Revenge of the Cheerleaders

  This is not the way a girl wants a guy to remember her. You said hi, you flirted, and then you bled all over his carpet.

  I tried to think of something, anything I could do to help. "Hey, what a great ceiling you have." I looked up intently, as though admiring the beige paint. So did Polly and Joe. This at least would keep Polly's face tilted in the right direction.

  "My ceiling?" Joe repeated.

  "Cool light fixtures too," I said. "Are your light fixtures the same in the hallway?"

  "Uh, no, they're in the wall."

  I grabbed Polly by the arm. "Let's go check." Partially because I wanted both hands free to guide Polly, and partially because I wanted a reason to come back and talk to Joe, I thrust my soda can into his hands. "Could you hold this for me for a minute?" Before he had a chance to answer, I turned and propelled Polly toward the hallway. Molly followed behind us, shaking her head.

  I led Polly through the room and she kept her head tilted upwards the entire time. "Wouldn't this room look great with crown molding?" I said, as we walked by a crowd.

  "And a mural of clouds," she answered.

  As soon as we got to the hallway that led to the bathroom, Polly retrieved her Kleenex from her pocket and held it to her nose. "That was awful," she said. "Joe must think I'm totally strange now."

  "Not at all," Molly said. "I'm sure a lot of girls ask him about playing on the floor and then spontaneously bleed."

  Glaring at her sister, Polly pulled the second wad of Kleenex from her pocket and held it to her face. "You wanted me to look like a fool, didn't you?" She stormed into the bathroom, and shut the door. I heard the lock click and then the sound of crying.

  I tapped softly on the door. "It's not that bad. I was the one who started talking about the ceiling. If he thinks anyone is strange, it's me."

  No answer except for sniffling.

  Molly ran her hand through her hair, sighed, and leaned against the door. "I'm sorry. Will you come out now? Joe is probably wondering what you were going to tell him about the study group."

  And what to do with my soda can.

  Polly's voice came out muffled. "My nose is bleeding, and I can't face anyone."

  "All right," Molly said, "I'll face them for you."

  The door opened and for a moment I caught site of Polly, a huge wad of toilet paper crammed against her face, then Molly slipped into the bathroom and the door closed again.

  I supposed that Molly was in there giving Polly a pep talk, or applying pressure or something; I wandered further away from the door, looking at the family photos on the wall while I wondered how to salvage the meeting with Joe.

  "So did you ditch Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

  I turned and saw Mike, leaning up against the wall where the hall emptied into the family room. He held a drink loosely in one hand and his gaze traveled over me in a way that Naomi wouldn't approve of.

  I bristled at his comment, but smiled at him anyway. "I notice your girlfriend isn't here. Was she afraid to come to a place where calories might leap out at her?"

  Mike took a sip from his drink, then turned his attention back to me. "Naomi and I broke up this morning."

  Which explained her performance with Bjorne at the game. "Oh, sorry," I said, because it must hurt to get dumped for a guy who barely speaks English.

  One eyebrow lifted and his eyes studied me. "Are you sorry? I sort of thought you'd be glad."

  I shrugged. "Well, okay, a part of me thinks you deserved to be dumped, but I was too polite to mention it."

  He rolled his eyes. "I broke up with her, Chels. I admit it—you were right—she only has three topics of conversation and two of those are about herself."

  "Oh." I didn't feel happy, just vindicated. "I thought she understood you."

  "I guess I didn't understand myself." He stepped over to my part of the hallway and leaned against the wall next to me. "I wasn't seeing things clearly, but I can still see it was a mistake for us to break up."

  He said this as though it had just occurred by itself. As though we were walking through school one day and—poof—we weren't a couple anymore.

  But it hadn't happened that way. He'd decided that he liked someone better than me, and he'd thrown everything we'd had away. Now he just wanted me to forget about all of that?

  I leaned away from him. "Well, what's done is done."

  "But that doesn't mean it can't be undone." He took another step toward me. "Look, I know it's been really hard on you. I know that's why you've been acting this way."

  "Acting what way?"

  He shrugged as though it should be obvious. "The Chelsea I knew would never drink beer while cheering for a game."

  Just the reminder made my stomach clench. "I wasn't drinking at the game."

  "Your bag was the only one that didn't have a beer can in it. Why was that?"

  For a moment I couldn't say anything. All the words rushed to my mouth at the same time and tangled themselves around my tongue. How could he know me and just assume I'd been drinking? He knew I never drank. My father's drinking had made my childhood miserable and I didn't want anything to do with it. Mike and I had had this conversation when we'd dated. Had he forgotten? Or had he never really listened to me in the first place?

  "None of those cans were ours." I said. "Rick framed us so we wouldn't be able to audition for High School Idol. "

  "If it was Rick, wouldn't he have put something in your duffel bag too? You're his main competition."

  I clamped down on the words that wanted to stream out of my mouth. If I admitted that Samantha had taken the can out of my bag and it got back to the coach, I'd be in the same trouble as the rest of the squad.

  "It was Rick," I said.

  "And do you blame Rick for making you hang out with the Patterson twins, too?"

  I lowered my voice to a near whisper. "There is nothing wrong with the Patterson twins."

  "Nothing wrong if you want a membership to the Loser-of-the-Month Club. Look, I know you've made them your little project and you gave them makeovers and everything." He held up one hand as though conceding the point. "I'm not saying you didn't do a good job. They look better, but they're never going to matter to anyone but you. They're dead weight, Chelsea, and they're dragging you down. People are talking about it." He put his hand on my shoulder, gently massaging it. "You need to cut them loose and hang out with real people."

  The horrible thing was I knew what he said was true. People were talking. Molly and Polly weren't helping my social standing. And they probably would never matter to anyone at school but me and a few others. It was true, and awful, and unfair in a way that stung my insides.

  I looked up at Mike and kept my voice even. "Remember when you told me that Naomi understood you better?"

  Perhaps he could feel the rigidness in my muscles because his hand moved from my shoulder to my neck, still massaging. "I'm sorry about that."

  "No, you were right. She must have understood you better, because I didn't understand you at all." I took his hand and moved it off my neck. "But now I do, and I don't like what I understand."

  He let out a sigh. "I know you're upset about Naomi—"

  "This isn't about Naomi," I said. "It's about Molly and Polly. What kind of person refers to other people as dead weight?"

  "A realistic one."

  The bathroom door opened and Polly stepped out. She motioned in my direction. "Chelsea, can you come here for a second?"

  I sent Mike a stiff smile. "I've got to go." Then I walked back to Polly.

  "How do I look?" she asked. "Does anything look out of place?"

  I examined her face. I saw no signs of blood or telltale signs of crying. She didn't even have red eyes. I glanced over her clothes to check for stray drops of blood but didn't see those either. "You look fine, amazingly fine."

  She leaned closer to me. "That's because I'm Molly. We switched clothes in the bathroom. We figured if you couldn't tell the difference no one else would."

 
I looked behind her for Polly, but apparently she had no plans of emerging from the bathroom. "What did you do that for?"

  "So I could go make small talk with Joe, and he'd still think she was a normal person." She smoothed out her sweater and shook her head. "This is so awkward."

  "Because you don't want to flirt with Joe?"

  "Because I can't see. I had to give Polly my glasses to hold."

  I put my hand to my face. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

  "Really, Juliet?"

  What could I say after that?

  Molly adjusted the bottom of her sweater. "I couldn't possibly be worse at flirting than Polly was. Besides, we've done this before. After the party, I'll just tell her everything Joe said to me, and he'll never be the wiser." Molly ran her hand through her hair, fluffing it. "I think Polly should go out on a limb and really lay on the charm, don't you? I mean, what's the point of liking a guy if you're too shy to let him know?"

  I glanced back at the bathroom door. "I don't think Polly would want you to do anything drastic."

  "Just point me in the right direction. Which one of the tall blurs is Joe?"

  I stepped out into the family room with Molly. Mike was still there, lingering near the hallway. He saw me scanning the room and walked up. "Who are you looking for?"

  "Joe has my drink," I said.

  "I can get you another one." Mike took a step toward the kitchen, but I called after him.

  "You don't have to do that. Polly can go get it."

  Mike glanced in the direction of the sliding glass door. "Joe might be in the back yard. Garret was showing some girls how his dog retrieves snowballs—oh, there he is."

  I looked and noticed Joe pulling open the door for a group of people to go outside. "He's by the sliding glass door," I told Molly.

  "Okay," She put her shoulders back, the exact same posture that Polly had adopted lately, and strode across the family room.

  Joe and the group stepped out onto the patio and shut the door. The group went out onto the lawn, but Joe stayed next to the door. Perfect. Molly would be able to talk to him alone.

  As though Mike had read my mind, he leaned closer to me. "Don't you think you're carrying this project of yours too far? Joe is way out of her league. You'll only make him feel uncomfortable and make her feel stupid."

  I tore my gaze away from Molly long enough to glare at Mike. "Molly is smart and funny and any guy should be flattered to talk to her."

  "I thought that was Polly."

  "It is, and Polly is just as wonderful and smart as—"

  I heard a crash from across the room and my gaze swung back in that direction. Molly lay on the floor, blinking in surprise and confusion.

  Mike took a slow sip of his drink. "Yeah, real smart. Your friend just walked into the sliding glass door."

  Chapter 18

  Cringing, Molly sat up and held her hand to her nose. I rushed over, but before I'd reached her, Joe opened the door and stepped inside. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Molly gathered herself and stood up. "I'm fine. I just didn't see the door."

  "Is your nose okay?" I asked, because she hadn't moved her hand away from it.

  "Um . . . I think it's bleeding."

  Oh, if Aubrie had been here, she would have been all over the irony.

  "Here," Joe took her by the elbow, "I'll show you to the bathroom." They walked, and I followed after them. Mike followed after me. I'm not sure why Maybe to gloat.

  Of course the bathroom door was locked. After Joe knocked, we heard Polly's voice, worried, say, "I'll be out in a minute."

  "Can you hurry?" Joe asked. "Polly has a bloody nose."

  Which must have been a strange thing for Polly to hear. She cracked open the door, and I could see her—a wad of Kleenex still held to her nose—peering out at us. "How did you . . . " Her voice trailed off as she saw Molly.

  Joe did a double take when he saw Polly holding tissue to her face. "What happened to you?"

  I let out a gasp which even in my own ears sounded forced. "It's one of those mystic twin phenomena! Polly got hurt and so Molly's nose started bleeding. Amazing!"

  And everyone agreed that it was amazing, especially Polly who said the word while glaring at her sister.

  We left the party after that. I'm glad to report that we left with our heads held high, even if it was, in part, because two of us didn't want to bleed on the carpet.

  In the car on the way home, Polly sat beside me while Molly lay down on the backseat. Polly drummed her fingers against the armrest and slowly said, "I can't believe that while you were dressed as me, you ran into a sliding glass door."

  "I couldn't see," Molly said.

  "Well even a blind person could have noticed that there weren't gusts of cold air wafting in front of them. That should have signaled to you that the door was closed."

  Molly let out an exasperated grunt. "Sorry, I was too busy thinking of what to say to the guy you liked to monitor the weather."

  "I'll never live this down," Polly moaned. "At school I'll be known as A+ Polly again."

  "Well, then just be glad our blood type isn't B negative," Molly flung back, "since that fits you better."

  In all the time I'd known the twins, this night was the first time I'd heard them argue. It was my fault, since none of it would have happened if I hadn't brought them to this stupid party. I shouldn't have, just like I shouldn't have made them hope that things could be different for them in high school.

  "I can't even make it through a party," Polly said, sniffling. "How am I going to make it through auditions tomorrow?"

  No one said anything for a moment and maybe we were all thinking that the audition was doomed. Finally I said, "What those people at that party think about you doesn't matter, so don't let them upset you." I knew I wasn't just saying it to her. I was saying it to myself because there was a very real chance that Rick would win the High School Idol spot, become a rock star, and torment me with anti-Chelsea smash hits for the rest of my life. I couldn't let it matter anymore.

  I checked Adrian's room when I got home. She was in bed, lights off, sleeping. The sight relieved me, not just because she was home but because while she lay there serenely, makeup off, she seemed like the sister I used to get along with. It reminded me that the old Adrian was still there, somewhere. I turned from the room, touched the doorknob and then tapped the edge of the door three times.

  I lay in bed for a long time thinking about auditions. I made a mental checklist of everything I needed to take tomorrow, even though I'd left most of it sitting in a pile by my bedroom door. I'd taken my mother's alarm clock and put it next to mine just to ensure I wouldn't sleep in.

  I didn't need to worry. I swear I woke up every hour to check on the time. When morning came, I pulled myself out of bed feeling more exhausted then when I'd laid down.

  Still I rushed around getting ready, doing my scales as I did. I threw on a pair of faded jeans and a Cougars sweatshirt. I was not about to walk into the auditorium wearing my sparkly outfit. Professionals, I was sure, changed when they got there.

  Mom called at 8:15 in the morning to wish me luck. I walked into the garage at 8:30 to put my stuff in the trunk and found out that Adrian had taken the car. I especially appreciated this since Adrian wasn't supposed to drive anywhere and she knew I needed the car to get to Beasley coliseum on campus for the auditions. I called her cell phone. She didn't answer. Then I called Molly in a panic, but luckily they hadn't left yet and could swing by and pick me up. By 8:55 we walked up to the registration desk. We were supposed to be there by 8:45 even though auditions didn't start until nine.

  The lady at the desk didn't seem to notice or care that we were late. She didn't even ask to see proof that Molly and Polly were students in good standing, something we were prepared to do with a phone call to the school's guidance counselor. She just handed me a packet of information and a large white tag that read #63, then had me check off my group's name on her list.

 
About a hundred names filled the roster. I didn't recognize a lot of them. They must be kids from Moscow and other neighboring towns. After we'd finished signing stuff, she told us to wait outside in the hallway for our number to be called.

  "But we're sixty-third in line?" I asked. "So how long will it be until they call us?"

  She gave me a cold stare, like I should already know, or at least like it was impertinent to ask. "The average audition is three minutes, but sometimes it goes much faster and if you miss your call, that's it. We won't audition you later. That's why we ask that all of the contestants stay in the hallway and not leave the premises."

  "Thanks." I turned away, mentally doing the math.

  Molly had it figured out before I did. "About three hours," she said. "It's a good thing I brought a book."

  Three hours? Why had they told us to be here so early, and why hadn't I thought to bring something, anything to do?

  I recognized several kids from Pullman milling around in the hallway—some in regular clothes, some decked out like rock stars, but I didn't see Rick. As a professional, apparently he already knew that you didn't have to be here on time.

  It would have served him right if he had been the first up, but no, while a thin man with a goatee welcomed us to auditions and gave us directions, I looked around and found the first ten contestants. They'd already pinned their numbers to their shirts. After goatee guy had finished emphasizing that we needed to get on and off stage as quickly as possible, he took the first ten contestants backstage to wait in the wings.

  Molly, Polly, and I found a corner and went over our routine a few times. Then there was nothing else to do but wait and listen to the strains of music floating into the hallway.

  I hadn't realized when the registration lady told me that the auditions averaged three minutes, what she meant was that if the judges didn't like you, they only gave you about thirty seconds to sing. If they liked you, they let you go on for a minute or two. The extra minute was spent ushering people on and off the stage. I learned this from the contestants who straggled back into the hallway, and told us in varying degrees of worry, how far they'd gotten into their song.