Confessions of a Queen B*

by Crista McHugh

“She’s my sister. Therefore, she’s exempt from my wrath.”

  His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “But not me, eh?”

  “Not even close.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at my computer screen. “I was just checking to make sure you didn’t have any worrisome alleles.”

  “Nope. Both my parents are in excellent health.”

  Which probably explained his outstanding genetics. I would willingly admit that Brett was pleasing in the looks department. Maybe even a little bit hot. He was six feet tall, lean and muscular with black hair, chocolaty brown eyes, and lashes my sister would pay good money for. He was tanned, too, although he appeared to have that rich coppery glow year-round. And he had to be somewhat intelligent because I’d seen him at Honor Society meetings.

  But he still was a jock, and the fact he was dating Summer made me deduct thirty-plus points in my overall rating of him.

  He finished labeling the last of his sticks and gathered them in his hands. “Ready?”

  “I suppose, if we must.” I followed his lead and dropped my sticks on the floor.

  “I’ll call out the alleles, and you enter them in the program.” He bent over, organizing the genetic traits one by one. He waited until the end before announcing proudly that the Y chromosome had reared its ugly head. He held up the Popsicle stick with a proud grin. “Congratulations! We’re having a boy!”

  “Oh, joy,” I said flatly, typing in that result a bit harder than normal. “There go half of his brain cells to testosterone.”

  Brett drew his dark brows together and studied me. “Do you not like guys or something?”

  “Are you suggesting I don’t?”

  “Well, the only guy I’ve ever seen you be nice to is Richard Wang, and let’s face it, he’s definitely not in the closet about his sexual orientation.”

  My cheeks burned. “Just because one of my best friends is gay doesn’t necessarily mean I am,” I replied, hoping to God no one else was listening to this conversation.

  “So you’re just an über-feminist or something, huh?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I added the “shut the hell up” edge to my voice that usually ended any conversation, but Brett was either too oblivious to catch the hint or completely immune to my Queen B powers.

  “Well, you’ve been known to deliver a good kick to the balls with just a look.”

  “Would you rather I deliver the real thing?”

  “Please don’t—I don’t need half the team on the injured roster this Friday.”

  I rolled my eyes and focused on saving our information into a file to email to Mr. DePaul so we’d get credit for this part of the project. Words were my weapons, not physical violence. “Is there a point to this conversation?”

  “I was just curious,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I needed to know if I should be wearing my cup for the next two weeks.”

  My lips twitched, much to my dismay. I should be pissed off that he was poking fun at me. I should be reinforcing my reputation as the Queen B of the school. But something about Brett intrigued me. He was the first person in a long time who actually seemed impervious to my barbs.

  Time to rectify that. “I doubt you have much to protect.”

  “Ow, that was a zinger,” he said with a mocking wince. “I expected better from you, Lexi.”

  I balled my hands into fists, fighting the uncharacteristic yearning to whack him. My usual go-to weapons wouldn’t work because Brett transferred to Eastline sophomore year. I had nothing to throw at him, no embarrassing leverage. It didn’t help that he was the school’s golden boy. Nothing stuck to him. If there were any skeletons in his closet, they were well hidden. As far as I knew, he was perfect.

  Well, except for the Summer thing.

  “I don’t want to waste my energy on you,” I finally said, realizing how lame it sounded as soon as the words left my mouth.

  He had the gall to grin as he leaned over close enough to where I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. “Your panties are in a wad because I’m not scared of you.”

  My pulse jumped to a sprint, and my palms started to sweat. “You should be,” I replied, my voice not nearly as threatening as I wanted it to be.

  Brett laughed as the bell rang, snapping his laptop closed and joining his friends.

  I sat there, willing my body to stop shaking. I had to pull myself together, to put my game face on before wading into the masses. I was about to throw my things into my bag when I noticed a folded slip of paper from his backpack had fluttered to the ground. I picked up the slip and read the name of another girl in the class.

  Brett hadn’t drawn my name from the hat.

  Two questions immediately popped into my head. One: which guy had drawn my name in the first place and was too chicken-shit to work with me?

  And two: why had Brett switched places with him?

  Chapter 2

  “Who wants some extra credit? Lydia Montego, that’s who. Look how cozy she is sitting in Mr. Rodchenko’s lap. A = lap dance in that algebra class.”

  The Eastline Spy

  May, Sophomore Year

  “So, I heard some juicy gossip about you,” Richard Wang, the most flamboyantly gay guy this side of Capitol Hill, said as I collapsed under the large maple tree near the football field. We first met a couple years ago when he was getting harassed by some upperclassmen and I intervened. I admired his ability to be comfortable with himself and to be openly out when most teens kept quiet about their sexuality, and we’d been friends ever since.

  My best friend, Morgan, joined us. Inked and pierced in multiple places thanks to her fake ID, she was determined to be the antithesis of Abercrombie and Fitch. “Spill.”

  Richard beamed now that he had an audience and sat down on the grass. “It seems our dear little Alexis here procreated with Brett Pederson.”

  Morgan’s jaw dropped. “Please tell me you were suffering from a temporary bout of insanity, Miss ‘Nobody Is Good Enough To Get Between My Legs.’ ”

  “It’s not what you think.” I pulled my tablet out of my bag and checked my storyboard. As the creator of a weekly blog that had exposed more than one scandal at Eastline, it was my job to make sure I had something that would get people to read and react. “We’re just paired up for a project in Mr. DePaul’s Hum-Ex class.”

  “Oh, the ‘Dropping Your Genes’ project,” Morgan said with a snicker, twirling her finger in the air as if to say “big whoop.” “You have my deepest sympathies.”

  “Not mine.” Richard bumped my shoulder with his. “I’d love to have some one-on-one time with Mr. Quarterback. Maybe I’d even teach him a few new plays of my own.”

  “I doubt you could convert him to the other team.” That quivering returned to my stomach as I thought about how good Brett smelled. Time to change the subject. “Richard, any updates on that sex discrimination story?”

  “I’d much rather focus on a sexual story with your project partner.”

  “This is a newspaper, not an issue of Playgirl.”

  “It’s Playguy, and fine, I’ll live out my fantasies in my own head. At least one of us isn’t completely hung up on stereotypes.” He got up and crossed the campus in a huff, flicking off every blade of grass that would dare stick to his jeans.

  Morgan, however, lingered under the tree with me. “Don’t sweat it. It’s just two weeks. The worst part will be handling the switch-offs for child care.”

  “Meaning I’ll probably be stuck with the kid the whole time.”

  She shook her head. “These are top-of-the-line fake babies that record everything. You have to enter in a code when you have it. Then, it cries when it’s wet or hungry or teething—”

  “So in other words, I’m not going to be sleeping much during the next two weeks.”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” She started playing with the tiny barbell in her eyebrow. “But since we’re on the subject of hot guys—”

  “I never said Brett was hot,” I said lo
ud enough for anyone within ten feet of us to overhear. “I’m just paired up with him for a class project, nothing more.”

  “And I know you better than that. He must have done something to get under your skin.”

  I weighed the risk of confiding about my body’s undesired reaction to him, but decided against it in case anyone around us was listening in on the conversation. “He switched places with someone to work with me,” I mumbled.

  “Okay, now I’m thinking he must be the one suffering a temporary bout of insanity.” I pressed my lips together, and she added, “Not that I don’t love you and all, but you have the tendency to go a little bat-crazy when it comes to class projects.”

  “I demand perfection from myself, and I’d hope my partners will give it their best efforts as well.”

  “Yes, but we’re seniors now, so you can stop cracking the whip. Anyway, back to hot guys. You should come to The Purple Dog with me and see the new guy working there. Without the baby, though.”

  The Purple Dog was a café in the U-District. Morgan liked to hang out there because it was frequented by university students and, therefore, was far more “intelligent” than the local hangouts. “What? Scared the new guy will freak out when he realizes we’re still in high school?”

  “Speak for yourself. I’ve been taking college classes since last year.”

  Morgan was enrolled in Running Start, a program that allowed high school students to take classes at a local community college for college credit. She liked to rub in the fact she was at college while I’d chosen to stay in high school and take AP classes to maintain my class rank. That didn’t change the fact she was seventeen and needed a fake ID to even get a tattoo.

  I jumped on the opportunity to talk about something other than Brett. “So tell me about him. How many piercings does he have?”

  “None.”

  “Tattoos?” I didn’t bother asking about the eyeliner, since that was usually on Morgan’s list of musts.

  “None that I can see.”

  My eyes widened. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

  She laughed. “I know, right? He’s not my type, which is why I’m wondering why I’m attracted to him. But he has this cool, laid-back vibe about him that has me wondering if he’s always that way in every situation. And he seemed really into me this weekend.”

  “Into you, or in you?” Most people who met Morgan saw her as a pessimistic, snarky goth girl who sometimes bordered on nymphomaniac. I’d lost count of how many hookups she’d had in the last year. But she handled sex with far more maturity than most people and didn’t seem to form any attachments to the guys she slept with. For her, it was purely physical.

  And maybe a way to get back at her ultraconservative parents.

  She laughed again, a dreamy look filling her eyes as she twirled her dyed-black hair around her finger. This was the real Morgan, the one who carefully hid her inner romantic behind her tough-girl exterior. “No, not yet. But if he offered, I wouldn’t say no.”

  “And another man falls victim to the Queen of Darkness.”

  “So, what are you going to do about your project partner?”

  I took a deep breath to collect myself. We were back to Brett again. “I’m going to interact with him as little as possible.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. If it were me, I’d do him just to piss Summer off,” Morgan whispered before standing up and heading toward the parking lot.

  At least she’d provided me with one silver lining to all this. For the next two weeks, Brett would be working side by side with me, which would drive Summer nuts.

  ***

  “Oh my God! My life is over!”

  My sister’s wail barely fazed me. I heard the exact same exclamation from Taylor at least once a week. I sighed and went back to reading my well-worn copy of The Taming of the Shrew, having finished my homework hours ago. For some reason, that book was calling to me.

  My lack of response apparently didn’t please her. She ran into my room with her MacBook Air and shoved the screen in my face. “Look at this, Lexi.”

  The fuzzy images from the YouTube clip played for about five seconds before I realized what I was looking at. The overly tanned skin. The excess of enhanced blondes. The fake giggles. “Who’s been filming the cheerleading squad in the locker room?”

  Taylor thrust her bottom lip out in a pout. “I don’t know, but my reputation is ruined. Now everyone will know I use inserts in my bra.”

  Just as she said that, I saw the meat of the film—all the cheerleaders stripping off their underwear to hit the showers. I slammed the laptop shut. “Aren’t you upset that people are watching you naked?”

  Her brows furrowed together as if that thought had never crossed her airhead mind. I’m pretty sure all that “Ra Ra Sis-boom-ba” shit involved with cheerleading must have caused some brain damage. Either that or all the sunless tanner she applied to give her a glow that only an Oompa Loompa could call natural had seeped into her skull. “I mean, I suppose I should be upset about that,” she said slowly, but then added in a rush, “but now they’ll see how small my boobs really are.”

  I drew a deep breath and counted to ten while I fought off the urge to shake some sense into her. I gave up hope a long time ago that Taylor would develop into a woman of substance. Instead, she focused on the here and now, the superficial, and had only one goal in life—to become head cheerleader.

  I held up the laptop. “This is an invasion of your privacy. Some guy has probably been jacking off while watching you and the rest of the cheerleaders prance around naked for months.”

  “You’re right!” The anger I’d been waiting to see finally flashed in her blue eyes. “Some nerd is looking at my perfect ass. As if!”

  She whipped out her phone and began texting at a rate that would put a professional transcriptionist to shame. “I’m going to tell Summer about this.”

  “It would probably be a better idea to remove the camera if it’s still there.” I turned back to my book.

  She paused. “Oh, that would be a good idea.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she checked her message. “Summer agrees that we should do something about it. Where do you think the camera is, though?”

  When I didn’t answer, she yanked the book from my hands. “Hello? I’m having a bit of a crisis here.”

  “If you watch the video, you can probably figure out where it is.” I wasn’t going to get involved with this drama. Even though I did have a sick feeling in my stomach at the idea of someone violating the sanctity of the girls’ locker room, I was more sick at the idea that discovering the culprit would help Summer. It was about time someone knocked her down a notch or two. She’d been full of herself for as long as I’d known her, and now that we were seniors, she’d become completely insufferable. She needed to get her comeuppance.

  I tried to grab my book back, but Taylor held it up out of my reach. “Please. You don’t want video porn of your little sister out there for everyone to see, do you?”

  “It’s not porn.” I paused. Who knew what games those girls played after practice? “Unless you’re into chicks.”

  “No, that would be Alyssa and Emma,” she replied, full of sarcasm, “but they broke up once they sobered up.”

  Ooh, another story idea. Booze-induced cheerleader on cheerleader action.

  But her plea spoke to something deep inside me and helped me focus on what was important. She was my little sister, after all. I had to look out for her because she obviously couldn’t look out for herself. “Fine, I’ll check out the locker room tomorrow morning and see if I can find it.”

  “Thank you!” She threw her arms around me in a hug. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you agreed to help.”

  “You’re so kind.”

  “Well, I know you want to maintain your reputation for being a cruel bitch.” She looked at my book and scanned the page. “Why do you keep reading this?”

  “Beca
use I happen to enjoy it. If you tried reading every once in a while, you might find it’s something you enjoy, too.”

  She tossed the book on the bed as if it was an out-of-style pair of jeans. “I have read a book. In fact, I read three of them last year.”

  Her smug expression almost had me doubled over in laughter. I’d easily read thirty times that in the past year.

  “Oh, yes, that series with the doormat idiot of a girl. Really stimulating reading.” I found my place again and tried to lose myself in the third act.

  “At least she had a boyfriend instead of being the biggest man-repellent in the school. And speaking of boyfriends, Summer told me to tell you to keep your hands off hers.”

  “Trust me, there is no danger of me touching Brett Pederson.” Smelling him was an entirely different matter. “And it’s refreshing to know that Summer’s so insecure about her relationship with Brett that she has to send threats through her little minions.”

  “I’m not her minion, whatever that is. And she’s not threatened at all by you. She just wants to make sure you know where you stand.” Taylor stomped out of my room, leaving her laptop behind.

  As hard as I wanted to continue reading, the more I thought about the video, the more irritated I became. I popped open the computer and replayed the video. I’d probably need to stab a couple of hot pokers in my eyes to purge some of those images from my mind, but by the end, I had a good idea where the camera was located.

  Now, if only I could discover the person behind it.

  Chapter 3

  “Did you hear about this year’s joke class? If you have a pulse, you’ll get an A in ‘Health’. No wonder the entire football team is taking it this semester.”

  The Eastline Spy

  September, Junior Year

  Thanks to Taylor’s eyeliner emergency, we barely made it to school on time. The argument that began in the car ended with her slamming the door of my Prius after telling me she’d be getting a ride from someone less anal than me from now on.