launch on a tirade that would finally shut him up, but paused when he didn’t back away. Instead, he came closer, and the air around us crackled with something. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was sexual attraction. I don’t know, and I didn’t care at that moment. I’d discovered my Achilles heel.
It was hard to think straight when I was around him.
“If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”
The quote rendered me speechless. Where the hell did that come from? It was the exact opposite of what I’d thrown at him, so simple and yet so deep coming from a dumb jock.
“That’s from the Dalai Lama, by the way,” he said with a wink. “Good advice, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, maybe you’d be less bitchy if you followed it once in a while.”
“And what if I like being bitchy?”
He looked at me as though I were the one who’d sustained one too many hits to the head. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“I think you’re full of shit.”
Mr. DePaul ended the conversation before I could give my rebuttal. I stewed over my conversation with Brett instead of paying attention to what our teacher was talking about. Something about family planning. I didn’t give a damn. I was more focused on trying to prove to Brett that I was perfectly happy with being the Queen B of Eastline.
Except, if I was really being honest with myself, I sometimes felt a stab of envy when I looked at the way people fawned over the popular kids. As stuck-up and superficial as Summer Hoyt was, she still had people who wanted to be like her. People like my airhead sister. Brett was Mr. Superstar Starting Quarterback and Student Body President, a leader both on and off the field everyone admired.
I didn’t have anyone wanting to be my protégé. The only people in the school who didn’t flee from me when I was in one of my Queen B moods were Morgan and Richard.
And now Brett.
Shit, I was getting soft in my old age.
I made a mental note to dig up some dirt on a few popular kids for my blog before I left campus today, if only to make up for the ground I was losing with Brett.
The bell rang before I knew it, and Brett whispered in my ear, “So I’ll see you outside the locker room at six?”
I fought hard to maintain my angry glare. “Maybe.”
“Aw, come on, Lexi, it’s just for a few hours.”
“Stop calling me that. Do you have some sort of death wish?”
His eyes flickered up and down, from my face to my shirt and back again. A slow easy smile appeared on his face. “Maybe.”
He slipped out of the classroom before I could think of a good comeback.
Damn him.
The only upside to the day was that was time for my weekly blog post to go live. Since the offensive videos had come down, I felt it was now safe to go public with what was obviously a violation of privacy but still keep it vague enough to protect my sister. I took a moment to re-read what I’d written last night.
It appears nothing is sacred here on campus. Yes, I’ve been known to use a camera here and there to expose wrong-doings, but I’ve never stooped to the audacity someone in this school recently has.
Earlier this week, it came to my attention that someone had planted a camera on campus and was recording certain members of the student body and streaming them on YouTube. Due to the sensitive nature of these videos, I took it upon myself to remove the camera and dispose of it. Thankfully, my message to the voyeur got through because the videos have since been taken down by the user.
But it brings up a set of bigger issues.
That this happened in our school without the administration being aware of it.
That someone felt it was perfectly acceptable to violate the privacy of our female students in such a way.
That the identity of that pervert was never discovered.
So take this as a warning, whoever was behind the hidden camera. If you dare try something like this again, I will personally make it my mission to hunt you down and expose you
Hadley Knox
Will Weaver
Matt Roberts
Michael Marano
Anne Stuart
Anna Markland
Sabel Simmons
David Clarkson
Franklin W. Dixon
Joseph Prince