Revenge of the Cheerleaders (12 page)

Chapter 12

R
ick
? Richard was
Rick?
Tanner was Rick's
brother?

Rick sat up; his eyes focused on me angrily."There's a thought," he called back. "Are there any more at home like you, Chelsea?"

It didn't seem possible that this was happening, and yet it was. Rick was here. Tanner had never told me his last name. Apparently it was Debrock.

Rick looked different than usual. He had none of his earrings or eyebrow studs in. He wore an unremarkable pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Even his hair was almost a normal shade of blond. Too bleached, but within the shades of actual hair color.

"Rick." It was all I could say, and I barely managed that. The word came out half strangled.

"It's Richard," The Grandmother said. "He was named after my husband and my husband always went by Richard." She took another sip from her cup. "Nicknames are so vulgar."

Rick rolled his eyes, but didn't seem interested in fighting this point.

I tried to keep my voice even, unaffected. To Tanner I said, "You didn't tell me Rick—Richard—was your brother."

"Didn't I?" He looked genuinely surprised by this fact. "I thought you knew the night we met at his party, but then you left so quickly, maybe it never came up."

"I did leave quickly," I said, glancing at Rick.

Rick shrugged, "Well, my music isn't for everybody."

I didn't know what to say, didn't know how much of our relationship to divulge. Would Rick tell his brother and grandmother that I was the one who'd inspired his anti-cheerleader songs? Should I?

The Grandmother took another sip of her drink and looked at me. "You don't like Richard's music?"

I didn't hesitate. "No, I've never considered electric guitar to be real music. Classical guitar, now that's a different story."

It was perhaps an underhanded thing to do, but Rick deserved it. And it had the immediate desired effect. The Grandmother nodded and put down her cup. "You see, Richard, it isn't because I'm old. There is simply a difference between good music and bad—between melody and discordance—between depth of voice and that awful stuff you insist on singing." She waved a hand in my direction. "Even young people can see it."

I smiled over at Rick. He glared back at me. "So you like classical guitar, Chelsea? And who exactly are your favorite classical guitarists?"

I didn't have to answer because The Grandmother wasn't through with her remarks. She went on and on about how if Rick wanted a career in music he ought to take it seriously enough to become trained.

Tanner and I sat down on the couch across from Rick, and Tanner sent me apologetic looks because his grandmother was delivering this huge lecture.

I enjoyed it though. I nodded along to every point she made.

When The Grandmother finally paused long enough for Rick to get a word in he said, "Yeah, all that's great, but Juilliard doesn't train people to sing rock. Just opera."

"Exactly," The Grandmother said. "Rock isn't serious music."

Rick glanced at me and paused. I could almost see him mentally rearranging his argument to incorporate the strategy I'd used. "But rock music sells. You don't see people packing into stadiums every weekend to hear operas."

The Grandmother drew her brows together, factoring this new aspect into the discussion. After all, one did have to take money into account. Then she shook her head. "But most rock musicians will never succeed. They'll spend their lives wasting away, playing bars and free outdoor concerts. If you went to Juilliard you would at least have something to fall back on. You could teach music."

I thought of Rick with a mustache and tie like Mr. Metzerol's. It made me smile.

Rick leaned forward, his hands lifted, and his expression intent. For once, he actually cared about what he was saying, and I felt for him. Momentarily I rooted for him to win this argument. "Look Grandma, if you could just hear my band—"

She folded her hands across her lap. "You gave me the Deadbeats CD. I haven't been able to get farther than halfway into the first song."

"No, if you could only see me sing and watch how people react to my music. My band can make it. It's going to take some time; it always does. But we'd be able to pay you back for the equipment and give you a good return on your investment."

So there was more to it than just a difference of opinion about classic guitar. Rick wanted his grandmother to help finance his band.

"Come watch the
High School Idol
auditions," Rick said. "You'll see then."

The mention of
High School Idol
immediately and firmly removed any sympathy I felt for Rick. He would sing about me. He wanted his grandmother to help his band succeed and then the whole world could listen to horrible Chelsea songs.

Rick had been, and still was, the enemy.

"I suppose I could come," The Grandmother said. "But I doubt it will change my mind. Juilliard is the best thing for you."

Rick grunted and leaned back into his couch.

I smiled over at him. "I hear New York is beautiful in the fall."

Tanner's mom popped into the room. "We're all ready. Let's eat."

We sat down at the dining room table, complete with tablecloth and china. At my house we didn't have a dining room or china and I couldn't shake the fear that I would do something wrong.

This feeling wasn't helped at all by the fact that Rick sat sullenly across the table from me. It was just a matter of time before he said something to let his family know that he went to school with me and that he didn't like me. Both of which would make dinner really awkward.

I should have told Tanner how old I was before, but there was nothing I could do about it now. It was one more mistake to add to my long list.

I hoped Tanner didn't act too shocked or too disappointed or say something along the lines of, "You knew I thought you were in college. Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Was there any way out of this? I didn't want to lose Tanner, and I didn't want to be humiliated in front of Rick.

I ate dinner and smiled and made small talk, all the while feeling stiff, waiting for Rick to blow my cover. Every once in a while I felt his gaze on me, thick with resentment, but he didn't say anything. I guess Tanner was right; Rick really was on his best behavior for his grandmother.

Tanner's mom smiled over at me. "We hardly know anything about you, Chelsea. Why don't you tell us about yourself?"

"I um . . ." What could I say that wouldn't reveal anything about myself? I couldn't even make something up because Rick would know I was lying and call me on it. I glanced over at him. He was watching me. "I've lived in Pullman my whole life," I said and then hurriedly added, "I understand you moved here from California. Do you find Pullman very different?"

"I miss all the sunshine," Mrs. Debrock said.

"I don't miss the crowds though," Mr. Debrock added. "Or the California housing prices."

"I miss the people the most." Rick gazed back in my direction. "The kids at school are all jerks."

I gripped my water glass and didn't answer.

"Rick had to move here during the end of his sophomore year," Mrs. Debrock explained. "He's had a hard time adjusting."

I smiled sympathetically. What else could I do?

"Tanner stayed with me in California to finish high school," The Grandmother said. "Because he was a star player on the lacrosse team, and Pullman High doesn't have lacrosse." She leaned toward Tanner, the pride evident in her face. "Did you tell Chelsea you're in the lacrosse club?"

Tanner glanced at me and smiled. "It never came up in conversation."

"He's quite modest about himself," The Grandmother said. "In California, his team was first in the state. He's a natural talent."

"I'm impressed," I said.

Tanner shrugged off the compliments, like it embarrassed him to have his abilities dragged out and presented at the dinner table. Rick rolled his eyes.

So that's how it was. Tanner was the family's golden boy, the favorite child. It made me feel sorry for Rick, which wasn't a welcome sensation. I didn't want to think of Rick with friendly parents, a critical grandmother, and china at dinnertime. It changed everything and yet it changed nothing. Rick still periodically glared at me like I'd sneaked uninvited into his house. He'd probably incorporate this night into his next song about me. It would be called "Invasion of the Cheerleader."

I put on my best poker face and tried to answer his glares with a confident posture.
Go ahead and tell them why you hate
me,
I tried to say with the tilt of my head.
It will only make you
look bad in front of your brother, your parents, and the woman you
want to finance your band.

But just in case he flunked posture reading, I also put Rachel's advice into full swing. I wouldn't give Rick time to talk. I asked about Tanner's sports accomplishments. I asked about the Hilltop and whether it was hard to run a restaurant. I asked The Grandmother how she'd learned about business, and that topic took us all the way through dessert.

Tanner's grandmother had graduated with honors from college back when most women didn't even go. She'd taken one restaurant and turned it into a successful chain that spanned three states. She'd invested in real estate. She had a wide range of friends in the business world. I found it all fascinating, mostly because it had nothing to do with me.

By the time I was done with my raspberry-drizzled chocolate cake, I not only wanted to tell Rachel she was brilliant but to declare her a dating goddess. She had saved me. Tanner didn't know the truth about me, and his parents and Grandmother adored me.

I might actually be able to tell Tanner about myself in the car on the way home instead of around the dining room table with everyone gasping at me.

After we'd finished with dessert, I asked, "Would you like help with the dishes, Mrs. Debrock?" I figured this was better than sitting around the table chatting.

She looked over at me, genuinely surprised. "That's sweet of you to offer, but you're our guest. Besides, I don't want to take you away from Tanner."

"He can help too," I said. It had never been my plan to leave him alone with Rick.

I glanced over at Tanner to see if he minded being volunteered, but he was already on his feet, picking up plates from the table. "It's fine, Mom. You should relax. You and Dad made dinner."

Tanner headed to the kitchen with his hands full of dishes, and I followed after him, holding several plates. Right before Tanner left the dining room, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Come on, Richard. You grab the glasses."

I held my breath, waiting for Rick to come up with an excuse not to help. After all, the boy was a professional slacker. How hard could it be for him to come up with some place he needed to immediately be?

"Sure," he called back to us. "I'd love to help." And perhaps only I noticed the sarcasm.

In a preemptive conversational strike, I told Tanner how nice his family was while I rinsed dishes off. Tanner took the plates from my hands and stacked them in the dishwasher, agreeing. Rick went back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen bringing us dishes and silverware.

At one point Tanner took the linen napkins to the laundry room and Rick and I were left alone. He dropped the rest of his silverware into the tray and then surveyed me with a "Nice way to kiss up to everyone. You are truly a master to watch."

I smiled at him and leaned against the counter top. "Are those future lyrics?"

"I write it as I see it."

"Maybe you need to take a better look around then."

He shook his head, still surveying me. "I can't believe you're dating my brother." He gazed off in the distance, raised one hand then dropped it. "Maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe your type just naturally finds each other, like sharks in mating season." His gaze returned to me and he waved a finger in my direction. "But don't think you're going to start hanging out here now, because you're not."

As if I wanted to spend more time around Rick. "You didn't seem to mind intruding at my house whenever you felt like it."