Revenge of the Cheerleaders (10 page)

"Not really," she said and looked at me to see whether I wanted her to stay or not.

"You might as well go," I said. "We came in separate cars anyway."

The waitress brought our checks, and Logan took care of their bill.

"Sorry Romeo didn't show up," Samantha whispered to me.

Logan leaned closer to me and said, "Don't feel bad. It wouldn't have worked out—I've read the story and you both die in the end."

Then Samantha and Logan said their good-byes to me and walked out of the restaurant holding hands.

I dug my wallet out of my purse, laid twenty dollars on the bill, and took a drink, waiting for the waitress to come.

When she did, she looked over her shoulder, then back at me. "Can I see some ID with that?"

I blinked up at her, wondering if she'd automatically assumed I laid down a credit card. "I need an ID to pay with cash?"

"The manager requested it."

"The manager," I repeated, and blushed.

I dug my driver's license out of my wallet and gave it to her. Maybe in some horrible twist of fate I'd unknowingly given them a counterfeit bill and I'd be dragged off to a police station for questioning. Rachel would be so disappointed to have missed it.

Or maybe, yes—it was the guy, and he was walking toward me with my ID. I wondered when he had noticed me and why I hadn't seen him.

He sat down on the chair across from me and handed me both my money and my driver's license.

"I'm comping your meal, Chelsea. It was worth it just to find out what your name really is."

"Thanks." I slipped my ID back into my wallet. "I told you all along my name was Chelsea."

"Yes, but you did it under suspicious circumstances. Why was everyone else calling you Juliet?"

I hesitated, thought about it, and took the fifth. "I could explain, but I'd rather appear mysterious. Is it working?"

He tilted his head down and laughed. The tenseness left his eyes. "I guess so." He held out his hand to shake mine. "I'm Tanner. Now we've officially met."

I shook his hand, afraid I was blushing again. College girls probably didn't blush when they met guys. "Aren't you kind of young to be a manager here?" I asked and held my breath, hoping he didn't answer with something like, "Yeah, everyone tells me I look so young. Actually I'm twenty-five . . ."

Instead he shrugged. "I'm really an assistant manager. For a while my brother took to shortening the term 'assistant' to—well, it's just easier to say manager—so that's what most of the employees call me." He shrugged and his blue eyes crinkled around the corners as though he was letting me in on a secret. "My parents own the restaurant."

How come every time I saw him he looked better than the time before? "That must be nice," I said. "I bet you always get really good dinners and stuff" I didn't know what else to say and realized my last sentence had verged on babbling. Having a hot guy sitting so close will do that to you.

"I eat well when I work here," he said. "I can't say the same for dorm food."

He probably needed to get back to work doing whatever it was assistant managers did, but I didn't want him to leave. We stared at each other for another moment and then because I couldn't think of a casual way to say it, I just blurted out, "So Tanner, we didn't really get off to the greatest start. Do you believe in second chances?" The next moment stretched out as I waited for his answer.

He smiled, nodded and leaned closer to me. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"Great," I said and then mentally added as though it were a mantra,
Don't ask me how old I am. Don't ask me how old I am.

He shrugged. "Would you like to get together sometime?"

"Sure."
Don't ask me which dorm I live in. Don't ask me
which dorm I live in.

"Can I have your phone number?"

I gave him my cell phone number. He wrote it on the back of my bill, studied me for another moment, then shook his head. "I keep trying to figure out where I know you from. Do you take Economics 101?"

"No."
Don't ask me what my major is. Don't ask me what my
major is.

"Have you ever lived in California?"

"Nope."

"Do you go to the Rec Center to run track?"

"Maybe you just recognize me from the restaurant. I come here a lot." I didn't, but I didn't want him to keep asking about my schedule.

He nodded uncertainly. "That could be it." Then his expression changed, and I could tell he'd put the matter out of his mind. "I'm closing tonight, but we could get together after classes tomorrow. What time are you done?"

"Two-thirty." Which was, after all true, because that's when the high school got out.

He nodded. "Let's get together for dinner. Can I pick you up at six?"

If I gave him my house address he'd know I wasn't a college student. My throat felt dry. "I have some errands to run tomorrow. Why don't I meet you somewhere. Where did you want to go?"

He said, "Let's go someplace where my coworkers and family won't be around. How about Basilios?"

We worked out the last of the details and then he glanced around the room. "I'd better get back to work. If I stay here too long the other employees will never let me hear the end of it." He stood up but gave me another smile before he left. "I'm glad you came in tonight, Chelsea."

So was I. All the way home I repeated his name in my mind.

My friends and I generally got together on Jock's Landing before school to talk. The subject the next morning was my secret double life as a college student.

"I never told him I went to WSU," I pointed out. "I just never said I didn't."

"It's almost the same as lying," Samantha said.

"It's not lying," I said. "It's verbal camouflage."

"Camouflaged or not, he's going to be mad if you're not up front about it from the beginning," Samantha said.

Aubrie nodded. "He'll wonder what else you haven't been honest about. Besides, it's not such a big deal. A lot of the guys we dated last year are in college this year. Girls date guys who are older. People know that."

"But there's a difference between a college guy dating a girl he went out with in high school and a college guy hitting on some random high school girl." I folded my arms and stared out at the river of students making their way to the lockers. "He'll think I'm too young for him."

"He'll find out eventually," Samantha said. "You can't hide it forever."

"I don't have to hide it forever," I said. "Just until next year when I actually go to college." Or until he decided he liked me so much he didn't care I was seventeen—well, almost eighteen.

"Why not let her pretend to be older?" Rachel asked, finally chiming in on the subject. "Chances are she'll get tired of him before he figures out her age." Rachel forgets that the rest of us don't date as much as she does.

"And how is she going to keep her age from him?" Samantha asked.

"Easy," Rachel said. "Just keep him talking about himself. That's what guys like to do anyway."

"Maybe," Aubrie said, "but the subject will come up sooner or later."

Rachel shook her head and then stared at the ceiling in contemplation. "I probably shouldn't reveal my dating secrets. Once I do, you're likely to steal all sorts of guys away from me." She lowered her gaze with a sigh. "Still, what are friends for? Chelsea needs help and she's not getting any good advice from the rest of you." Rachel took hold of my arm and pulled me closer to her. "I have a method. It works every time, and it will work for you if you can manage to follow it."

"What is it?" I asked.

"No matter what the topic of conversation is, you keep asking him questions about himself. Act like you want to talk about nothing but his thoughts, interests, and friends. If he mentions the sky is blue, you ask what he thinks about that and when he first noticed it. Don't say a word about yourself, and he'll worship you by the end of the date."

We all stared at her for a moment. Then Aubrie said, "Don't guys think it's strange that you never say anything about yourself?"

Rachel tilted her chin down. "Like they even notice. All the guys I date think I'm the best conversationalist in the world."

"Wow," Samantha said slowly. "I'm not sure if that's incredibly brilliant or horribly manipulative."

"Don't you get tired of just talking about the guy?" Aubrie asked.

Rachel shrugged. "Sure. That's where kissing comes in handy."

"I'll try it," I said.

Samantha rolled her eyes, and Aubrie shook her head sadly, but Rachel gave me the thumbs-up sign.

Chapter 10

T
he school day went by, haltingly slow at some times and breakneck fast at others, depending on whether I was excited or dreading my date with Tanner. Mr. Metzerol didn't hit me quite as much with his stick during my lesson with him, which I figured was progress. Molly and Polly were still slouching around, which wasn't.

Whenever I walked by him, Rick gave me dirty looks and mumbled things I knew I didn't want to hear. Rachel told me she'd heard through the grapevine that he thought I was responsible for Adrian breaking up with him. Which was typical Rick. I don't suppose it ever occurred to him that he had anything to do with it.

I knew Adrian would take him back in a second if he apologized—not even to me—just to her, but I wasn't about to suggest it. As far as I was concerned, his relationship with her could fade away, destined to be remembered with the same fondness as dental work.

I'd help her find someone new. Someone nice. Just as soon as she started speaking to me again. See, when you come right down to it, I'm much more forgiving of her than she is of me.

I changed my clothes three times and my hair twice before I went off to meet Tanner. Mom hadn't come home from work yet, so I left her a note and hoped she didn't call me on my cell phone with objections.

Tanner was already at the restaurant when I got there, and keeping with the trend, he looked even better than last time.

He smiled when he saw me walk up. "Hi again."

"Hi." Underneath the glow of his smile, I couldn't remember Rachel's instructions. In fact, I couldn't remember anything, like what to say next.

He didn't seem to notice though, and he made small talk while the hostess seated us at our table. Probably he was used to girls being speechless around him.

Dinner went surprisingly well. Mostly we stayed on safe topics—like our hobbies—we both loved skiing, and we made a date to go the first weekend after the lifts opened. We also talked about a lot of current events. I felt myself stretching to explain my opinions and the logic I'd used to reach them. He listened, and although he didn't agree with me about everything, he respected what I said. I could tell he was smart, and he made me feel like I was smart too.

When had Mike ever made me feel that way?

A few times the subject matter wandered dangerously close to identifying me as a high school senior. That's when I remembered Rachel's advice. When he asked what classes I had, I said, "Just the usual stuff. What about you? What's your favorite class?"

It was biology, something that slightly bothered him since he'd already decided to go the MBA route. It was his family's way of life. They ran businesses.

After that we talked about business, family expectations, and whether it was wise to strike out in new directions if other things interested you.

When we finished dinner we wandered over to Baskin-Robbins for milk shakes. Not because we were hungry; neither of us wanted to say good night yet. The night air chilled my face as we walked, a reminder that November was here, and snow wouldn't be far behind. We took our cups and strolled over to the patio area near the river. The Palouse River is actually more of a stream as it runs through Pullman, and it mostly consists of mud, but it was nice to sit on a bench and look at it, because I was alone with Tanner.

He asked me where I lived—a definite danger area. If I told him, "With my family" he'd ask why. I hesitated and said, "Your parents run the Hilltop, so they must be residents. Do you live with them or on campus?"

True to Rachel's advice, he didn't seem to notice I hadn't answered his question. He said, "I'm in Perham Hall."

"Didn't want to live with your parents?"

"Didn't want to live with my brother."

"Oh, you don't get along?"

He shrugged. "Some of the time we do, but most of the time I want to kill him." He paused for a moment. "You probably think I'm terrible for saying that, don't you?"

"No. I have a little sister, remember?"

"Oh yeah." He shot me a smile. "Tell me about your sister."

Danger area. I smiled back at him. "Tell me about your brother."

He leaned back on his hands, considering. "My brother is the smartest person I know, but he's devoted his entire life to slacking off. I can't tell you the last time he helped out at the restaurant."

I nodded. "My sister blames me for all her problems."

Tanner held out his hand as though showing me something. "My brother hates everything I do. I did sports, so he won't. I got good grades, so he won't. If I've done anything, it isn't cool."

I took a sip of my shake. "My sister refuses to think about her future, plus most of the time she dresses like the bride of Satan."

"My parents would never let me get away with half the stuff my brother gets away with."

"Exactly," I said, relieved that he understood—and surprised that I'd found someone who felt like I did. "My mother is too busy dealing with my sister to pay attention to my life."

Tanner nodded and turned back to me. "It sounds like they'd make quite a pair. Maybe we should get them together."

I shook my head and fast. "No way. My sister just broke up with her loser boyfriend. I'm hoping next time she'll choose someone who wants to reform her."

Tanner shrugged. "Yeah, and actually my brother already has a loser girlfriend." He gave me a quirky smile. "She drives my parents crazy. All you have to do is say the word 'grand-kids' and my mom shudders."

I raised my cup in a toast. "Here's to our future family reunions. May the normal people outnumber the hoodlums and slackers."

Tanner tapped his cup into mine. "We can always hope."

We both took a drink, but the next moment my relief gave way to sadness. Adrian and I had been so close when we were younger. Would it ever be that way again?

I looked down into my cup and didn't say anything. I felt Tanner's gaze on me, but he didn't say anything either. Maybe he understood my silence just like he'd understood my complaints.

Finally I looked back up at him. "I really love her," I said. "I worry about her all the time."

He put his hand on my back and rubbed a slow pattern of consolation across the material of my jacket. "I know what you mean."

He kept rubbing my back and I leaned my head into the crook of his shoulder. How had this happened so fast? Usually on a first date I worried about what kind of impression I made. I'd not only told Tanner about Adrian, I'd leaned into his shoulder like I'd known him forever.

Neither of us said anything for a moment. Then Tanner said, "I'm sure you're a really good sister."

I straightened up to tell him he was wrong. There were many times when I was an awful sister, but before I could say anything he leaned over and kissed me. Which put thoughts of Adrian right out of my mind.

It's not that I hadn't been kissed before. But kissing Tanner made me feel like it was the first time. My heart pounded and I felt dizzy and happy and awkward all at the same time.

When he finally stopped kissing me, I didn't know what to say and felt myself blush bright red. That's the problem with blushing. Telling yourself that you shouldn't do it, doesn't help at all.

Tanner smiled at me then looked away. I could tell he was weighing some matter in his mind, trying to decide something. At last he said, "My grandmother is coming from California for a visit in a few days. We're having a big family dinner up at the house on Monday. I know it might seem too soon to meet my family but it would be nice to have you there, you know, to kind of balance out my brother's loser girlfriend and show Grandma that one
of
us has normal taste. Do you want to come?"

"Sure." That's how much I liked Tanner. I wanted to spend time with him even if it meant meeting his family, his slacker brother, and a loser girlfriend.

I spent the rest of the week working on homework, singing practice, and dance rehearsal. We had it down perfectly, and it looked good. Sometimes while we ran through it, I imagined myself performing under a spotlight that illuminated me to thousands of screaming fans. What would it feel like to be a star? To be rich? To be famous?

Even though I tried to be realistic and not get my hopes up, thoughts would pop into my mind. I'd look across our cramped kitchen and think, "If I had a music deal, I could buy my mother a new house."

Unfortunately this thought was quickly followed by, "If my dad found out I was rich, he would try to take the money from me."

I spent about half an hour one night worrying about this, and remembering the times when I was little and he emptied my piggy bank because he needed money for liquor. My father wasn't nice when he was sober, but he was worse when he was drunk. I didn't have a good childhood.

Most of my early years were spent watching out for Adrian because she was a couple of years behind me in understanding how to keep out of his way. We either roamed around the neighborhood like miniature nomads
on
bikes, or we hid in my room, inventing fairy spells to keep him away. Our best one was touching the doorknob, then tapping the edge of the door three times when we passed by.

Even after Dad moved out, Adrian kept doing the spell for years. She said it worked on keeping all sorts of bad things away, and I admit I did it periodically for insurance that he wouldn't come back.

You would think the courts wouldn't have given my father joint custody of us, but they did. So we're all just glad he lives far away and never visits. Once in a while he calls, mostly to complain how my mother has ruined his life, and how he can't pay child support, but we can live with that.

If I came into any money before I turned eighteen though, could he get a hold of it?

This caused me actual anxiety until I realized my father wasn't likely to even call before I turned eighteen let alone find out my financial status, so I had nothing to worry about. I let myself return to the daydream of being discovered, of hearing myself on the radio, of Mr. Metzerol just once nodding proudly and telling me my potential was officially shaped.

In real life, Mr. Metzerol continued to prod and poke me through my voice lessons. He told me that Molly and Polly still refused to sing solo. He said this like I could change their minds. Right. I couldn't even get them to agree to come to the movies with a few people from school, and believe me, I tried.

Samantha and I invited Aubrie, Rachel, and half the football team—including Joe—to go to the movies with us on Friday. Molly and Polly wouldn't come though, because in English class Polly heard Joe say he was going bowling. Yes, bowling. I was trying to play Cupid and the boy would rather flatten a bunch of bowling pins.

Mike and Naomi, of course, showed up. This hardly bothered me though, because while we stood in line to buy tickets, Tanner text messaged me twice from work. He complained that the weekends were the busiest time for restaurants and tried to entice me to stop in by telling me the specials.
The lobster is fresh,
he wrote. Like I needed lobster to persuade me to see him. If I hadn't been stuck in line, he could have lured me in with dry toast and pretzels.

I must have been smiling a lot because while I texted him back, a couple of the guys commented on what a good mood I was in.

"It's the new boyfriend," Rachel told them. "Chelsea's seeing a college man."