Confessions of a Queen B* (21 page)

We need to talk about yesterday
.

My breath hitched, but that did nothing to slow my frantic heart. I searched the room, looking for the sender before meeting Brett’s eyes. They flickered once to my screen and then back to Mr. DePaul.

I watched Brett the entire time as I typed,
No, we don’t
.

The message popped up on his screen. His frown deepened.
Why?

How are you sending me messages on my laptop?

You didn’t answer my question.

Did you hack my computer? Put some virus on it?

The corner of his mouth reversed its downward trend and curled up into a half-smile.
I’m just using your school email address to message you, Lexi. Calm down. Anyone in the school network can do it.

Don’t call me Lexi!
I paused, remembering some hoopla last year about the school cracking down on messaging programs during class after I’d posted screenshots on my blog of the inappropriate conversations that were occurring.
I thought the school banned this, BTW
.

His grin widened to capture a hint of recklessness, and I caught a glimpse of yet another facet of Brett Pederson—the one who didn’t mind breaking a few rules here and there. It fit the same guy who didn’t mind making out with random girls in janitors’ closets.

Can we meet back at your place after class?
he asked.

Rule number one—thou shall not be alone with Brett Pederson. My damp fingertips left marks on my keyboard as I typed,
Sorry—have plans.

We have a project to finish
.

Shit!
I’ll take care of your half for you
, I replied. Anything to keep me from having to be alone with him again.

He shook his head.
No, I want my A, too
.

He clicked a few things on his laptop, and an email appeared in my inbox. I opened it and read what he’d done already for his part of the project.

So we really don’t need to work together anymore?
An ache formed in my chest as I typed that. Once again, my hormones were at war with my common sense.

Minutes ticked by before Brett started his reply.
Only if you don’t want to
.

I swallowed—hard—and struggled with the emotions swirling inside me.
It has to be this way.

Why?

I curled my fingers into my palms, not trusting them to convey my thoughts accurately. I needed the power of my voice and my body to express them, not a blinking cursor on my screen.

Off in the distance, Mr. DePaul droned on and on about something, but my attention remained on the three letters on my screen. I was going to fail health class because Brett Pederson kept distracting me from the material that would be on the final—I knew it.

Time to end this. I took a deep breath and typed,
It’s complicated
.

No shit
.

Glad to know I wasn’t the only one whose stomach was tied in knots after yesterday.
Please, can we pretend yesterday never happened?

The hickey on my shoulder proved otherwise, but I could always turn to wishful thinking instead of actually dealing with fallout in a mature manner.

Another stretch of silence passed, and I wondered if Brett had decided it was better to listen to Mr. DePaul’s lecture than me. Then, in the waning seconds of class, he wrote,
If that’s what you want.

The bell rang, and he snapped his laptop shut, bolting for the door faster than Sanchez did.

I stared at his words while everyone else filed out of class. Was that really what I wanted?

And even if it was, what could I do about it?

***

I went home and moped. Not even the pint of mocha frozen yogurt I picked up on the way home could cheer me up. Hours later, the half-eaten remains sat in the cup on my desk like muddy soup.

Mom was working late (again), and Taylor was in her room on the phone with one of her friends discussing how to do her hair for the game tomorrow. I was staring at the screen and the almost-finished blog post that I’d started earlier this week. It was due to go live at midnight. I’d laid out my arguments. I’d stated why it was wrong to treat women that way. I’d even used the videos as an example.

And yet, it felt incomplete.

I wanted to nail the son of a bitch behind the videos, but I didn’t have a name. I didn’t even know if the videos had been removed yet. But I wanted justice.

Forget justice. I wanted to publicly humiliate the person behind them after what he’d done to Taylor. After all, what good was being the biggest bitch in school if I couldn’t keep people in line?

My phone rang while I was reviewing my editorial one more time, and I picked it up without checking the number.

“Lexi, can you come over for a few minutes?” Brett’s voice asked from the other side.

My blood turned to ice, followed by a quick thaw from the rush of heat that followed. “Why?”

“Because I need to show you something.”

I licked my lips. Could I trust myself around him, or would I lose control all over again? “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“No, I need to show you now.” He paused and added in a softer tone, “Please.”

I thought about it for several beats. He was inviting me to come over to his house, which was crawling with people. It would be safe. More than likely, I would end up braiding Bitsy’s hair again. I could handle this. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes, but I’ll have to bring Junior.”

“That’s fine. See you in a few.” He hung up.

I strapped the carrier to my chest, noting with some pleasure that I wouldn’t need it after tomorrow. This was offset by the fact I probably wouldn’t be seeing Brett at my locker every morning for the handoff, either. I told myself that should make me happy, too, but it left me empty instead.

It took me less than ten minutes to walk to his house. Once again, Sarah answered the door. “Brett’s upstairs in his room,” she said, pointing up the staircase. “Last door on the right.”

My spit dried up. It was one thing to come to his house with his sisters and parents all around.

But stepping into the secret sanctuary of his room? That simmered with danger.

And intrigue, because as far as I knew, no girl in Eastline High School had been invited up there.

It was curiosity (and knowing I’d have something else over Summer Hoyt) that propelled my feet up the stairs and to the last door on the right. I knocked and waited.

Brett opened the door, grabbed me by the wrist, and yanked me inside. The door slammed behind us.

Can I say I was a little disappointed when he didn’t drag me to bed?

The disappointment quickly wore off as I looked around. Posters lined the walls, but instead of NFL heroes, they were of
Star Wars, Star Trek,
and
Doctor Who
. A bookshelf in the corner contained the expected athletic trophies, but it also housed a Lego version of the Millennium Falcon under a glass cube. And scattered across the room with recent issues of
Sports Illustrated
were back issues of
Circuit Cellular
and other computer magazines, as well as thick fantasy tomes that qualified as weapons in some countries. And in the center of one wall was a computer workstation that would make most Microsofties drool.

My jaw dropped.

Underneath the veneer of Mr. Quarterback, Brett Pederson was a closet geek.

“Sorry, but I didn’t want one of the twins trying to sneak in behind you.” He cleared a place on his bed for me. “Have a seat.”

I raised a brow, remaining remarkably cool considering the circumstances. “I’m not here to finish what we started yesterday.”

That wicked gleam flashed in his eyes, followed by a dull seriousness. “Just give me a minute, please.” He backed me onto the mattress and retreated to the desk.

So much for making out again.

At least I wouldn’t have any fresh hickeys to cover up.

Brett typed away at his computer, his back to me. “First off, I found a way to take down the videos and replace them with this.”

A video of two kittens wrestling filled the screen of one of his monitors. My lips twitched. “A definite improvement over seeing Summer’s fake boobs.”

Brett cleared his throat, a line of red rising into his cheeks. He continued typing. “Second, I think I may have found the person behind the videos.”

I jumped to my feet and stood behind him. “Who is it?”

Brett leaned back in his chair, cracked his knuckles, and spun around to face me. A sly grin formed on his lips. “If I told you that information…”

“You’d have to kill me?” I finished, hand on my hip. I doubt I looked the least bit threatening with the damn doll strapped to my chest, but at least it conveyed a hands-off vibe. “Seriously, Brett, I didn’t come over here to play games. I have a blog post due by midnight, and if I can crack this scandal open in the process and make this guy pay for what he’s done, then I want to do it.”

“I understand you wanting revenge, Lexi—if it involved one of my own sisters, I’d feel the same way, but I want to make sure you understand everything before you act without thinking.”

“Are you saying I’m impulsive?”

His gaze fell on my lips. “Well, there was yesterday…”

I rolled my eyes and plopped back on the edge of his bed. “Can we please not bring that up?”

“Why?”

“Why do you keep asking why, Brett? It happened, okay? Call it a moment of temporary insanity. I didn’t intend for it to happen, but it did. And now you’re never going to let me live it down, are you?”

He laced his fingers together like some James Bond villain who enjoyed torturing 007 and seeing if he could break the secret agent. “What happened, happened.”

“And if I remember correctly, you instigated it.”

His brows rose in mock innocence. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re the one who kissed me first.”

“You were the one who pushed me into the closet.”

“Because I was trying to keep you from getting caught by Principal Lee and Coach Dittmer.”

His folded hands shielded his mouth, hiding the most expressive part of his face. Had he been so distracted by the wiring of the camera that he didn’t hear them? At last, he said in a soft voice, “Maybe so, but you were the one who kissed me back.”

My skin itched from the thousands of little prickles of sweat that broke out all over my body. Denying what happened would get me nowhere. It was time to own up to the mistake. “Yeah, I did.”

His gaze locked with mine, his mouth still hidden behind his hands and making it harder for me to read his emotions.

My defenses were shattering under that stare, from the intense emotions glowing from his dark eyes, from the way they narrowed like a predator picking apart his prey. I’d never backed down from a challenge—it was one of the ways I’d won my Queen B status—but this time, I had to look away. I focused on the frayed edge of one of the carrier’s straps and asked, “So why did you kiss me?”

I dared to look up through my lashes when he didn’t answer right away. He hadn’t moved, but something had changed in his demeanor. Gone was the cocky predator. In his place sat a guy who looked as awkward and confused as I felt.

“Temporary insanity,” he said in a voice so raw it choked my heart.

He turned back to the computer and started typing again. “Between the post on your blog and the clips on YouTube, I was able to track down the ISP address of the original poster.”

“English, please.” My legs had the steadiness of rubber bands when I stood to approach the desk. I’d survived the discussion, but I’d taken a beating to my soul for it. Thank God I had something else to focus my attention on instead of licking my wounds.

“I was able to get information on where the videos were posted and who posted them. And you were right. They are the same person.” A few taps and clicks later, a name appeared on the screen. “Here’s your locker room spy.”

I squinted at the unfamiliar name. “Adam Kozlovsky. Who is he?”

“I’m not surprised that you don’t know who he is. Maybe this will help.” A few more clicks, and the image of an Eastline High student ID popped up on the screen.

The graduation year indicated he was a sophomore, but his face was just one of the hundreds that blurred together in the hallways every day. He wore an Eastline baseball cap, but there was nothing athletic about his physique. Zits covered his pudgy cheeks, and thick dark curls peeked out from under the cap. His blank expression showed total disengagement with the photographer.

A new window opened up. “Here’s his schedule, if you want to confront him.”

I took a step back. “How did you get this information?”

Brett did his best Dr. Horrible impression, ending with the same uneasy wannabe evil laugh. “It’s not that hard to hack into the school’s system, Alexis.”