Revenge of the Cheerleaders (15 page)

"Then why does Adrian think he did?"

I shrugged. "Because she wants to get me in trouble?"

Mom let out a sigh, but didn't contradict me. Her voice turned soft, and I knew she didn't know who to believe. "Adrian is going through a hard time right now. We need to be understanding, supportive . . ." Her voice faded off. She looked at my bedspread, then back at me. "Just promise me you won't do anything to hurt your sister, okay?"

"I won't," I said.

One day Adrian would realize what I'd done for her. One day she'd thank me.

Chapter 15

T
he next day Mom left for her geriatrics conference in Arizona. She lined up Adrian and me in the kitchen in the morning and gave us all sorts of cheery instructions about what was in the freezer for us to eat, taking out the trash, house rules—that sort of thing. She would be at the conference Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday then return home Saturday, but wouldn't reach Pullman until the evening, long after my audition for
High School Idol
was over.

I couldn't blame her for missing it. She'd told me about the conference before I decided to audition. Besides, I knew she didn't want to go. She kept glancing at Adrian and me saying, "You two will do your best to get along, right? No fights?"

"Right," I'd always answer.

Adrian only shrugged.

She gave us more instructions, told me she only wanted me driving the car when I had to, and told Adrian not to drive it at all. Adrian only had her learner's permit. Then Mom hugged us good-bye. We walked to school without talking, mostly because Adrian had her headphones firmly connected to her ears and wouldn't look at me.

I spent the time thinking about Tanner. Without even trying I could conjure up his face in my mind—from his piercing blue eyes to the straight line of his jaw. He'd made Rick apologize to me. Something I'd never thought was possible.

But he was Rick's—my archenemy and sister's ex-boyfriend's—brother. Plus, I was trying to hide him from Adrian. The boy might as well have had "Danger! Do Not Touch!" stamped across his forehead.

I knew I couldn't see him again. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I'd have to give him up for Adrian's sake. All the way to school this thought clung to me like to cold rain from a downpour. When he called me, I would have to tell him that I couldn't see him again. I tried to think of a subtle and painless way to do this. I couldn't think of anything—anything that wouldn't be painful to me, anyway.

Then I worried whether I'd have the resolve to break it off with him when I really didn't want to. Was there a way I could see him and keep it from Adrian?

All my worrying was for nothing, though, because the entire day went by without a word from Tanner.

Thursday morning at school our topic of conversation with my friends was, "Do guys really mean it when they say they'll call you later?"

"It's only been a little while," Aubrie pointed out. "He probably just doesn't want to look too eager. He'll call."

But Aubrie is illogically optimistic, so you can't weigh her opinion too heavily.

"I think he'll call you," Samantha put in. "After all, he took you to meet his parents. Guys don't do that unless they really like a girl."

Rachel, the dating goddess, bit her lip and didn't say anything.

"Well?" I asked her.

"You seemed needy when you called him about Adrian. Nothing scares off guys faster. A little helplessness, they like. It makes them feel macho to be bigger and stronger, but they flee from girls who are needy, depressed, or high maintenance. In fashion world terms, you gave yourself a dry-clean-only label for a wash-and-wear guy." Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "Look at it this way though: you messed up on Tanner, but think of how well prepared you'll be for the next guy."

I knew she was right. But I didn't want the next guy. I wanted Tanner with his easy smile and Clark Kent features. Throughout the day I kept checking my phone for text messages that never appeared.

It was so depressing that not even a compliment from Mr. Metzerol during my voice lessons—and I swear this was the first one he'd ever given me—could bring me out of it.

"Good tone!" he said, nodding vigorously during my song. "You're finally holding onto those notes. You can feel it in your diaphragm, can't you?"

I could feel it in my throat, where I felt all of my notes, but I nodded anyway. I'd never admitted to him that when I sang, my notes didn't wander around my body like they apparently did in his.

Still there was no doubt that my diaphragm was stronger. In fact I'd done so many exercises it was probably the strongest muscle in my body. I bet my diaphragm could beat up other people's diaphragms. It could maybe even rip open car doors and leap over buildings.

In history class, Mrs. Addington let the class go to the library to work on our reports. We were done with ours, so Molly and Polly spent the time trying to cheer me up.

"Only 214 more days until high school is over," Polly told me brightly.

"Yeah, but then I have to go to college."

"College will be better," Molly said. "Because you're not stuck seeing the same small group of people every day."

"No, then I'll just have to worry about running into Tanner on campus." I put my arm on the table and rested my chin in my hand. "Plus the Hilltop has great food and now I'll never be able to go there again."

"Oh, you can go there again," Samantha said, "but only with really gorgeous guys."

Molly tilted her head in mock sympathy. "So that means you'll only be able to eat there, what, every other weekend?"

Why does everyone think my life is way better than it really is?

"It's not like there are gorgeous guys hovering around me," I said.

Molly grunted. "You've been through two since the start of the school year and it's only the beginning of November."

I didn't think getting dumped twice in quick succession was a good thing, but this was useless to point out. I turned to Polly, who was still in the new stages of contact wearing and had looked teary-eyed all period. "Speaking of love, how have things been going between you and Joe?"

Polly fidgeted with the edge of her paper. She blinked but I wasn't sure if it was the emotions or the contacts. "I still haven't worked up my courage to say hi yet."

"It's one word," I said. "Two letters. You don't need a lot of courage to say hi."

More fidgeting from Polly. "Easy for you to say."

"And easy for you to say too. If it doesn't look like it's going well you can turn your greeting into a cough. See, like this," I straightened up in my chair and put on my best actress face. "Hi-aaa—aaa—ack."

Samantha shook her head sadly in my direction. "Is it any wonder Chelsea is so popular?"

Molly nodded patronizingly, "When I grow up I hope I'm as cool as you."

"Why wait to grow up," I said, "when you can work on being cool right now?"

Molly shook her head and held up one hand as though warding me off. "Oh no. No more makeover stuff. I don't need any more hair ripped out of my body."

"This won't hurt," I said. "We'll work on your posture."

Molly leaned away from me. "And that doesn't hurt? You've smacked me in the back all week to work on my posture."

"We'll do something different this time. We'll walk with books on our heads."

With a little more encouragement—meaning that I had to promise I'd stop walking up behind them, yelling, 'straighten up!' and thumping them between the shoulder blades, they agreed to go behind the history section with me.

Samantha came too. She thought the exercise would be easy to do since she had good posture, but her book slipped off as often as Molly and Polly's did. Only I could walk and turn without
The World of Shakespeare
toppling off my head.

"It's your hair," Molly accused. "You've obviously used industrial strength hair-spray and the book is now glued to your head. I bet you could carry a four-course meal up there."

I did a turn like a model on a catwalk and smiled. "It's talent. Next I'm going to do a river-dance routine."

With her hands held out like she was walking a tightrope, Polly made a successful turn. "If I keep walking like this, do you think Joe will notice me?"

"Sure," Molly said taking a tentative step. "Who wouldn't notice that you're wearing
The Atlas of the Medieval World
on your head?"

Both Samantha and Polly laughed, sending their books crashing to the floor. That's when the librarian came over and kicked us out of the library.

We walked back down the hallway slowly, hoping that Mrs. Addington wouldn't notice that we'd gone AWOL. Polly tried to walk with her posture as straight as possible. "How do I look? Confident?"

"Or recovering from a back injury," Molly said.

"I think I could talk to him if the time was right," Polly said. "You know, if it wasn't the middle of class."

Samantha said, "He and Garret are having a party after the game on Friday. You should go."

Molly grunted and shook her head. "To a football party? They'd never let us in."

"They would if we came with you guys," Polly said, her gaze skipping between Samantha and me.

I hesitated for a moment. If Polly and Molly showed up and everything went well, then they'd gain confidence, maybe enough confidence to sing whatever Mr. Metzerol threw at them. But if it didn't go well, if people were rude, then they'd hate high school even more, and never listen to me again.

A risky venture at best, but what could I say? Polly wanted to go. "Sure, we can take you." I glanced over at Samantha but she was already shaking her head.

"Logan and I have a date after the game. He asked me to pick anything I wanted to do so we're watching
Pride and
Prejudice
over at his house."

Molly and Polly simultaneously went, "Ohhhh. I love that movie."

Samantha smiled dreamily. "I know. Isn't Logan the greatest?"

Poor Logan, being forced into watching a chick flick. I supposed that would teach him not to go too long without asking Samantha her opinion on things.

"But go and have a good time at the party," Samantha said. "You guys can tell me all about it afterward."

"Right," I said, and made a mental note to ask Rachel and Aubrie to come with me. If all three of us brought Molly and Polly, there would be less chance of anyone being rude.

I spent the rest of the period coaching Molly and Polly on what to wear, say, and do at the party. It turned out that neither of them had ever watched a football game before, and their lack of knowledge on the subject was truly frightening. I told them that they both had to go to the game on Friday so they'd be able to talk about it with Joe at his party.

I was so busy doing this that I didn't check my phone again until after school. That's when I saw Tanner's text message.

He'd sent one sentence: Do you still believe in second chances?

I stared at the message, trying to shore up my resolve. I had to think of Adrian. But then somehow I found myself thinking about the way Tanner had held me close and kissed me. It was a dizzying sort of experience a person couldn't just forget. I texted him back: Yes.

In the card game of life, a good kisser apparently trumps resolve.

He called then, and told me that they were having a special on prime rib at the restaurant and they'd probably have some left over. If I thought my family would use it, he'd drop it by after he finished work around ten o'clock.

This immediately presented a glitch in my plan to hide the fact that I was seeing Tanner Debrock. I couldn't very well parade Tanner around my house and not expect Adrian to notice this fact. At the same time, after our rocky start, I wanted to convince Tanner that I was as normal as possible. If he pulled up to my house and I was sitting outside on my lawn in the cold at ten o'clock waiting for him, and then didn't let him into my house, he might cross me right off the normal list.

I said, " Um . . ."

"You don't like prime rib?"

"No, it's great. It's just that I'm going to be at Samantha's house tonight."

"At ten o'clock?"

"Late-night studying. Do you mind dropping by there instead?"

He said he didn't mind, so I gave him directions, hung up with him, and then called Samantha. I explained the whole situation to her—how it was all for Adrian—and asked if I could come over.

She listened quietly, and sighed when I was done. "We're back to verbal camouflage? Aren't relationships supposed to be based on honesty?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "If relationships were based on honesty, none of us would wear makeup."