Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 7

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?