Revenge of the Cheerleaders

  "Ditto," Rachel said, then looked over at me. "And you shouldn't go either, Chels. You've got work to do."

  I nodded and we plodded toward our cars. While we walked my friends threw out more suggestions for me. I nodded at these too, even though they barely registered in my mind.

  "We'll be at the auditions rooting for you," Rachel said. "Well, just as soon as we let the air out of Rick's tires." I was not sure whether she was joking about that or not.

  "Thanks." The word came out of my mouth wavering. "You guys are great."

  I noticed Logan coming across the parking lot. He'd been at the game, but of course had no way of knowing about the drama that had happened on the way back.

  "Hi guys," he called cheerily. Then to Samantha he said, "Ready for Pride and Prejudice?"

  And that's when Samantha's composure broke. She'd been so collected on the way home that I'd thought she was okay. But as soon as he spoke to her, tears welled up in her eyes. She let out a little sob and threw her arms around him.

  His arms tightened around her and his lips brushed against her hair. "What's wrong?"

  "Rick planted beer cans in our duffel bags," I told him. "So I'm without back up singers for the audition tomorrow, and if Mrs. Jones can't convince the principal that the cans didn't belong to us, Samantha, Rachel, and Aubrie will be suspended for two weeks."

  Logan stared back at us, stunned. "You're kidding."

  "Nope," Aubrie said.

  "We're going to let the air out of his tires tomorrow before he leaves for tryouts," Rachel added.

  Logan shook his head, his expression serious. "No, you're not."

  "Yes, we are," Samantha choked out.

  He ran his hand across her back. "What about all of that stuff you said last year about taking the high road, and revenge not being the best way? Don't you believe that anymore?"

  "Yes," she said, "but Rick can't keep walking over people."

  "You're not going to do it," Logan said, but the softness in his voice made me unsure as to whether it was a command or a prediction. "You're not going to do something that's illegal just to get back at him."

  She put her head back down on his shoulder and didn't answer.

  The rest of us said our goodbyes, and we went our separate ways. I drove home, fighting to keep the lump in my throat from transforming into a crying jag, and wondered if Mr. Metzerol took emergency phone calls.

  Adrian wasn't home when I got home, and she hadn't left a note like Mom instructed, but that wasn't a surprise. I wouldn't let myself worry about her. I didn't have time.

  I sat down in front of the computer to surf the net for possible songs.

  It was hopeless, I knew, even before I logged on. A new song wouldn't solve my problems. I needed my backup singers back. I put down the mouse and picked up my phone.

  Pacing across my room, I called Tanner. When he answered his phone I told him everything that had happened. "Can you make Rick confess to putting those cans in our duffel bags? If he confesses then my friends will be able to sing with me."

  "You think Richard framed you?" I could hear the doubt in Tanner's voice, and I knew he didn't believe it.

  "Yes," I said. "I think Rick would do anything to win."

  There was a pause on the line and I could almost sense Tanner arranging his words. "Okay, sometimes Richard doesn't play by the rules, but he wouldn't stoop this low. He wouldn't get people suspended from school."

  I gripped the phone harder than I needed too. "You haven't even talked to him yet and you're taking his side?" And that's when I realized it could never work out between Tanner and me. No matter what we'd said yesterday in the car about ignoring each other's siblings, we couldn't. As long as Rick and I didn't get along, Tanner would have to choose sides. And apparently his strongest loyalty would always be to his brother.

  Tanner let out a sigh. "Look, I really don't think he had anything to do with it, but I'll talk to him and let you know."

  We hung up, and while I waited for him to call back, I took off my cheerleading stuff, flung it onto the floor in a heap, and kicked it—I knew it was childish, but I'd stopped caring. Then I changed into my grubbiest sweats. Five minutes later he called me back. "Richard said—and this is a direct quote—that he doesn't know now, has never known, and never wants to know anything about the contents of the cheerleading squad's duffel bags."

  "And you believed him?" It was a stupid question. Tanner had believed Rick before he'd even asked him about it. Still, it amazed me that Tanner could be so blind.

  "Chelsea," Tanner's voice turned soft, reasoning. "Why would he risk getting you in trouble when he already thinks he's going to win? No offense, but Richard's been at this for years."

  And apparently Tanner thought that meant no one else stood a chance.

  I said, "I don't understand why Rick does the things he does. I guess that's always been part of the problem." My throat felt tight. It was getting harder to push out the words. "Look, Tanner, I've got to get off the phone. I need to figure out a new song for tomorrow."

  "Chelsea . . . " He let out a sigh and didn't say anything else. Well, what else was there left to say? "I'll let you go then."

  He was letting me go, I knew, in more than one way.

  I shut my eyes and then opened them again. It was too easy to picture Tanner with my eyes closed and I didn't want to see him right now.

  "Good luck with your audition tomorrow," he said.

  "Thanks," I said, but didn't mean it.

  Then we said good-bye. That part I meant.

  After I hung up, I went back to the computer, fighting harder than ever to keep the tears at bay. Even with my eyes open I could see Tanner's face. I could see the way he'd smiled at me before we kissed. But I didn't have time to cry about this. I needed to stay angry. Anger was easier to deal with and more time-effective, too. Anger gave you energy. Tears just made you weak.

  I was on my third music site when the doorbell rang. I trudged to the door and opened it, already resenting the interruption. Molly and Polly stood on my door step. "Hi, we called a little while ago, but it was busy." Polly's gaze took in my faded sweats. "We wanted to get your opinion on our outfits in case we needed to change before we left for the party."

  Molly looked me up and down. "I told you we were overdressed."

  Which made me feel even worse. They had put all that time into getting ready, and I'd been so upset about everything I'd completely forgotten to call them and cancel.

  I invited them in, then explained what had happened. " I 'm sorry, but I don't have time for the party. I've got to learn a whole new song."

  "Why not just get new backup singers for your old song?" Molly asked.

  "Because I don't know anyone else that can sing who isn't already trying out themselves." As soon as I said the words I realized I did. And they were standing right in front of me.

  Chapter 17

  I nearly gasped in excitement. "You guys could do it." Polly gasped too, but not in excitement. "No, we can't."

  "Mr. Metzerol says you have beautiful voices."

  "And I get nosebleeds when I'm nervous," Polly said.

  "So don't get nervous," I said.

  Polly looked back at me like I'd just told her to stop breathing.

  "We could do it," Molly told her sister. "It wouldn't take us any time to learn the song." Then to me she said, "But we're not doing any of those dance steps, so don't even ask."

  "No dance steps," I said. "You can just step and clap or something."

  "What were your backup singers wearing to audition?" Molly asked.

  "A sparkly dress which may in fact be an ice skating uni­form."

  "We're not wearing those either," Molly said.

  Polly raised her voice. "Did I mention that I get nosebleeds in front of crowds?"

  "She has a point," I told Molly, "Maybe you should wear football uniforms, like we did for the game. That way she can shove toilet paper up her nose and it will just look like it's part
of the costume."

  "Okay," Molly said. "We'll sing in football uniforms." She snapped her fingers. "We can put a cheat sheet on a football, just in case we have trouble with the words."

  Polly folded her arms. "Do I have any say in this?"

  Molly turned to her, with a stern look. "Chelsea is our friend and she needs our help."

  She said this so simply, and yet it still hit me with eye-blinking force. With that one sentence I had been bestowed friendship status. They wanted to help me. I could see Polly's resistance melting as she considered her sister's words.

  "Oh sure, guilt me into it. All right, I'll do it, but if the number is interrupted by paramedics rushing onto the stage because they think I've suffered some sort of head wound, don't blame me."

  "You'll be fine," Molly said. To me she said, "She worries too much." Then Molly glanced back at her sister. "That reminds me, did you bring Kleenex for the party tonight?"

  Polly patted her pants pocket. "Check." She patted her other pocket. "Check." Then she flipped open her purse. "And check."

  "We're ready to go any time you are," Molly said.

  "We'll go after we've practiced the song a few times." I didn't want to tell them what a perfectionist I was about practicing, for fear they would immediately take back both their offer of help and friendship. We would most likely not have time to go to the party, because we'd be practicing for hours.

  But as it turned out, Molly and Polly picked up the song effortlessly. And Mr. Metzerol was right. They sang beautifully. I stopped worrying that they wouldn't get the number down and started worrying that they would out-sing me.

  An hour later we were ready, for both the auditions and the party. I changed into jeans and a sweater, and then we left.

  Cars lined Garret and Joe's street. From the looks of it a lot of people were here. As we walked toward the house, I gave Molly and Polly last-minute instructions. "Stick close to me. I'll try to find a time when Joe is alone and then I'll go up and ask him about something. After we've talked for a few minutes, Molly will ask me where the bathroom is, and I'll volunteer to show her. I'll tell you I'll be right back, but in fact I'll give you ten minutes alone. You can make conversation for ten minutes, right?"

  Polly flipped open her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. "I made a list of things to say. I even jotted down notes about tonight's game."

  "Great." I took the list and put in back in her purse. "But don't look at that list while Joe is around. You want to appear relaxed and confident, remember?"

  "Relaxed," Polly repeated, "and confident."

  We rung the doorbell and someone yelled, "Come in!"

  I was about to, when I noticed Polly blinking repeatedly. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

  "One of my contacts suddenly hurts."

  "That's why sensible people wear glasses," Molly said. "They don't accidentally fold over in your eyelids."

  Polly dabbed at her eye with a finger. "It will be okay in a second." Neither Molly or I opened the door, though. We just watched Polly's eyelids fluttering.

  Finally Polly turned to her sister. "Maybe it's not the contact. Do you see anything in my eye? A piece of dirt? An eyelash? A small crowbar?"

  Polly held her eye wide open and Molly peered at it. "I don't see anything unusual except your mascara. It's starting to run."

  That's when the front door swung open and Joe greeted us. "Hey, don't wait for an invitation, come"—his voice trailed off as he saw Polly blinking furiously—"inside."

  "She's not winking at you," Molly said. "She's got contact problems."

  "Contact problems?" Then Joe let out an "Ohhh," of understanding. "You mean contact lenses." He chuckled to himself. "For a second there I thought you meant physical contact."

  Polly let out a strangled laugh and blinked harder.

  Molly hurriedly said, "No, she doesn't have physical contact problems. She could make physical contact with you without any trouble at all."

  Polly smacked her sister in the arm with one hand and covered her eye with the other. "Maybe I'd better go home."

  I took Polly's arm and pulled her into the house. "I'm sure you can fix your contact in the bathroom."

  We walked into the living room and immediately noticed people sprawled all over the couches and floors. Well, at least I noticed them. Polly with one hand over her eye apparently didn't notice much and nearly stepped on Mike's leg.

  "Watch where you're going," he said, and then he saw me. His eyes narrowed as his gaze went back and forth between Polly and me, but he didn't say anything else.

  Naomi wasn't with him, but I didn't have time to think about that piece of information. I put my hand on Polly's shoulder and propelled her toward the hallway, weaving her around people and objects. Molly followed close after us. "Hey," I heard a voice somewhere back in the room chide. "Do you have a license to drive that thing?"

  I hoped that neither Molly or Polly heard this, or if they had, that they didn't realize that the comment was directed toward us. It had been a mistake to bring the twins here, I realized. It probably would have been okay if Aubrie and Rachel had come with us too, but at this point I was Ms. Dangerously Blonde, and my teetering popularity was apparently not enough to keep people from being rude.

  Still, the only thing to do at this point was smile, pretend we belonged here, and only make an exit after it was clear no one had chased us away.

  And perhaps that comment would be the worst of it. I mean, certainly as soon as Polly stopped flapping her eyelids like she was trying to take flight with them, we'd look like just another normal group of party guests.

  We found the bathroom, and Molly and I waited outside while Polly fiddled with her contact. "I can't believe he answered the door," she said from inside. "And I can't believe you told him I'd have no trouble making physical contact with him."

  "Sorry," Molly said. "I didn't come with a list of prepared topics like you did."

  Polly's voice dropped to a growl. "Just don't say anything to anyone for the rest of the night."

  "I didn't even want to come here," Molly hissed back. "You made me."

  And then neither of them spoke until Polly emerged from the bathroom. "How do I look?" she asked me.

  "Great," I said, and I wasn't lying. She looked nice. She was even standing with good posture. It was unfair that even though she looked so much better, stood so much more confidently, that someone had still made fun of her when she'd walked in.

  What did people want from her? They'd tormented Molly and Polly for looking like geeks when they moved in, but now that they'd shaken off that image, people didn't want to treat them any better. Why did high school cliques have to be so rigid that once you'd been thrown in one, public opinion cemented to keep you there?

  Well, it cemented to keep people at the bottom anyway. People at the top were fair game. We could be ripped off our pedestals at any moment. One misstep toward uncoolness and too many people were eager to see you topple.

  "Come on," I said. "We'll get some sodas and mingle."

  We walked to the kitchen and Molly followed us, arms folded and silent. I picked up sodas from an ice chest and handed one to each of the girls. Then I saw Joe by the sliding glass door and nodded in his direction. "Let's go."

  Polly whimpered, but followed after me. Molly still didn't say anything, and I wondered if she planned on being sullen all night. That would make mingling a lot of fun.

  We reached Joe. He'd apparently just put a dog outside and was still gazing in that direction. A layer of white covered the lawn, and his golden retriever was sniffing around, making a trail of gray circles in the snow.

  "Hi Joe," I said.

  "Hi Joe," Polly said.

  Joe looked at me, not at Polly. "Hey, sorry to hear the cheerleading squad got in trouble tonight. No one on the team believes you guys are guilty."

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Of course, that doesn't mean we won't razz you about it anyway."

  "Thanks," I said. T
his was just what I wanted to hear.

  I glanced over at Polly. She wore a look of pained nervousness. I tried to change the subject to something she could join in about. "You guys played a great game tonight."

  "We did okay," Joe said.

  Polly smiled eagerly in his direction. "I saw you running down the field, you know, the time when that other guy ran over you."

  Joe grimaced. "That describes a lot of times."

  "And I saw them all." Polly sent her sister a look and I could tell she was waiting for Molly to ask me something, so I had an excuse to leave Polly alone with Joe.

  Molly just pressed her lips together and looked around the room.

  Polly turned her attention back to Joe. "I thought you played really well."

  "Yeah," I added, and tried to think up an excuse that would take Molly and me away. I needed her help with . . . um . . . what?

  "I bet if you hadn't dropped the ball that time, you would have made a touchdown," Polly said.

  Joe sent her a stiff smile. "Funny—the coach told me the exact same thing—except his veins popped out of his neck while he said it."

  "Oh." Polly, immediately grew distressed. "I didn't mean to imply that you'd messed up the inning."

  "Play," he said, because innings are in baseball, not football.

  Polly looked at him blankly. "What?"

  "Play," he said again. "First down."

  "Down?" Her eyes grew wide. Then she looked at the floor. "Exactly what are we playing?"

  I elbowed her. "He's not giving you an instruction, Polly. He's talking about the football game."

  "Oh, right," she said. "I knew that. English is my first language."

  "Speaking of English," I said, "weren't you telling me about a study group you wanted to put together for English class?"

  "Yeah." Polly put hand to her nose like she was smelling her knuckles, only she didn't move her hand away.

  Joe shrugged. "I could use some extra help in English."

  "Great," Polly said. "I mean great that you want help, not great that you're bad at English." She still didn't move her hand. It meant that she'd either gotten a bloody nose or was afraid of getting one.