Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 31

By the time I got home, my pain had morphed into anger that burned in my belly and raced through my mind. It throbbed through my veins and ate away at those warm, happy feelings I'd been silly enough to feel earlier.

Pity, huh? I'd show him the meaning of pity.

I went straight to my room and paced in front of my desk, plotting my revenge. I could post the pic I got of him all over the web, on the front page of my blog, but knowing Brett, it would only backfire on me. Sure, he might get some ribbing from the guys, but all the girls would have the same reaction I did—"Aw!"

Damn, damn, damn, damn! No matter what I came up with, it couldn't hurt him. Spread a rumor that he was using performance-enhancing drugs? All he'd have to do was pee in a cup to clear his name. Photoshop him kissing Richard? No one would believe it, and I'd have Richard on my case as well.

I sank into my desk chair and massaged my temples. The truth of the matter was that I was too chicken to do something horrible to him because he really didn't deserve it. He truly was a nice guy, and that threw a kink into all my plans.

I went to my blog in the hope it would reinforce the Queen B image I was so desperately trying to maintain and remind me of how good it felt to nail someone when they'd done something wrong.

There was a comment on my most recent post that was waiting to be approved.

Dear Alexis,

You disappointment me. Out of all the people in the school, I thought you'd be applauding the person who revealed the cheerleading squad for the people they really are. You've always been a champion of making sure the popular kids got what they deserved.

And they did deserve it.

They all deserve it.

And one day, they'll get what's coming to them.

A chill rippled down my spine as I read it. The poster had entered "Always Watching" in the name field. I checked to see if the poster had included an email address, but that field was left blank, which was why it ended up in the moderation queue instead of going directly on the blog. I had no way of finding out who the person was, but he or she obviously had a serious grudge against the cheerleading squad.

One that seemed bigger than my own.

And based on their specific comments, he or she knew about the content of the videos. Perhaps even enough to have been the person behind them.

It was the only reason I didn't immediately delete the post.

But it still didn't help me with my Brett problem.

I googled his name to see if I could dig up any dirt on him, but all I found were articles praising his prowess on the football field and how he was a top recruit in the nation.

Frigging Golden Boy.

My laptop beeped, and a window popped up saying that my dad was trying to Skype me. I opened the call request, and my dad's face filled the screen.

I'd always joked that my dad was a thinner version of Jerry Garcia with his long, frizzy gray hair and full beard. Of course, his love of the "deep insight" weed only helped with the persona. Thankfully, he wasn't high right now. "Hey, princess."

My dad was the only person who could call me princess and not lose a testicle.

"Hey, Dad."

He took one look at me and read me like an open book. "Who's pissed you off now?"

"Just a guy in my class that I'm paired up with for a project."

"Well, then, fuck him."

Tempting, but no. And with my dad, I never quite knew if he meant literally or figuratively. "It's complicated."