The Making of a Queen

Brandii Nicola Mendes walked through the double doors of Bayonne High School with her cheer bag slung over one shoulder and her notebook clutched tight against her chest. The day had gone exactly the way it always did. She had answered every question in AP Calculus before anyone else raised a hand. She had finished the chemistry lab early and helped her lab partner correct his measurements. She had run through the new cheer routine twice without missing a single step. The teachers smiled when they saw her name on the attendance sheet. The guidance counselor had already started writing recommendation letters for medical schools that would not even consider applications until she turned eighteen.

Her parents expected nothing less. Both of them were neurosurgeons who had built their reputations on steady hands and long hours. They had mapped out her future the same way they mapped out surgical plans. Straight A's through high school. Early acceptance to an Ivy League pre-med program. Medical school after that. A residency at the same hospital where they worked. They never asked what she wanted because they already knew. Or thought they knew.

She pushed through the side door that led to the practice field. The sun still sat high even though it was late afternoon. A few members of the football team were still running drills on the far end of the grass. She spotted her boyfriend near the bleachers, helmet tucked under his arm, talking to his coach. He saw her and lifted his chin in that way he always did when he wanted her to come over. She walked to him instead of heading straight for the parking lot.

"You looked good out there," he said when she reached him. "That new pyramid thing. The coach was impressed."

"Thanks," Brandii said. She shifted the bag higher on her shoulder. "Practice ran long today. I thought you had film study."

"Coach let us out early. I figured I'd give you a ride home." He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "My car's over by the side lot."

She had not asked for a ride. She usually walked or waited for one of her parents to finish their rounds and swing by. Still, it was easier to say yes than to argue. They walked together across the blacktop. His hand brushed against hers once, but she kept her fingers tucked around the strap of her bag.

The car was a black and yellow Mustang that his father had bought him after the state championship game last fall. It still smelled like new leather and the pine air freshener he kept clipped to the vent. She slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt while he started the engine. The radio came on low, some sports talk show that he left running in the background.

They pulled out of the lot and onto the main road. She watched the school shrink in the side mirror. Two blocks later he turned left instead of right toward her house.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Just driving for a minute. I wanted to talk."

She waited. He kept both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead. The muscles in his jaw worked like he was chewing on words before he said them.

"I'm leaving for training camp in August," he said finally. "You know that. The scouts have been talking to my dad. They think I could go in the second round next year if I keep my numbers up."

"That's great," Brandii said. She meant it. Football was everything to him. It always had been.

"I want you to come with me."

The words landed between them like something dropped from a height. She turned to look at him. His knuckles had gone white against the steering wheel.

"Come with you where?"

"To the training facility. My parents already said they'd help with an apartment. You could take classes at the community college nearby until you transfer. We could be together without all this sneaking around your parents."

She felt the familiar tightening in her chest that always came when he talked about the future like it was already decided. "I can't just leave Bayonne. My parents have my whole schedule planned through senior year. And college applications. They want me at Johns Hopkins or Stanford."

"Your parents don't get to decide who you are anymore," he said. His voice had gone tight. "You're seventeen. You're a senior now. You can make your own choices."

"I know that."

"Then choose me." He reached across the console and put his hand on her knee. The touch was not gentle. "We've been together for almost a year. You keep saying you want to wait, and I get it. You're a virgin. But I'm going to be gone for months at a time. I need to know that when I come back, you're still mine."

Brandii stared at his hand. The pressure was starting to hurt. She shifted in her seat, trying to move without making it obvious. "I told you how I feel about that. I want my first time to mean something. Not just because you're leaving."

"It would mean something," he said. "It would mean you're committed. That you're not going to run off with some other guy while I'm busting my ass at camp."

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair." He squeezed harder. The seatbelt dug into her shoulder when she tried to lean away. "I gave you everything. I took you to every party. I told my parents you were the one. And you still act like I'm some stranger trying to take something from you."

"Let go of my leg."

He did not let go right away. The car slowed at a stop sign and he turned to look at her. His eyes were darker than she remembered. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to make sure we stay together."

"You're hurting me right now."

The words seemed to reach him. He pulled his hand back and put it on the wheel again. The car moved forward through the intersection. Neither of them spoke for several blocks. She rubbed the spot on her thigh where his fingers had pressed. The skin felt hot through the thin fabric of her uniform skirt.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while. The words came out flat. "I just get frustrated. You know how much I care about you." She nodded because it was easier than arguing. The silence stretched between them until he finally turned the car around and headed back toward her neighborhood. When he pulled up in front of her house, she already had her hand on the door handle.

"Brandii," he said before she could get out. "Think about what I said. About coming with me. We could make it work.”

"I have to go," she said. "My mom will be home soon."

She stepped out of the car and closed the door without looking back. The Mustang idled at the curb for a moment longer, then pulled away with a low growl. She stood on the sidewalk until the sound faded. Her leg still ached where he had grabbed her. She lifted the edge of her skirt and saw the faint outline of his fingers already starting to darken.

Inside the house, everything looked exactly the same as it always did. The kitchen was spotless. The mail sat in a neat stack on the counter. A note from her mother said they would both be working late and there was leftover salmon in the fridge. Brandii dropped her bag by the door and went upstairs to change. She peeled off the cheer uniform and pulled on jeans and a dark sweater. The bruise on her leg looked worse in the mirror. She touched it once and winced.

She did not want to stay in the house. The quiet felt too heavy. She grabbed her phone and her keys and walked back outside. The sun had started to drop lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that she would have noticed on any other day. Today she just wanted distance. She walked past the neighborhood park and kept going until the houses thinned out and the streets started to look less familiar.

Her phone showed a text from her boyfriend. She ignored it. Another text came a minute later. She turned the phone off without reading either one. The battery icon had been low all afternoon anyway. She kept walking. The air smelled different here, like exhaust and something sharper underneath. She had never come this far on foot before. The buildings were older, the windows covered with metal grates. A few people sat on stoops watching her pass. She kept her eyes forward and her pace steady.

She turned down a side street that looked like it might cut back toward the main road. The buildings here were even closer together. One of the streetlights flickered overhead. She checked her phone again out of habit and remembered she had turned it off. When she tried to turn it back on, the screen stayed black. The battery was dead.

A cold feeling started in her stomach. She had no idea how far she had walked or exactly where she was. The street was empty except for a few parked cars and a rusted dumpster near the end of the block. She could hear traffic somewhere in the distance, but nothing close enough to help. She kept moving, telling herself she would recognize the next intersection and find her way back.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw three men walking about twenty yards back. They wore dark jackets and jeans. One of them had his hands in his pockets. The other two were talking in low voices that carried just far enough for her to hear laughter. She walked faster. The footsteps kept pace.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called. "You lost?"

She did not answer. Her heart had started to beat harder against her ribs. She reached the end of the block and turned right, hoping the new street would lead somewhere with more people. Instead it narrowed. The buildings pressed closer. She could hear the men still behind her, their voices carrying easily now.

"Come on, don't be like that," another one said. "We just want to talk.”

Brandii's hands had started to shake. She shoved them into the pockets of her sweater and kept walking. The sidewalk was cracked in places, and she had to watch her step to keep from tripping. Behind her, the men were getting closer. She could hear the scuff of their shoes on the pavement.

"That's a nice sweater," the first one said. "Bet it feels soft."

She crossed the street without looking back. A car passed at the far end of the block, but it was moving too fast to notice her. The men followed. She could smell cigarette smoke now, and something sour underneath it. Fear sat like ice in her throat. She had never felt this kind of fear before. Her life had always been scheduled and supervised. There had never been a moment when she stood completely alone with nowhere to go.

One of the men whistled. The sound cut through the quiet street like a blade. She walked faster, almost running now. Her shoes slapped against the pavement. The sound seemed too loud in the empty space between the buildings. She turned another corner and found herself on an even narrower street. A chain-link fence ran along one side. On the other, boarded-up windows stared back at her like blind eyes.

The footsteps were right behind her now. She could hear breathing that was not her own. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that all three men were close enough to reach her if they wanted. The one in front had a thin scar across his cheek. He smiled when their eyes met.

"Nowhere left to run, baby," he said.