The Queen B* and the Homecoming King (9 page)

Taylor walked around the back of the car, but I could’ve sworn I saw her pause to signal someone before she came to the passenger side.

Fifty bucks said it was Summer. Taylor had given me a heads up that my nemesis had asked her to spy on me and Brett. But
I also knew Taylor was warping that information to fit her own agenda, which was why I had no problem saying, “Let me guess. Summer wants more information about my relationship with Brett.”

“Of course she does,” Taylor replied with a flip of her ponytail. “But that doesn’t mean I have to tell her everything. I just need to know one important detail to shut her up for now.”

“Which is?”

“Are
you going to Homecoming with him or not?”

Geez! It was just a stupid high school dance, but the way everyone obsessed over it, you’d think it ranked right up there with the President of the United States visiting our school. But instead of telling her the truth, I decided to bend it a little just to torment Summer. “I haven’t decided.”

“Haven’t decided in that he hasn’t asked you? Or haven’t
decided in that you’re too much of a loser and refuse to go?”

Ouch! Even though the latter was a little closer to the truth, I wasn’t about to admit I was a loser. And with each denial, my resistance crumbled a little more. Going to the dance would make Brett happy. And it would piss Summer off to levels I could only imagine. And now I possibly had a friend I could hang out with at the dance,
which gave me options that didn’t include being forced to spend the night with Brett’s friends. “It means I haven’t decided.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a solid minute before flopping back in her seat. “If it’s the dress, I can help you there. But seriously, the entire upper echelon of Eastline High is waiting to hear if you’re going with Brett or not.”

“What difference does it
make?”

“Because if you’re not going with him, then Summer will grab him, freeing up Sanchez for me.”

If there was ever a reason to go to Homecoming, it would be to keep Sanchez from putting his hands on my little sis. “And if I do go with Brett?”

“Then I’ll probably go with someone else.” She said it in a bored tone, but knowing my sister, she probably had half a dozen guys to choose from.
“But just so you know, time is running out.”

“Does Summer really think Brett would go to Homecoming with her if he’s dating me?”

“A girlfriend hasn’t stopped her from going after guys she’s wanted before. Remember how she stole Greg Haines from Emma Lu before prom two years ago?” Taylor gave an indifferent shrug. “You know she doesn’t give up that easily.”

“I know.” I’d been friends with her
long ago, only to be stabbed in the back. Now her tricks included twisting the truth to suit her purposes. “But if you want to go with Sanchez, then why did you offer to help me find a dress?”

“Because one, I want to keep Summer on her toes, and two, I want to make sure you don’t embarrass me at the dance.”

“Love you too, little sis.” I pulled up into the garage and noticed our mom’s car. “No
hot date with Pete tonight.”

“She’s been puking so much, he probably dumped her.” Taylor grabbed her bag and went inside, but I stayed in the car, paralyzed by the implications of her flippant comment.

What if Pete
had
dumped her? What if she’d gone to him last night and told him about the positive test, and he freaked out? I assumed he was my mom’s age, maybe older. What if he didn’t want to
deal with a screaming baby at this point in his life?

I flashed back on that assignment we had in Hum-Ex a few weeks ago about different stressors and how that can affect health. So far, I was having relationship issues with my new boyfriend. One of my best friends was refusing to speak to me. My other best friend was being threatened at school. And my mom was pregnant, which meant in nine months
or so, we’d have a major chaotic disruption in our home. If I added in the fact I was almost date-raped nearly a week ago, I wondered why my immune system hadn’t crashed and burned in an epic fashion already.

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 surprise 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.”