Revenge of the Cheerleaders (11 page)

They both went "Ohhhh," like it explained everything.

"It's not that," I said. "It's just that life is a wonderful, precious gift so we should be happy."

Both of the guys laughed and one said, "Yeah, she's got it bad."

The other imitated my voice and said, "Life is a precious gift. Well, my life, anyway. Your life ain't worth squat because you ain't got my boyfriend."

And they laughed some more. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Mike. He wasn't laughing. In fact he glared over at us, but I didn't care.

On Saturday and Sunday I doubled my singing practice, but I still couldn't get notes to properly come out of my forehead. I followed Mr. Metzerol's instructions. I went around for an hour doing diaphragm exercises and practicing scales. Once when I got to the point where I sang, "Mi-mi-mi-mimi-mi-mi-ii" Adrian strolled by and shook her head. "Isn't that the truth?"

Instead of getting Adrian in trouble for this kind of commentary, Mom bent over backward to be nice to her. On Sunday when Adrian skipped out on helping with the dinner dishes and disappeared into her room—an impenetrable fortress of screeching guitar music—instead of calling her to come out and help, Mom just did Adrian's j ob for her.

"She's having a hard time right now," Mom told me as she cleared off the table. "We can be sensitive about that."

"No one was sensitive to me when Mike dumped me."

"But you've dated lots of boys," Mom said. "We knew you'd find someone else quickly. And you have. Don't you have a date tomorrow?"

Well yes, but there had still been several weeks that I had sworn off men altogether and no one had done the dishes for me.

"Adrian dumped Rick, not the other way around," I said. "I don't see why she's so upset about it."

Mom poured uneaten green beans into a container and put them on a shelf in the fridge, where we would undoubtedly ignore them until they went bad. "Why don't you try to talk to her about it?"

After I finished loading the dishwasher, I went up to Adrian's room. She was sprawled out on her bed painting her toenails black, intent on ignoring me. I walked over to her CD player, turned down the music so she could hear me, and in my most sensitive voice, I asked her how she was doing. Then I gave her the "There-are-other-fish-in-the sea" pep talk, followed by the "I'11-help-you-go-fishing" pep talk.

She looked at me in stony silence for a moment then said, "First of all, you don't understand anything about Rick. Second, you don't understand how I feel. You've never lost anyone you've cared about because you don't really care about guys. They're all just one more picture to make your my space look like you've got an online hot-guy fan club. Mike, by the way, was a total flake."

And Rick wasn't? This was a little like the Corn Flakes insulting the Wheaties.

"Third," Adrian said, "I wouldn't trust you where guys are concerned, anyway. You'd set me up with someone and then decide you wanted him yourself."

That stung, but I should have expected it. It was the one card Adrian pulled out any time she wanted to trump whatever I said and show me what a horrible person I was.

You see, there was this thing about a year ago. . . . No, it's been longer than that. It happened during the end of my sophomore year; it just seems more recent because the memory hasn't faded.

When had Adrian started to like Travis Woods? I couldn't remember. Sometime in elementary school. She used to watch out our living room window for him every morning so we could time our walk to school with his. I thought it was cute, sweet, even if I didn't know what she saw in him. To me, Travis was just another slightly annoying boy in my class.

It wasn't like Adrian sat around pining for him when he didn't notice her. By seventh grade she had rotating crushes. But even then Travis was always in the background of her thoughts. He grew six inches and filled out into a good-looking guy, which goes to show you that Adrian has an eye for potential. I didn't blame her anymore for liking him. A lot of girls liked him.

When she came to see all of the freshman football games, I knew it wasn't to watch me cheer. Her eyes were glued on number 96. When we ran into each other in the neighborhood, she always complimented him on whatever pass, tackle, or interception he'd made. He thanked her with this quirky smile, like he didn't deserve the hero worship, but appreciated it anyway.

The next year when I put together that sophomore biology study group, I did it with Adrian in mind. Travis would be there. Granted, I knew nothing would happen between them. I mean, let's face it, no self-respecting sophomore guy hits on an eighth-grade girl, but we were laying the groundwork for her freshman year, just a few short months away.

During every study group, Adrian hung around, finding ways to linger near Travis. Often she lingered too long and said stupid things. I tried to coach her on the delicate balance between letting a guy know you're interested and trapping him on the couch with stories of your PE flag football adventures, but she wouldn't listen to me. Apparently I no longer knew what I was talking about. In her mind she had already made the jump to high school, and she didn't need me to navigate her course.

I could see Travis mentally labeling her as an annoyance, a groupie. He pulled away from her, cut her out of the conversation. The harder I tried to convince Adrian to ease up, the harder she tried to get his attention. She actually asked him about his summer schedule and then tried to invite herself to some of his activities.

Which was pretty much the kiss of death. She'd killed her chances and didn't even know it.

After our last study group ended, Travis left, then came back five minutes later. He'd forgotten his notes. Adrian had gone to her room and I was in the middle of cleaning up soda cans and half-empty bowls of popcorn. He picked up his notes then helped me take dishes into the kitchen.

We'd left a few things out in the living room, but I felt bad making him clean. "I can get the rest," I said.

"No, I'll get it," he said, then paused a foot away from me. "Is Adrian around?"

I sent him an apologetic smile. "She's in her room. You're safe."

He laughed, the kind of laughter which is actually gratitude that someone understands. "She's a nice girl and everything, but . . ."

"I know. She comes on a little too strong."

He stepped closer to me and spoke softly, to make sure our voices didn't carry. "I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I don't know what to say to her. Isn't there someone her own age she's interested in?"

"Yes," I said even though it was a lie. I didn't want to make my sister sound like a stalker. "She likes a couple of guys in her class, it's just that when you're around she can't help but flirt with you. Consider it a compliment. You're irresistible."

He laughed again, and I noticed how his eyes lit up when he smiled. His sandy blond hair was mussed up in a way that made you want to run your hands through it. "Yeah," he said without an ounce of belief in his tone. "I wish I had that effect on women."

"You do. In fact, I bet you have entire eighth-grade blogs dedicated to the twinkles in your eyes."

He took another step closer to me. I should have turned away from him then, but I didn't. I stayed there, leaning against my kitchen counter smiling at him. This is how it's done, I wanted to tell Adrian. See how easy it is? I still know more about flirting with guys than you do.

He looked down at me mischievously. "If only women my own age felt that way about me."

"Who says they don't?"

He bent down slowly. I could have moved away, but instead I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.

It only lasted a minute. Just long enough for the thrill of being right to wear off. With his lips still on mine, I thought,
What am I going to do now? How am I going to explain this to
Adrian?
But I knew I wouldn't explain. I'd hide it and never let her know what I'd done.

And then I heard Adrian gasp. I pushed away from Travis and saw her standing in the kitchen entryway. Her mouth hung open in shock and her eyes looked wide and frightened. Frightened, not hurt. I didn't understand that back then, but I think I do now.

Fear is what you feel when the person who's always protected you slices through your heart. The world is no longer a safe place; it's one where anyone can turn on you.

Adrian spun around and dashed back to her room, leaving a wake of silence in the kitchen. Travis ran his hand through his hair. " I 'm sorry. I guess I'd better go."

He departed almost as quickly as Adrian had, and then I was left standing there with a horrible, empty feeling pounding in my chest.

I tried to talk to Adrian. I apologized to her over and over. I told her I'd never see Travis again. It didn't matter. I didn't have any good reasons for what I'd done, and saying, "It just happened," was perhaps worse in the end.

"It just happened" became Adrian's new excuse for everything. Her tongue piercing just happened. Her grades dropping just happened. Her black wardrobe just happened.

Every time she said it, she told me everything was my fault. And from that day forward she reconstructed herself into someone who was the exact opposite of me.

Now looking at Adrian painting her nails with sullen resolve, it hurt all over again. I let out a sigh. "How long are you going to bring up Travis for?"

She turned from her toenails to her fingernails. While I watched she gave herself long, black claws. "Just until I get even."

I didn't say anything else to her. There wasn't a point. Some people will never forgive you. It's too much fun hating you instead.

Chapter 11

O
n Monday Samantha, Molly, Polly, and I spent all of history class working on our report. It was nearly done. This was not my fault. I'm not one of those people who plan to leave things to the last minute, it just happens naturally. The last minute works for me.

But Molly and Polly would have none of it. They wanted to get the project done right away so we wouldn't have to worry about it later. I tried to point out that it was just as easy not to worry about it now and then worry about it quickly later. In fact, it was probably more worry-effective because really, how much can you worry about something at the last minute?

Polly said, "Look, we know you're busy with your cheerleading and practicing for those auditions and all. We can take care of typing the report and doing the bibliography if you don't have time for it."

Which was touching considering they'd started out the project insisting that they weren't going to let me cheat off of them. Still, I didn't want to make them do most of the work, because I hadn't been nice to them so I could slack off. I'd been nice to them so that Mr. Metzerol would give me voice lessons.

Which sounded just as bad, but it wasn't. I mean, I liked Molly and Polly. That had to count for something.

So then I had to tell them, that no, I didn't want them doing my work for me, which meant I had to try and plow through it quickly so I didn't let everyone else down.

Although really, Samantha was having a hard time concentrating on her part: Space travel, the early years, because she was mad at Logan.

When she'd met Aubrie, Rachel, and me at our usual chat spot that morning, she crossed her arms and shook her head. "It happened again."

"What happened again?" Aubrie asked, already sympathetic.

"Logan drove me to school this morning, and I used Rachel's method and asked him questions about his interests." She held up one hand to emphasize her point. "He talked about himself all the way to school."

We stared at her waiting for more information, which didn't come. "Well, wasn't that the point?" Aubrie asked.

"I've been doing it for three days. It's been three days that I've said nothing about myself, and he hasn't even noticed. Or cared. I could be a computer program that repeats, 'What do you think about that, Logan?' and he'd be just as happy with me. Apparently my contribution to our conversations has always just been to take up dead space until he could talk about himself again."

Rachel shook her head. "I told you it gets boring if you do it non-stop. Remember, that's what kissing is for."

Samantha tossed her hair from her shoulder. "I don't want to kiss someone who doesn't care what I think about anything."

Aubrie looked at each one of us in turn, her expression growing stern. "See, I told you that whole-just-make-him-talk-about-himself thing was a bad idea, but no, you wouldn't listen."

"Actually," I said, "it's worked out great for me."

"Kissing," Rachel said as though making a point.

Samantha grit her teeth. "I was sure by this morning he'd get suspicious. I mean, if he wouldn't talk about himself, I'd think he was hiding something. I'd start questioning him about it. He doesn't even care that I could be keeping things from him." She flung her hand in my direction. "I could be living a secret double life like Chelsea."

"And I'm happy being a college student. College guys are more mature."

Samantha let out a sigh. "Maybe I should become a college student too."

Between space flight, and trying to hold onto notes with my diaphragm so Mr. Metzerol wouldn't jab me with his stick, I hardly had time to think about Tanner until he called me that afternoon. He wanted to know where he should pick me up for the dinner at his house.

Yeah, I should have figured that out beforehand, since I didn't want to tell him that I lived with my family. "I'm going to be at the library working on a project," I said. "Why don't you meet me out front?"

This still wasn't lying because I could work on the space flight stuff up at the campus library as easily as anywhere else. It just meant I had to take the bus up there to do it.

The whole double-life thing could get complicated if I didn't confess everything soon. I mean, there is a fine line between verbal camouflage and out right lying. Tonight, I decided, after our date, assuming it went well, I'd tell him the truth.

Tanner picked me up at six o'clock and we drove to Sunnyside Hill. He tapped his finger against the steering wheel as he drove. "I probably should warn you that my grandma is opinionated. She's old and rich and thinks that gives her the right to say anything she wants."

"Oh," I said, "I'll remember that."

More tapping. "My brother, of course, is also opinionated. He's young and rebellious so he thinks that gives him the right to say anything he wants."

"I understand," I said.

"Richard's supposed to be on his best behavior tonight, but that's not saying much. Grandma thinks he should go to Juilliard and he's trying to get out of it."

It only vaguely registered that this was the first time Tanner had told me his brother's name. I dredged my memory for everything I knew about Juilliard. It was an exclusive music school in New York. Very hard to get into. My next-door neighbor had practiced hours each day on the piano trying to get in and hadn't made it.

"Your brother plays the piano?" I asked.

"Juilliard isn't just for pianists. It has other programs. Grandma thinks if Richard wants a future in music, Juilliard is the place to go. She has connections so she thinks she can get him in." Tanner grunted and shook his head. "My brother's last comment on the subject was that he'd rather eat a classical guitar than play one." He glanced at me with an apologetic smile. "I'm only telling you this so you'll know what's going on if they start in on each other."

It seemed like an odd thing to argue about. "Isn't it his choice where he goes to school?"

"Sure. And Grandma can choose to do something else with his trust-fund money." Tanner shrugged. "You see how it is. Richard wants to be independent, but not so independent that he has to support himself on a musician's salary."

We stopped at a large brick home with an immaculate yard. Tanner opened the car door for me, which was so nice. Not only did he treat me like I was smart, he treated me like I was a lady.

When we walked into the house, Tanner's mother was the first to greet us. She gave Tanner a hug and me a big hello. She told me to call her Barb and said I was welcome over any time. Then Tanner's dad came up and shook my hand. They seemed so happy to meet me that I liked them immediately, and not just because I noticed Tanner's dad give him the thumbs-up sign while I was talking to his mom.

Then Tanner and I walked into the living room to meet
The Grandmother.
I knew, from the tone Tanner had used to describe her, that she wasn't a "nanna" or any other endearing terms grandchildren use. She was
The Grandmother,
said in the same tone one would say
The Godfather.

As soon as I walked into the room I saw her perched in a Queen Anne chair. She wore a dark skirt, a blazer, and a pearl set that made me feel underdressed in my jeans and sweater. She lowered a china teacup and peered at me with bright, dark eyes, like a bird surveying its surroundings.

"You must be Tanner's girlfriend." Her voice was more welcoming than I'd expected. "Come here and let me have a look at you."

Tanner and I both walked over to where she sat. Her gaze followed me, appraising me like I was something to be bought.

"Very pretty," she said. "You're a student?"

"Yes, Ma'am." I'd never said the word "Ma'am" before in my life, but it somehow popped out, extracted by her presence.

"Do you get good grades?"

"I try." Probably not hard enough to impress her, but I wasn't about to admit that.

Tanner leaned toward me, brushing his hand against mine. "Grandma, you're meeting Chelsea, not hiring her for a job."

The Grandmother raised a hand and swatted away his objections as though shooing a fly. Without taking her eyes off me she asked, "And what field are you going into?"

"I haven't decided. I like fashion design."

This apparently was the wrong thing to say. She cocked her head and made a disgruntled coughing sound. "Oh, you're one of those girls who spend all day shopping at the mall."

"No," I said, "but there are so many girls who do, fashion designers will always be in demand."

The Grandmother laughed, conceding the point. "That's the type of thinking that makes money, at least if you know your area of expertise. Tell me, if I wanted to dress down this skirt what would I wear it with?"

Tanner said, "Grandma—" but I held up my hand to stop his protest. I knew the answer to this question.

"You could trade out the blazer for a twin set or a ruffled blouse. Something that doesn't button up to the neck. You'd also want to replace the pearls with a silver chain."

"Not gold?"

"Your skin tone looks better with cool colors."

"What brand of clothing would you suggest? Escada? Dolce & Gabbana?"

"The designer labels are nice, but you can find stuff that's just as well made for way cheaper."

The Grandmother smiled at me and nodded in Tanner's direction. "She's talented and thrifty. Keep a hold of her. She's going places." She lifted her tea cup again, signaling my interview was over. She took a sip, then raised her voice slightly and called, "Why don't you follow your brother's example, Richard, and find yourself a nice girl like this?"

I hadn't realized that anyone else was in the room and now I turned in the direction she was looking.

Lying down on the couch so that he blended in with the throw pillows was Rick.