Stacey And The Cheerleaders (7 page)

"Well," Robert said. "I looked at the movie

listings, and ... I don't know. What do you think?"

He handed me a carefully cut-out piece of newspaper. His mom turned on the overhead light.

I looked down the list of movies at the cine-plex. Mall Warriors II was playing on two screens now, and the rest looked pretty boring.

"Not such a great selection," I said, giving the sheet back to him.

"Yeah." Robert stuffed it in his coat pocket. "Maybe we should just get something to eat. You know, talk, maybe take a walk. . . ."

Take a walk? In twenty-degree weather?

It sounded like a wonderful idea.

Mrs. Brewster drove us to a coffee shop called the Argo in downtown Stoneybrook. Her last words to us were, "Take your time. Call me when you're ready."

"Your mom's really nice," I said as we walked inside.

"Yeah," Robert agreed. "For a mom."

"Two?" asked a harried-looking waiter. He grabbed a couple of menus and led us to a cozy booth by a window.

As we sat, Robert asked, "Did you have dinner?"

"Yes," I replied. "But go ahead and eat, if you want. I can order a salad or something."

"I ate, too. I figured we'd be going to a movie." He scanned the menu. "These desserts look great! How about this 'Brownie Ice Cream Delight for Two'?"

"Uh, no ..."

"Pecan pie a fa mode? Or maybe carrot cake?" Suddenly he looked very solemn, as if he knew he'd made a mistake. "Or maybe something lighter, like yogurt?"

I took a deep breath. He seemed so caring and earnest. He hadn't made fun of me for being a "girl" on a "diet." Somehow I didn't feel like dancing around the truth. I'd promised myself not to say anything about my diabetes, but I thought he deserved to know.

So I told him. He listened carefully, nodding and asking questions. He didn't gag when I mentioned my injections.

And when I finished, he didn't automatically change the subject, or look at me as if I were dying. He just said, "Wow, I'm glad you told me that. Otherwise you might have felt uncomfortable."

Now, Robert could have said a lot of things. He could have told me how gorgeous I was. He could have compared my hair to a cascade of satin (well, kinked satin) and my eyes to sapphires.

But what he had just said was the most romantic thing I could have imagined.

I was loosening up. My hair did not bother me one bit.

"Are you ready?" The waiter was now hovering over us with pad and pen.

"Uh, a vegetable soup and a small salad," I said. "Oil and vinegar on the side."

"I'll have the double bacon cheeseburger," Robert ordered.

The waited nodded and whisked away the menus.

"I thought you ate," I whispered, trying to hold back a giggle.

"I did," Robert replied. "That's why I didn't order fries."

To him, this made perfect sense.

Boys.

We talked and talked. I felt so at ease with Robert. I even found the nerve to tell him the saga of The Kink. He thought it was pretty funny. He was funny, too. And charming and smart — and a great listener.

I thought we'd never run out of things to say. But almost a half hour later I realized we'd missed one incredibly important topic — basketball.

I felt so rude for not bringing it up. "So," I said, "how does it feel to be on a first-place team?"

I figured he'd light up, the way RJ had when I'd mentioned basketball to him. But Robert

grew very quiet and thoughtful.

"I like it," he said, nodding. "I mean, I like the playing part of it. I've liked basketball since I was a kid."

"Well, what other part is there?" I asked.

"You know, the status stuff."

I looked at him blankly. "Meaning what?"

He seemed disappointed in my reaction. "How can I say this. Do you know Jason Fox?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Well, he's a very smart guy, and pretty friendly. But have you ever noticed the way he acts when he's around the team and the cheerleaders?"

I shrugged. "Kind of excited." I didn't want to say dorky.

"He worships us. He thinks we walk on water. Some of the guys really take advantage of him. He gives his social studies homework to a guy on our team — I won't mention any names — and the guy just copies it. You know, maybe changes a word here and there. He doesn't give Jason anything in return — but it makes Jason feel so cool. He can't wait to hand it over."

"Wow." That was an awful situation, but I wasn't sure what Robert was getting at.

"Here's another thing," he added. "I'm terrible in English. I try to read all the assign-

ments, but nothing seems to stay in my head. Last week in class we had to write a short essay on a book, and I hadn't even read past the first chapter. I got a C on it."

"Well, that's great! You must be smarter than you think."

Robert shook his head. "All I wrote on my paper was, 'I could not finish this book.' "

"What?"

"Uh-huh. On the bottom, the teacher wrote, 'If I'd had to play Lawrenceville, I'd have the same problem. Meet me after school some day this week and we'll chat about the book.' Now, George Burke, who sits next to me, had read it — and loved it. He wrote on both sides of the paper. The teacher's comment was something like, 'Shows good retention but shallow understanding.' He got a C minus."

"But — that's not fair."

"I know." Robert sat back in his chair with a pained look. "It's so weird. I mean, yes, we're a good team. We'll probably win the division and all. But people treat us differently — us and the cheerleaders. Everyone's willing to bend the rules for us. Well, not everyone. Some teachers and students treat us like normal kids. But if I wanted to cut a class, and my English teacher knew I was in school, no problem. Some of the guys do it all the time. The girls, too."

I shook my head in disbelief. "And they all seem like such nice people."

"Sometimes they are," Robert replied. "But they can be pretty fickle, you know. That's what happens when you're used to having your way all the time. You get spoiled, then you start not thinking about other people's feelings."

"I'm glad you're not like that, Robert."

Robert began cutting his burger in half. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so negative."

We sat quietly for a moment, eating our food. Finally I said, "You know, I'm really glad you told me this stuff. If I become a cheerleader, I'm going to work hard not to take advantage of things."

Robert's eyes widened. "You're trying out?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Hey, that's fantastic. I hope you make it. Do the other girls know?"

"So far, Sheila, Penny, Darcy, Margie, and Corinne do."

"Uh-oh. Does Corinne know we're going out?"

My heart did a flip-flop. "Maybe. Why? Are you . . ."

Robert shook his head. "No! No. We went out once or twice. It was okay, but nothing special. Not like this."

Boy, did he know what to say to a girl.

"Anyway," he went on, "I guess she thought we were, you know, going steady or something. She still calls me practically every day. I don't lead her on, because I'm not that type, but I'm not mean to her either." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "That's Corinne."

You know what? I didn't blame Corinne at all. I had been with Robert for less than an hour, in a coffee shop with clanking plates and gruff waiters, but I was having one of the nicest nights of my life.

The only problem was, I didn't want it to end.

Chapter 9.

Mary Anne went to the Kilbournes' expecting the worst. She was supposed to sit for Tiffany and Maria while Shannon and her mom went to a school concert. At the last minute, Maria had decided to go. (Shannon later told us Maria didn't care about the concert, she just wanted to get away from her sister.)

So it was Mary Anne the Meek and Tiffany the Terrible, all alone.

As the car backed out of the driveway, Mary Anne sat on the living room couch. Tiffany slumped in an armchair and stared out the window.

"Did you want to go with them, Tiffany?" Mary Anne asked.

"No way," Tiffany answered.

"Um, do you want to go outside?"

"No!"

"Okay. I was just asking. I noticed you were looking outside."

"Mm."

Mary Anne quietly opened her backpack and took out some schoolbooks. She decided to use her sullen-child strategy. She wouldn't try to make Tiffany laugh or do anything. Mary Anne would just be there. She would be all ears if Tiffany decided she needed someone.

For a long time, Tiffany just moped around.

Mary Anne heard her run up and down the stairs, then open the kitchen cabinets a few times.

Finally Tiffany came into the living room and sat down on the floor. "I'm bored," she announced.

Mary Anne closed her book. "Oh?"

"Yeah. There's nothing to do. And you are the most boringest baby-sitter I've ever met."

I told you Mary Anne is extremely sensitive. But she's also an incredible baby-sitter. She knew not to take it personally. "I thought you wanted to be left alone," she said.

"I did. But I guess I don't anymore."

"Good. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. You're the baby-sitter. You're supposed to find things for me to do."

"I'd be happy to, but you have to tell me what you like. How about board games?"

"Yuck."

"Do you like art?"

"Double yuck!"

"Well, you must like something."

Tiffany didn't answer. She looked sort of hurt and distracted.

Mary Anne sighed. "Tiffany, is something bothering you?"

Tiffany's head slumped forward. Her hair fell in front of her face. "I guess," she muttered.

"You look sad," Mary Anne said.

For a long moment Tiffany said nothing. When she finally did speak, her voice was practically a whisper. "I can't do art. I can't do board games. I can't do anything."

"Sure you can," Mary Anne reassured her. "Kristy mentioned you had a yo-yo — "

"It was Kristy's yo-yo," Tiffany replied. "And I couldn't even do that. I just watched. I'm so uncoordinated."

Mary Anne reached out to her. "I'm sure you're not."

Tiffany lurched up and walked to the window. "I am. Uncoordinated and stupid. I don't know how to swim, I'm not good in school, I can't speak any languages — "

"Those are all things your sisters do."

"I know!"

"Well, sisters are different from each other — different interests, different abilities. Just like other people. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, except my sisters have all the interests and abilities, and I don't have any. Shannon's a genius. She knows everything. She has so many awards, she can't even find some of them! All the teachers talk about her. It's 'Shannon this' and 'Shannon that.' Then they expect me to be the same way, and they always get so disappointed. And now Maria's

bringing home all these dumb trophies. I'm like a freak in this family. I never win awards."

Mary Anne's heart went out to Tiffany. "You sound like you feel pretty lonely."

Tiffany's lower lip quivered. Her eyes filled. "You know, Maria and I used to do stuff together all the time. I guess because Shannon's so much older, and always so busy. So we kind of stuck together. But now Maria's just as bad."

Mary Anne thought for a moment. Tiffany needed something to take her mind off her sisters. "You know what?" she said finally. "You need a hobby."

"Huh?"

"An interest of your own. Something your sisters don't necessarily do. I mean, Shannon has school, Maria has swimming — and now we have to find something for Tiffany."

Tiffany looked doubtful. "Like what?"

"That's for you to decide. I can help you make a list." Mary Anne pulled a notebook and pen out of her shoulder bag. "Say anything that pops into your mind."

"What are the most popular hobbies?"

"I guess drawing, painting, music, dance. ..."

Tiffany hopped onto the couch. "Okay. Those are good. Also, I have a friend who has about a million plants and flowers. And an-

other who collects stamps. And Wendy Kasser plays the piano."

"Whoa, slow down." Mary Anne carefully wrote down the three suggestions, then offered, "There's also tennis and bird-watching."

"Surfing!"

"Uh, maybe not this time of year. How about snow sculptures?"

The ideas kept coming. When the list grew to both sides of the page, they stopped. Tiffany held it up excitedly and said, "I'm going to start trying some right now!"

She ran through the kitchen and down to the basement. Mary Anne heard her clanking around for a few minutes.

Tiffany came upstairs with an old tennis racket, a book on photography, a blank photo album, a jigsaw puzzle, and a ratty old piano instruction book called Teaching Little Fingers to Play. She plopped everything on the living room floor.

"Wow!" Mary Anne said. She could hardly believe the change.

"I know I'll find a hobby I can beat Shannon and Maria with," Tiffany squealed. "And there's so much more stuff down there. Mary Anne, this was the best idea."

She ran out of the living room again.

Mary Anne settled back and pulled out some homework from her bag. She was thrilled. Tiffany would be occupied for awhile. More important, she, was happy.

That was a major triumph.

Chapter 10.

"Okay, let's try it again," Jessi commanded. "Chasse left, chasse right, step, kick, step, kick. Don't forget your arms, Stacey — elbows straight up, that's it, now turn, turn, pump those arms, jump . . . jump . . . split!"

I sank to the ground with a gasp. I clutched the ground for support. My right leg was bent at the knee. My hair was hanging in front of my face. The only thing I could say was, "Ugh."

It was Tuesday, one week from tryouts. I'd been practicing with Jessi every day. She had worked out a routine that looked spectacular when she demonstrated it.

The only problem was, she wasn't the one trying out. I was.

And I still wasn't getting it.

"That was almost perfect!" Jessi exclaimed. "Except for the final tableau. Remember, it's like this."

She sank into a perfect split, reaching to the sky, her head tilted back with a great big smile.