Confessions of a Queen B* by Crista McHugh Page A

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.”
    “How so?”
    I wondered if it would be worth the awkward conversation with my dad, but I figured since he had a penis, he might have some insight into a straight guy’s mind. “My head keeps telling me he’s nothing but trouble, that he’s just a dumb jock who’s playing around with me, but there are times when I feel this overwhelming attraction to him, despite my better judgment.”
    “Did you sleep with him?”
    “Dad!”
    “What?”
    “Ew! Even if I did—which I haven’t—I wouldn’t talk about sex with you.”
    He shrugged it off so nonchalantly I wondered if he had lit up this morning. “Sex is a perfectly natural thing, especially when there’s that ‘overwhelming attraction’ happening.”
    “Says the man who screws a different graduate assistant every semester.”
    He gave me the “yeah, and I’m lovin’ it” grin.
    “But seriously, Dad, I just can’t figure him out. I mean, I know I should hate him. I know I should stay far, far away from people like him. And yet, he does these nice little things like bringing me coffee—”
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa—time out!” My dad made a T with his hands and held it in front of the screen until I stopped talking. “He brought you coffee?”
    “Yeah, he said he thought I needed it after I’d told him