The Queen B* and the Homecoming King (17 page)

“I’m saving my special Hello Kitty shirt for tomorrow,” I replied with a tired grin. Every time I wore the shirt with the character giving the world a middle finger, I ended up getting cited for a dress code violation, but it pretty much summed up my feelings about high school.

“You rebel.”

It wasn’t until he
closed the locker that I noticed the balled-up paper in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Richard tried to evade me, but I snatched the wad from him and opened it up.

Take your gayness elsewhere
.

Another hate letter.

I wavered between balling it back up and shredding it to pieces. But in the end, I smoothed it out. It was evidence. “Have you spoken to Principal Lee about this?”

“I’m not
a snitch.”

“But he put you in charge of that anti-bullying committee because he wants to put a stop to bullshit like this.”

Richard tugged at the paper, but I held firm until he pulled so hard, it tore. “Alexis, I know you mean well, but it’s just words. Words I’ve heard just about all my life. I’m used to them. Besides, we both know Lee won’t do a thing about it. This whole anti-bullying committee
is a complete sham. He hasn’t even scheduled the first meeting.”

His half of the note ended up in the same place as the others—the recycle bin.

But I clutched my remnant like a soldier’s memento. Someone was targeting Richard, and I needed to get to the bottom of it before it escalated into something worse.

Of course, my number one suspect was still Sanchez. And now that Brett’s season was
over, I had no qualms getting Sanchez kicked off the team. I glared at the wide receiver when I saw him in fourth period. No matter how much Brett defended him, Sanchez had a track record for bullying, and now that Brett wasn’t here to keep him in line, I fully expected his behavior to worsen.

I just needed to catch him.

Once the bell rang, I focused on taking notes for Brett, but my mind kept
drifting onto
how
I would catch Sanchez. Now that Brett was out of commission, Sanchez was the star player of the team, and nothing but hard evidence could convict him. I’d need Brett’s technical help to set up a camera, and I doubted he’d give it to me, especially in light of me trying to nail his friend. Short of camping out in front of Richard’s locker all day and night, I had no idea how I
would gather enough evidence for the next big exposé on my blog.

Sanchez bolted for the door the second the bell rang as though he knew he was on my shit list.

I had no idea what condition Brett would be in when I swung by his house after school, and even if he was the least bit coherent, I doubted I’d bring it up to him. He had too much on his mind already.

When Mrs. Pederson opened the
door, the twins bolted around her to ambush me.

“Lexi, you’re back,” Evie said, hugging my leg.

Bitsy tugged on my arm and pulled me inside. “We want you to play with us.”

“Or at least make our hair pretty with the ribbons.”

Their pleas paralyzed me. I didn’t hate kids, but usually, Brett could keep the twins from crawling all over me.

Thankfully, Mrs. Pederson intervened with a stern, “Girls.”

They both froze and turned to their mom. A wordless conversation seemed to pass between them, but a few seconds later, they released me and took a step back. They had their hands behind their backs, their eyes downcast, and their voices contrite as they said in unison, “Sorry, Lexi.”

“Go to the playroom while Alexis helps your brother with his assignments, and maybe she will play with you afterward
if she has time.” Once the girls took off down the hallway, Mrs. Pederson gave me an apologetic smile. “I never realized how helpful Brett was in taming their energy until now.”

“He’s the perfect big brother.”

“Maybe.” A wistful note lined the one-word response. “He asked for only half a pain pill because you were coming, but he’s still a bit groggy.”

With that warning in hand, I made my way
up the stairs, not sure what I’d find behind the closed door. Blood? Gore? Brett drooling in his underwear?

But when I cracked open the door, I found Brett wearing a T-shirt and gym shorts, leaning against a mountain of pillows. A cast covered his right lower leg, which was propped up on pillows, and an expression of pure boredom hung on his face.

He gave me a sleepy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I
replied, trying to feel him out before I touched on anything that would upset him. “Are you up for school stuff?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I hate feeling this way. I’d rather have my wisdom teeth out again than this. My head is floating from the meds.”

“How long do you have to take them?”

“Until my mum thinks I don’t need them. I swear, she’s hiding them in my food.”

I grabbed
his desk chair and pulled it over. Under normal circumstances, I’d sit on the edge of the bed, but I was so scared that I’d jiggle his broken leg the wrong way and hurt him if I did. “Has anyone else come to visit you?”

“Summer tried calling a few times, but I was out cold when she did. So did Ren and Sanchez and few other guys from the team, but I’m just not in the mood to deal with anyone.
And of course, Coach checked in on me this morning.” Bitterness laced his words as he continued, “I’m out for the rest of the season, and it sucks.”

Football meant everything to him…and his father. I knew better than to try and bring up that subject. There was nothing I could say or do that would take the sting away from losing the game he loved.

Instead, I pulled out my laptop. “Do you want
to look at my notes from Hum-Ex?”

He shook his head, his eyes growing glassy. “No, I’m too messed up to focus on school right now.”

“Any idea when you’ll be back?” I asked, wishing I could take away his pain, both in his leg and in that place deeper inside that was suffering.

“Maybe in a few days, once I convince Mum I don’t need the pain meds.”

“If anyone asks about you, what should I say?”

He gave a squinty-eyed look of disbelief. “Are you offering to cover up for me? The queen of
The Eastline Spy
?”

My cheeks burned again, but for a different reason. “This is different. I’m your girlfriend, and I want to help you any way I can.”

“I’ll let you know.” He removed a couple of the pillows under his head so that he was lying down. “I’m tired.”

A dismissal.

I rose from his chair, still
holding my laptop. “I’ll email you the notes when I get home. And I’ll be by tomorrow to check up on you.”

“Fine.”

If he’d been anyone else, I would’ve blasted him for his sullen rudeness. But I knew Brett, and this wasn’t him. Maybe it was the pain meds. Maybe he was still coming to terms with everything. Maybe he was frustrated because he’d been confined to a bed since Friday night. I didn’t
know, and until he opened up to me, I could only guess.

I lingered in the doorway, hoping he’d catch me before I left, but he continued to stare at the ceiling, oblivious to my presence.

His mom was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. “He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, was he?”

I shook my head. Brett had revealed more of himself to me than to any other person, but now, he’d closed
himself off from me.

And it hurt.

“Just give him time,” she replied, her soft British accent adding extra comfort to her words.

I glanced down the hall to see two little faces peering around a corner. The twins still wanted to play with me. It took away some of the sting from their brother’s behavior. “I believe the twins want their hair done.”

Mrs. Pederson nodded, and both girls rallied
around me, both of them talking a mile a minute and trying to outdo the other. But within a few minutes, they’d quieted down, and I was working on Bitsy’s hair. I listened to them talk about things I knew nothing about—cartoons and princesses and their favorite storybooks—but it didn’t seem to matter. They just wanted the attention that they normally would’ve gotten from Brett.

I stayed after
I’d finished their hair, soaking in their energy and enthusiasm and wondering if I’d ever been that way.

Eventually, Mrs. Pederson came into the playroom. “Girls, I think Alexis needs to go home and start on her homework.”

I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was three o’clock. I’d been at Brett’s house for over two hours, most of it in the company of four-year-olds rather than my boyfriend.

Evie and Bitsy tackled me with hugs. “Thank you, Lexi,” they said, their voices in that perfect unison only twins seemed to manage.

“You’re welcome.” I stood and followed Mrs. Pederson to the door. “Thanks. I lost track of time.”

“Don’t apologize. You were good with the girls.”

Her praise caught me off guard. I was good with little kids. Who knew? Maybe there was a chance I’d be good with
the new baby, too.

I glanced up the stairs. “Is Brett still sleeping?”

“He was when I checked on him twenty minutes ago.”

“Then I’ll come back tomorrow.” Brett had already made it clear he wasn’t in a social mood today.

I just hoped that when I came back tomorrow, I’d have my old Brett back.

Chapter Fourteen

I arrived at school Tuesday morning to find a crowd gathered around Richard’s locker. Once I pushed my way to the front, I saw why.

Someone had trashed it. They’d spray painted “FAG” across the door in bright red letters and taped various hate messages around it. All of the notes were on the same white paper as the others in his locker had been, all in the same font.

Apparently,
Richard’s harasser wasn’t content with leaving discreet letters in his locker any more. He’d decided to make a bold statement.

I snapped a few pics for my blog, already drafting my post to nail Sanchez when I turned around and found him lounging by his locker across the hall, his arms folded across his chest in a casual pose of arrogance.

I took a step toward him, only to run into Richard.

My best friend paled when he saw his locker. His nose twitched, and his lower lip quivered. Hurt and embarrassment flickered in his dark eyes before anger took over. “Really?” he said in the extra-sassy voice he used when he was hiding behind his Token Gay Guy façade. “Look at this mess. Whoever the interior decorator was should be fired. I mean, hello? The scarlet paint clashes with the surrounding
décor, and Times New Roman is such a boring font. So 1988.”

He started ripping through the paper barriers sealing his locker shut.

I stepped in to help, tearing off one note to read it.

Sexual deviants like you are destroying our school and our country.

My jaw tightened with fury, and I spun around on my heels to finish what I’d set out to do before I’d collided with Richard. I marched over
to Sanchez with the note in my hand. “I know you’re behind this, and so help me, I’m going to make sure you wish you’d never stepped foot in this school by the time I’m finished with you.”

Sanchez put up his hands. “Whoa, watch it there, Your Royal Bitchiness. I didn’t do that.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously. I promised Brett I’d behave, and I am.” He yanked the paper from me and read it. “I mean,
look at that. Do you think I’d use big words like ‘deviant’? I don’t even know what it means.”

Okay, he had a point there. And the perfect grammar and punctuation on the prior notes didn’t sound like him, either. But it still didn’t clear him.

He gave the note back. “I’m not the person behind this. I’ve already seen what getting on your bad side can do to me, and it’s not worth it. The team
needs me more than ever, and Coach has threatened to bench me for three games if I don’t walk the straight and narrow.”

“You’d help the team out more if you stuck to your routes and improved your stutter step to fake out defenders,” Richard said from behind me. “Maybe even agree to take the short crossing routes than just the long balls or the end zone routes. You know, be a team player inside
of trying to be the star.”

I’d expected Sanchez to lose it from the criticism, but his eyes widened with surprise, and his mouth hung open. “You know football?”

“Duh. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m not into sports. I’d try out for the team, but I don’t think you could handle all of me.” He gestured to his short, skinny body as though it was the perfect specimen of a football player’s
physique.

And then something strange and amazing happened. Sanchez grinned. “Yeah, you’d probably toast our asses.”

“Naturally.” And to add to it, Richard made a very obvious appraisal of Sanchez’s posterior.

Sanchez backed away, pressing his bottom against the wall. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Then he turned back to me. “I don’t know who’s behind the note, but it’s no one on the team.
And it’s definitely not me. If I have it out for someone, they’d know. I don’t stoop to crap like this. My parents came here from Mexico, and I’ve heard enough of that bullshit rhetoric about immigrants destroying this country to last me a lifetime. If you want to find the person behind this, find someone who talks like that. And say hi to Brett for me.”