The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading (15 page)

During the rest of dinner, I stole glances at the photograph of Jack’s mother that hung on the opposite wall. Jack was tall and lanky like his father, but he had the dark hair and eyes of his mom. That was where the true resemblance was. I kept up my compare-and-contrast until Jack caught me midlook. If he minded, I couldn’t tell.

The moment Mr. Paulson excused himself, I sprang up and collected the dirty plates, only to have Jack protest.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“The dishes?”

He reached for the plates, and we ended up in a tug-of-war over them.

“You really want to help?” he asked.

I nodded.

“We got twenty minutes before tip-off. Think we can do it?”

“You’ve never seen me load a dishwasher.”

He stared down at the dining table. “It’s just a sink.”

How could I be so stupid? In a world where “everyone” had a cell phone—except me—I should’ve known better. “Well,” I said, after swallowing hard, “you’ve never seen me sterilize dishes with only a single pot and a campfire.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Girl Scouts,” I said. “I can also fry an egg in a paper bag and start a pretty good one-match fire, if you’re interested.”

He scowled at the wood stove. “You can?”

“I’m better at it than I am at cheerleading.”

“No, no, you’re a good cheerleader,” he said. “I mean, at least I can tell you care.” If he said I let my school spirit shine, I was going to collapse and sob. “And that you like the game,” he finished.

I let out a long breath. “I do.”

“Then we better—” He looked at my hands, at the crumbs of garlic bread, the sauce and noodles that painted my fingertips. “Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

“Dinner was so great, I thought I’d wear it.”

His gaze went from my face, to my hands, and back again. Then he grinned. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

Seconds before the game’s tip-off, Jack tugged me to the couch, telling me to forget the pot with its strands of spaghetti glued to the sides.

And seconds after tip-off, Jack’s dad pushed himself up from his tattered recliner and left the living room. Before I could ask, he returned, loaded down with chips, dip, and a fresh six-pack of Budweiser. He tossed a can to Jack.

“Hey, Jackie, did you ask Bethany what she thinks of our Christmas present?”

Jack caught the beer and nodded toward the television set—a small flat-screen.

“It’s nice,” I said.

“We decided on it instead of socks and underwear.” Jack stuck out a foot and turned it, revealing the underside of his tube sock, held together by—
was that duct tape?
“Care to see my boxers?”

I blushed. I’m not sure whether it was from the mention of underwear or the idea that Jack couldn’t afford socks.

“No, not really,” he said, holding back a grin. “I’m just way behind on laundry.” Like I said, teenage boys
=
gross.

When his dad turned away, Jack set the beer—unopened—on the coffee table.

Watching basketball with Jack was a learning experience. He explained rules, calls, and strategies, things about the game that I didn’t even know existed. After halftime, the instruction slowed down. Jack leaned forward, almost in a crouch, hands on knees, his game face on. When the Timberwolves scored, he punched his fists in the air and fell back on the sofa, jostling me. When a referee made a bad call, he’d turn to me and say, “Oh, man. Do you believe that?”

“No, man,” I answered, deadpan. “I don’t.” Then he’d laugh, ruffle my hair, and maybe give my cheek a quick kiss. I found myself wishing the game would last forever.

But way too soon, I’d thanked Mr. Paulson—who made me promise to come back—and stood outside in the January night, the air sharp in my lungs. Jack started the truck but didn’t get inside it. He leaned against the door, arms crossed, and tilted his head toward the stars.

“He doesn’t always drink like that,” he said.

“I—I don’t…,” I started to say, but Mr. Paulson had finished off the entire six-pack during the game, with no help from “Jackie,” and we both knew it.

“Since my mom died, it’s…he’s…” He paused. “And then, of course, tonight he was nervous.”

“Nervous?”

Jack glanced away from the stars to look at me. “About meeting you.”

“No way. I’m the one who was nervous.” Try on the verge of a breakdown. I remembered Mr. Paulson’s remark about having only bachelors in the house. It made me realize that Jack never brought girls home. I wondered if he’d invited
anyone
to his house recently.

“I warned him he had to be on his best behavior.” He looked at the sky again. “Still didn’t help.”

“Your dad was fine.”

Jack winced. “He hasn’t been all together since my mom died. Sometimes I think a part of him died when she did. Not that he was ever any good at cooking.” He smiled for just a second, then looked at me like he was measuring something. In the clear, cold night I shifted from one foot to the other.

“I started driving when I was twelve,” he began. “Well, not legally,” he corrected himself. “I was tall enough to reach the pedals, and I’d help my dad on jobs. Then one day after I turned fourteen, we’d been doing some concrete job from hell, and he tossed me a beer. I know it sounds—weird.” Jack shrugged. “But it’s just the way things are now. I’m not always sure anymore who’s the dad and who’s the kid.”

I held out my hand, and Jack took my thick wool mitten in his worn leather glove. He tugged me closer. I stepped forward. Neither of us saw the patch of ice until it was too late. His foot skidded. My arms flailed, but he caught me, snagged my waist. I dangled in his embrace, with my head tipped back, almost like we were ballroom dancers.

Except ballroom dancers—or cheerleaders—weren’t usually so graceless. I looked up at him and laughed. It beat crying.

“Testing my reflexes?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. That’s it exactly.”

“Good thing I caught you. You get sidelined with an injury and I might lose that bet with Mangers.” He said it with a smile, his eyes warm with humor.

“That bet,” I echoed. “Were you guys really serious about that?” Maybe a hundred bucks didn’t mean much to Rick Mangers. But the boy standing across from me? Well, that was a different story.

Instead of answering, Jack nodded at the truck. “I think she’s warm enough to drive.” He gave the Toyota a pat on the hood. “And you’re probably cold enough for hypothermia.”

“I’m fine.” But the words came out soft, lost in a cloud of my own breath.

Jack went through the motions of adjusting the heater and defrosting the windshield, but he didn’t put the truck in gear. Instead he cupped my cheek with an icy glove. The mention of Rick Mangers and the bet had frozen me stiff, but Jack’s warm kiss stole all my thoughts.

And we kissed for a very long time.

“Warm enough now?” he asked, his lips still against mine.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Me too.” He eased away from me, then he dove back in for another kiss. “I gotta get you home. Or else.”

Or else what, he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. The quiet drive felt right. The silent walk to my door didn’t bother me. Neither did Jack’s quick hand squeeze good night. I didn’t think of Rick Mangers, how he hadn’t called Moni, or the bet. I didn’t think of Geek Night, either. At least, not until I reached my room and found my voice mail and in-box empty.

I
spent a quiet Sunday with Jack, my telephone, and a really sore left ear. I tried calling Moni early in the day but ended up in voice mail. I tried e-mail and had to be satisfied with a short response of,
No, really, I’m okay.

That Monday morning at school, I looked for her first. I didn’t need to. She sprang on me from behind.

“Just. Saw. Rick.” She bounced up and down, cheerleader-style.

“Deep breath.” I waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you hyperventilating?”

“Get this,” she said between gasps. “I told him if he won his match on Thursday, we’d have a surprise for him.”

“We will?”

She punched my arm. “The shoulder sit. We’ll debut it then.”

Oh,
great
.

For a second, I thought Moni would insist we practice—right there in the hall. If Todd hadn’t marched up to us, stony-faced, she might have.

“We’ve been missing you at Geek Nights,” he said to me.

“What about me?” asked Moni. “Don’t you miss me, too?”

Todd swiveled to stare straight at her. “No, but Brian does.” He dismissed her without another word and turned back to me. “Meet me in the Little Theater, Reynolds. Sixth period.”

Dork domain—it wouldn’t surprise me if Todd had recruited the entire debate team to ambush me. Their extemporaneous topic? “Reasons Not to be a Cheerleader.” He spun away from us without waiting for my response. Not that I apparently had a choice in the matter.

“Well.” Moni shook her curls. “That was rude. But then, that was also Todd.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to go?”

I shrugged. “I guess. What would you do?”

“After everything? Probably blow him off. He’s really being a jerk.”

It was just like Todd to go all drama king on me. He could have IM’d me over the weekend. Or he could tell me during first-period honors history. But no, not Todd. Jerk or not, I still considered him one of my best friends. I might regret it later but, yeah, I’d meet him.

Inside the Little Theater a single spotlight lit an empty chair at center stage. It made the surrounding dark seem even darker—and creepier.

“Take a seat,” a voice launched from the dark.

I let my eyes adjust and searched the room for a form to match the voice. This was too much, even for Todd.

“Come on,” I said. “Turn on the lights.”

Silence. This was stupid. I should turn around, head to the library, and spend my free period with Moni like always. Instead I took a step, then another, down the stairs that led to the main floor. Then I found myself climbing up, stage right.

My footfalls echoed in the space, and I was glad it wasn’t a cheer day. No way would I be up there in a miniskirt. The metal folding chair glinted under the light. No way was I sitting on that, either.

“Sit.” Todd’s voice held a commanding tone, but I crossed my arms over my chest and tapped my foot.

“Okay, okay,” he said. The spotlight flooded me with a soft pink hue, and the stage floor appeared to glitter. I was almost afraid to move. With a click, the door to the control room opened and shut. Someone—or something—clattered down the steps and across the floor. I squinted in the direction of the approaching sound. Only when he reached the stage did I recognize the mass of bed-head hair and those dork-a-rific glasses.

Todd leaned against the stage and propped an elbow on its edge. Chin on his fist, he scrutinized me.

“I take it you wanted to talk,” I said.

“Yes…and no. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. It’s just…I haven’t”—he raised his eyes heavenward—“figured out how to say it.”

This could not be good. Why now? Was it because Jack had started paying attention to me? If this was one of those guy competition things, I might have to break down and cry. Todd had always claimed to be above all that.

“Todd, I don’t think—”

He held up a hand. “Please, just let me get it over with.”

I cringed, but nodded.

“I have discovered something about you,” he said.

All the synapses in my brain aligned themselves into fight-or-flight sequence. If he said one word about hooking up…

“You,” he said, pointing to me, “are a muse.”

I blinked. “I’m amused?”

“No, no. You.” Todd pointed at me. “Are my muse. You know, a daughter of Zeus. A poetic inspiration.”

My arms went slack, and I groped for the back of the chair. The metal was cool, sturdy, and real—while everything else was
so
not. “Maybe you could explain,” I said. “How exactly am I your muse?” If the job description for a Daughter of Zeus required hand holding and kissing, I was out of there.

“Sit. Come on, Reynolds. I’m not going to bite.” He laughed. “I’m not going to ask you out, either.”

“You’re…not?” I felt my way around to the front of the chair and settled onto it.

“Sure, I considered it,” he said. “I mean, it’s not fair that guys like Paulson get all the cute chicks. And you are almost my intellectual equal. That should make us compatible.”

“In your dreams, Emerson.”

“Well, yeah,” he said without a trace of embarrassment. “Sometimes.”

I hid my face in my hands. Someone really needed to teach him the meaning of TMI.

“Then I thought about it,” Todd continued. “Really thought about it. And you. And this whole cheerleader thing. At first I was pissed.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I mumbled into my palms.

“I couldn’t believe you’d actually try out.”

I peeked at him through the V of my fingers. “Moni made me do it.”

Todd rolled his eyes. “Figures. But then you stuck with it. And it occurred to me.” He glanced behind him. I think he wanted to rush upstairs and adjust the lighting for dramatic effect.

“We don’t have to wait,” he said.

O-kay. “Wait for what?”

“For anything. We’re always talking. Can’t wait for the weekend, can’t wait for summer, for graduation. For anything that doesn’t involve high school. I mean, I wouldn’t have picked cheerleading—”

“You don’t have the legs for it.”

He held up both hands to shush me. “But there you are, embracing the here and now, making the most of high school.”

Oh, so that was what I was doing? And I thought all I’d been trying to do was keep most of the school from seeing my purple-clad butt.

“And why the hell shouldn’t we?” Todd smacked his fist against his palm. “Who says you’ve got to be popular to be a cheerleader?”

Certainly not me.

“Or…” He peered at me over the top of his glasses. “Student body president.”

Wow. I sure didn’t see that coming. But in that case, popularity probably helped. For a moment I studied him: the untamed hair, oversize glasses, the misbuttoned plaid shirt that covered his “I Did It All for the Wookie” tee. There was no way.

Or was there? Todd certainly had the brains to be student body president. He had leadership ability too. And, with his superior debate skills, he might even be able to actually secure the often-promised, but never realized, coffee shop next to the school store. At the very least, he could probably talk the administration into upgrades for the school newspaper. Was that enough to win the election? No. Todd would have to look the part.

I gave him another once-over. Despite its present condition his hair had a decent cut. I knew his mom still took him to get it trimmed. Maybe switch out the nerd-screaming glasses for an updated pair? Or contacts, even. The plaid shirt would have to go, of course. Ditto anything even vaguely Wookie-ish.

Todd wasn’t cute, not in a boy band sort of way, but his features were strong—presidential, even. Moni and I could take turns dressing him.

I eased off the chair and inched across the stage until I knelt above him. “Are you serious?”

“Come on, Reynolds. We both know Chess Club president is a bullshit extracurricular. I’m aiming for the Ivy League. I got the grades. The SATs will be a snap, but I need more.”

“You’re no slouch at debate,” I said, “and the paper—”

“It’s expected,” he said. “And so typical, it’s boring. The genius kid excels at chess and debate. And runs the school newspaper. Big freaking deal.”

“It takes more than brains to be student body president, you know,” I said.

“That’s why I came to you.”

I hopped off the stage and headed for the door. “Come on.”

I waited while Todd dashed up the stairs to shut down all the lights. The bell hadn’t rung for seventh period yet, and the halls were quiet. I didn’t have what Todd so desperately needed, but Moni did. I dialed the combo to her locker and swung it open.

“Mr. President,” I said, handing him a green and pink plastic bottle, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Hair Gel.”

Moni kept her promise to Rick. We choreographed a more complicated two-person routine, including the shoulder sit with a snazzy dismount. When the referee held Rick’s hand high in the air, declaring him the winner in his weight category at Thursday’s meet, we got to it. Whistles from the boys, cheers from the stands. Rick blew Moni a kiss. From the stands, Jack gave us a thumbs-up. After the meet, Andrew and his freshmen teammates came up to us.

“Wow, you guys are really getting good,” Andrew said. “You should compete.”

In cheerleading?
The boys were sweet, but we weren’t
that
good and probably never would be. We weren’t bad, though. I doubted if even Chantal still thought we were the school joke.

At the thought of jokes, my mind went to that bet between Rick and Jack. It still struck me as odd. I turned to Moni. “Has Rick ever said anything about the bet?”

“What bet?”

“The one they had, about us cheering for wrestling all season.”

Recognition flickered in Moni’s eyes. “Oh, that. I thought it was a joke, that they were just…flirting with us. No biggie.”

“Jack said something the other night….”

“What’d he say?”

“That if I got sidelined, he’d lose the bet with Mangers.”

“So?”

Jack can’t afford to lose a hundred dollars
. I couldn’t say it out loud. Sure, the whole school knew, but saying it felt like betraying Jack.

“Rick bet against us,” I added.

“They’re jocks. They compete. It’s what they do. Bet or not.” She pointed at herself and then me. “Who’re the real winners here? Cheerleading. Payoff. Big-time. Remember?”

I turned toward the bleachers and found Jack grinning at me, and I had to wonder what I was worried about. Moni and I would show up for every meet. Jack would win. Nothing else mattered.

Friday afternoon Jack caught me around the waist after the last bell. No one stared at us, not anymore. We’d been deemed an official Prairie Stone High couple. And now that we were? Old news. No one cared. Well, almost no one. I’d felt Chantal’s icy glare more than once while walking through the halls, either on my own or hand in hand with Jack. It was like she couldn’t look away, even though I thought that maybe she wanted to. Call me petty, but after everything that had happened—especially what happened in the gauntlet—I was kind of glad she couldn’t.

I wouldn’t say being with Jack elevated my status on the cheerleading squad, but it didn’t hurt it either. What seemed clear was this: No one wanted to upset me, because that might upset Jack. Behold the power of the A-list jock. It was weird—and a little disconcerting—that Moni and I couldn’t hash out a compromise with the squad on our own. But after what had gone down with the school board and Sheila, it was a relief.

Jack swung me in circles. Then, while I was still dizzy, he asked, “Want to go to a party tonight?”

“Sure!” I said without giving it a thought, without wondering where the party might be, or whether my parents would let me go. It was one of the few Fridays we didn’t have a varsity basketball game. The Panthers had coasted to a win on Tuesday, and Jack was still coasting on that high. Saying yes was easy.

“It’s at Mangers’s,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

Oh. One of Rick’s parties. It wasn’t the sort of thing I thought I’d ever be invited to—or Moni, for that matter. And now, we were. Or at least, I was. Moni had left school halfway through German to meet her dad. Monica, it seemed, had planned a night at the opera for the three of them.

“Opera?” I’d said when she told me.

“Yeah, I’m sure the fun will be over way before the fat lady sings.”

I’d seen Moni before school and at lunch. We’d been partners for
Gesprächsaustausch
(“conversation exchange”), and she hadn’t said a word about Rick throwing a party.

A few hours later a twinge of guilt hit me when Jack pulled the Toyota through the main entrance of Prairie Stone’s only gated community. This was Todd’s neighborhood and I knew the area, if only for that reason. Just as I knew that right now, he was hosting a
Star Wars
–themed campaign kickoff meeting. And yeah, I’d been invited. And yeah, at the last minute I’d sent him a cop-out e-mail saying I couldn’t come. And with Shelby at a sleepover, my parents were headed to a movie. I’d mentioned Jack and going out, and only got a reminder of my curfew. Technically not lying didn’t make me feel any better about it.

We came to a stop at a T. Valley View Estates was at least as pretentious as it sounded. To the right, it was even more so. Large, conspicuous, hey-look-at-me mansions lined the lane in that direction. The one on the crest belonged to the Emerson family. The sight of the Death Star (as Todd called it) made me duck my head. I leaned forward, pretending to adjust the hem on my jeans.

We turned left, where slightly smaller houses stood, their landscaping creating sculpted mounds beneath the snow. It was nothing like the area where I lived—student housing mixed with families, close enough so Dad could walk to campus when the weather was nice. It was even less like Jack’s neighborhood, in the old part of Prairie Stone.

I glanced behind me just as Todd’s house slipped from view. “Guess the tractor beam is off tonight,” I said.