I feel so lousy?

  My dad finds a spot near the back door of the gym and Momma and Ben pull up next to us. Dad, decked out in his Toyota uniform, can stay only a little while before he has to go to work.

  “It means a lot that you can make the first quarter at least,” I say to him, grabbing my pom-poms from the backseat.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he says and winks.

  I shut the door and we all walk together toward the gym. I look up at my dad and think about Luke’s dad. Then I put my arm around his waist, which totally shocks him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders—but only ’til we reach the door.

  When I enter the gym, my stomach flips. The boys are warming up on one end of the court and I see our rivals shooting around on the other end. Mamaw and Papaw are in the bleachers already, and she starts cheering the second she sees me.

  “Go, Ricki Jo!” Mamaw chants, high pitched, over and over. Papaw helps her up and she starts to clap and whistle between two fingers. “Ricki Jo Winstead! That’s my grandbaby!”

  Cringing, I give her a quick wave and then race across the court to meet the rest of my squad in the tunnel behind the bleachers.

  “Winstead,” Coach says, her eyes twinkling, “I’m not sure if you noticed, but your grandmother’s here.”

  I turn beet red and the other girls laugh good-naturedly. Everybody knows my mamaw.

  “She loves the Stallions,” I offer up and we all laugh.

  The six other girls on my squad are pretty down-to-earth, and I have a few classes with some of them. Cheering hasn’t given me a ton of new friends like I thought it would, but everybody’s nice and I’m getting to know them better with each practice. Now we stretch out, our adrenaline pumping, and a few girls tumble. I’m not confident enough to do my new back handspring without a spotter, so I just keep going over my chants and motions.

  When the first whistle blows and the game gets under way, my nerves start to settle. I smile, nod, and jump.

  “R… E… R-E-B-O-U-N-D. Rebound, Stallions! Rebound!”

  I shake my pom-poms and lunge up on my toes and back. I feel like a Preston County cheerleader. Like I belong.

  The first half goes pretty well… for our cheerleading squad and the visiting team. At halftime we do our big routine, and the small crowd goes nuts when I fly into the air, turn over and over tucked tightly into a ball, and lay out straight in the basket toss. Then, when they toss me back up, I falter a tad, but I stick my standing liberty. I look over at my family and see my momma wiping away a tear.

  “Stallions, number one!” we shout, pumping our fingers in the air, then gallop giddily off t
he court. I can’t stop smiling, I’m on such a high.

  As we regroup on the sideline, I grab my water bottle and sit down by the other girls. “That was awesome,” I say, a little out of breath.

  “Totally,” one girl says. And then she screams, pointing to a skinny guy climbing the bleachers. “I can’t believe he came! Look! My boyfriend’s here! Look!”

  We all look, feeling jealous at the sight of the shy boy with long hair sipping on a Slurpee, all of us wishing we were as red-faced and nervous as she is in this moment. As the players take the court again, we take our places on the sideline and give it our all.

  “Shoot for two!” (clap, clap) “Shoot for two!” (clap, clap)

  I smile, nod, bob my ponytail with fierce pep, and wiggle spirit fingers all night long.

  I wish Luke were here.

  I wish Wolf were here.

  We lose the game, but I float back to my family on cloud nine. My momma shows me some of the video she took and I can’t wait to upload it to YouTube. Somehow, this horrible day has been saved.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  I walk into school with a little more confidence each day. Slowly but surely, I’m making friends. Slowly but surely, I’m figuring out the school and how it works. And slowly but very surely, I’m working up more and more nerve around David Wolfenbaker.

  Bright and early Friday morning, I pass Kimi, Sarah, and her boyfriend to take my place at Wolf’s locker in my new tan romper, studded skinny belt, and tall flat boots with knee socks (“showing a little leg without looking overexposed”—a tip from guess what mag). Wolf swaggers toward me, wary of my grin, and starts turning his dial, then suddenly stops, sensing my stare.

  “You think I’m stupid?” he asks.

  “Whatever do you mean?” I respond, wide-eyed.

  “You’re just waiting to close my locker as soon as I open it.”

  “Moi?” I ask, feigning great indignation and vigorously batting my eyelashes.

  “Come here,” he says, smiling, and quickly wraps his arm around me, pinning my arms at my sides. My face is squished up against his blue striped polo and I’m getting high on his cologne.

  “There,” he says, popping open his locker and planting a high-top sneaker in the bottom as a stopper. He loosens his grip and I look up at him.

  “You’re free to go,” he says, tweaking my freckled nose softly.

  I shake off the vertigo and turn to my left, coming face-to-face with a smirking Kimi, who’s been watching the whole time. It’s been a week since the sleepover and theater scandals, and I’ve made very little progress in reestablishing myself as the fifth member of the fabulous freshmen circle.

  “What was that all about?” Kimi asks conspiratorially. The last thing I need is her mentioning our top fives in front of the one guy who made almost all our lists, so I try a diversionary tactic.

  “I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure he ruined my hair,” I say with a grin, knowing how she feels about perfect hair.

  She gives me a once-over and grins back, a nicer version of her usual self, and opens her locker door wider. “Check it out,” she says, indicating a large pink sparkly mirror. “I’ve got hair spray if you need it.”

  I stand on tiptoes and check my ’do. Not bad.

  “I like your dress,” I hear from behind me. Mackenzie’s brother, Mark, is standing there, awkward, his hands tucked in his jeans pockets, his face flushed. “Or, um, your shorts. Or outfit, or whatever.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I say, trying not to giggle. He’s a cute guy, but so obviously nervous.

  He tilts his head and looks around, shifting his weight to his other foot. “See ya,” he says, heading off.

  I watch him walk away and catch Wolf giving me a What was that? look. I shrug and lightly elbow Kimi, who’s giggling hysterically. Poor Mark.

  “Ericka!” Mackenzie yells from somewhere to my right.

  I look over quickly, surprised by the tension in her voice as she rushes toward me, weaving through the thickening hallway traffic. I squeeze past Kimi, Sarah, and the “sleazebag quarterback” Jimmy James to get to her.

  “What’s up?” I say, smiling big.

  “Let’s go to homeroom,” she answers, hushed and urgent.

  I let her drag me down the hallway and we duck inside Mrs. Wilkes’s room a full four minutes before the bell is set to ring. This must be super important for her to give up that much social time.

  “I have to ask you something,” she starts, tears in her eyes, “and I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Oh my gosh!” I say. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  She nods and sniffs a little, looking around, but we’re completely alone. “It’s algebra,” she says. “You have Mr. Sox, right?”

  I nod, hoping she’s not flunking out. They’ll kick her off Boys’ Varsity for bad grades.

  “Well,” she says, “I totally forgot about the take-home test until I looked in my locker this morning, and I have him first period! I’ll never get it done in time, and it counts for a third of our grade!”

  At this, she breaks down crying. I feel awful for her. She looks at me desperately, her blue eyes swimming in tears, and I give her a hug. I don’t know what else to do.

  “So?” she asks, wiping her face.

  I’m blank. “So…?”

  “Can you help me?”

  And then it hits me. She wants to copy off of my test.

  Not to sound like a prude, but I’m not a cheater. I mean, I’m not a holy roller, but I’m a hard worker. I spent hours working on my test, and we’ve had them since last Friday. It just seems unfair to hand my work over to somebody else who spent time at the movies flirting with cute boys instead of doing her own homework.

  “I mean, I had my birthday party and everything. I had to clean up for you guys to come over, and then clean up all over again after you left…. I had a lot going on,” she laments.

  This is so awkward. I mean, I did vomit at her house last weekend, but Mark told me they have a housekeeper. Plus, she had all week to finish the test.

  “I don’t know,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach. Oh, Lord, I cannot barf again.

  Mackenzie clutches my arm. “I would never ask for something like this, Ericka,” she says, “if it weren’t so major. And even though I’m totally embarrassed, you’re my best friend and I would, in a heartbeat, help you out in a pinch. You know that. You know I would.”

  I sigh heavily and swing my backpack up onto our table. Who am I kidding? I could never let a friend down, even if that friend is asking me to do something that brings with it mild nausea. I pull out my math folder and hesitate. She sits down, fishes a pencil out of her purse, and looks up at me, life-or-death desperation written all over her face.

  I pass my test to her, take my seat, and feel dirty as I watch her duplicate my formulas. She starts to fill out the top section and looks up at me again, smiling broadly.

  “You’re such a good friend, Ericka.”

  I smile weakly and continue to watch her, feeling miserable. The bell rings and the tables all around us fill. When Kimi sits down, she sees the test and lights up.

  “Oh my gosh! Is that Mr. Sox’s take-home? I didn’t get the last one.”

  Before I know it, Mackenzie is giving Kimi the last page while she continues scribbling down my other answers. Laura and Sarah take out their tests and begin comparing their answers. When Wolf sits down, he sees the expression on my face and looks puzzled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, grabbing a piece of my hair and searching for split ends.

  “Is that Mr. Sox’s take-home test?” he asks.

  I roll my eyes. Him, too?

  “Yeah!” Kimi exclaims. “You want to look at it?”

  She holds it up to him and Mackenzie snatches it back, not missing a beat as she scribbles furiously.

  Wolf looks at me, disappointed. “That yours, Ericka?”

  I gulp—He actually said my name
right—and then nod my head, guilty as charged.

  He shakes his head and lays it down on his books. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

  I feel sick. Sicker, I mean.

  “Thank you so much, Ericka,” Mackenzie says, finally handing me back my test with a flourish. “You totally saved me.”

  Wolf twists sideways in his chair, turning his back to us, facing the door and the clock above it.

  “What’s with him?” Kimi whispers.

  I shrug. “I guess he’s got something against copying.”

  Mackenzie makes a face. “Weirdo.” To me, she smiles and holds up her pinky finger. “New Girls BFFs?” she asks.

  This is what I want, right? I wrap my pinky around hers and smile. “Foreva!”

  And to my surprise, she squeals and gives me a gigantic hug.

  I missed the bus on purpose today. My life sort of flip-flopped in the course of six periods, and I’m not up for an hour-long ride home. I’d rather walk the mile to Mamaw and Papaw’s house and fake sick so they’ll fawn over me. They have a freezer full of popsicles, and cable television—just what the doctor ordered.

  Not that I’m sick. I just feel sort of, I don’t know, lousy. I mean, I am now totally sure of my standing in the Fab Five—and yes, we are definitely five. Kimi and Sarah gave me a mini-makeover at the lockers today before lunch (together, they have enough makeup to open a small cosmetics store), but I keep wondering about what Luke said the other day, about me changing on the inside. I don’t want to change on the inside. I want to be myself, but I’d like myself to be popular, too, if that’s an option.

  Ugh. I don’t know. I shake my head and make my way down the hall, dodging Luke. We still haven’t talked about what happened at his house Monday afternoon, which has made every conversation we have had this week totally awkward. And besides, I’ll feel pretty lame complaining about my problems when he’s obviously got a lot more going on. I just need to think.

  As I walk to the back door of the high school I pass the gym. I hear sneakers squeaking and kids milling around, so I pop in. Looks like most people are going to an extracurricular activity or just hanging out after school for a while. I drop my book bag on the bleachers and walk over to a rack of basketballs near the sidelines. I guess somebody’s got practice soon.