Revenge of the Cheerleaders

by Janette Rallison

  I sent him an apologetic smile. "She's in her room. You're safe."

  He laughed, the kind of laughter which is actually gratitude that someone understands. "She's a nice girl and everything, but . . ."

  "I know. She comes on a little too strong."

  He stepped closer to me and spoke softly, to make sure our voices didn't carry. "I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I don't know what to say to her. Isn't there someone her own age she's interested in?"

  "Yes," I said even though it was a lie. I didn't want to make my sister sound like a stalker. "She likes a couple of guys in her class, it's just that when you're around she can't help but flirt with you. Consider it a compliment. You're irresistible."

  He laughed again, and I noticed how his eyes lit up when he smiled. His sandy blond hair was mussed up in a way that made you want to run your hands through it. "Yeah," he said without an ounce of belief in his tone. "I wish I had that effect on women."

  "You do. In fact, I bet you have entire eighth-grade blogs dedicated to the twinkles in your eyes."

  He took another step closer to me. I should have turned away from him then, but I didn't. I stayed there, leaning against my kitchen counter smiling at him. This is how it's done, I wanted to tell Adrian. See how easy it is? I still know more about flirting with guys than you do.

  He looked down at me mischievously. "If only women my own age felt that way about me."

  "Who says they don't?"

  He bent down slowly. I could have moved away, but instead I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.

  It only lasted a minute. Just long enough for the thrill of being right to wear off. With his lips still on mine, I thought, What am I going to do now? How am I going to explain this to Adrian? But I knew I wouldn't explain. I'd hide it and never let her know what I'd done.

  And then I heard Adrian gasp. I pushed away from Travis and saw her standing in the kitchen entryway. Her mouth hung open in shock and her eyes looked wide and frightened. Frightened, not hurt. I didn't understand that back then, but I think I do now.

  Fear is what you feel when the person who's always protected you slices through your heart. The world is no longer a safe place; it's one where anyone can turn on you.

  Adrian spun around and dashed back to her room, leaving a wake of silence in the kitchen. Travis ran his hand through his hair. " I 'm sorry. I guess I'd better go."

  He departed almost as quickly as Adrian had, and then I was left standing there with a horrible, empty feeling pounding in my chest.

  I tried to talk to Adrian. I apologized to her over and over. I told her I'd never see Travis again. It didn't matter. I didn't have any good reasons for what I'd done, and saying, "It just happened," was perhaps worse in the end.

  "It just happened" became Adrian's new excuse for everything. Her tongue piercing just happened. Her grades dropping just happened. Her black wardrobe just happened.

  Every time she said it, she told me everything was my fault. And from that day forward she reconstructed herself into someone who was the exact opposite of me.

  Now looking at Adrian painting her nails with sullen resolve, it hurt all over again. I let out a sigh. "How long are you going to bring up Travis for?"

  She turned from her toenails to her fingernails. While I watched she gave herself long, black claws. "Just until I get even."

  I didn't say anything else to her. There wasn't a point. Some people will never forgive you. It's too much fun hating you instead.

  Chapter 11

  On Monday Samantha, Molly, Polly, and I spent all of history class working on our report. It was nearly done. This was not my fault. I'm not one of those people who plan to leave things to the last minute, it just happens naturally. The last minute works for me.

  But Molly and Polly would have none of it. They wanted to get the project done right away so we wouldn't have to worry about it later. I tried to point out that it was just as easy not to worry about it now and then worry about it quickly later. In fact, it was probably more worry-effective because really, how much can you worry about something at the last minute?

  Polly said, "Look, we know you're busy with your cheerleading and practicing for those auditions and all. We can take care of typing the report and doing the bibliography if you don't have time for it."

  Which was touching considering they'd started out the project insisting that they weren't going to let me cheat off of them. Still, I didn't want to make them do most of the work, because I hadn't been nice to them so I could slack off. I'd been nice to them so that Mr. Metzerol would give me voice lessons.

  Which sounded just as bad, but it wasn't. I mean, I liked Molly and Polly. That had to count for something.

  So then I had to tell them, that no, I didn't want them doing my work for me, which meant I had to try and plow through it quickly so I didn't let everyone else down.

  Although really, Samantha was having a hard time concentrating on her part: Space travel, the early years, because she was mad at Logan.

  When she'd met Aubrie, Rachel, and me at our usual chat spot that morning, she crossed her arms and shook her head. "It happened again."

  "What happened again?" Aubrie asked, already sympathetic.

  "Logan drove me to school this morning, and I used Rachel's method and asked him questions about his interests." She held up one hand to emphasize her point. "He talked about himself all the way to school."

  We stared at her waiting for more information, which didn't come. "Well, wasn't that the point?" Aubrie asked.

  "I've been doing it for three days. It's been three days that I've said nothing about myself, and he hasn't even noticed. Or cared. I could be a computer program that repeats, 'What do you think about that, Logan?' and he'd be just as happy with me. Apparently my contribution to our conversations has always just been to take up dead space until he could talk about himself again."

  Rachel shook her head. "I told you it gets boring if you do it non-stop. Remember, that's what kissing is for."

  Samantha tossed her hair from her shoulder. "I don't want to kiss someone who doesn't care what I think about anything."

  Aubrie looked at each one of us in turn, her expression growing stern. "See, I told you that whole-just-make-him-talk-about-himself thing was a bad idea, but no, you wouldn't listen."

  "Actually," I said, "it's worked out great for me."

  "Kissing," Rachel said as though making a point.

  Samantha grit her teeth. "I was sure by this morning he'd get suspicious. I mean, if he wouldn't talk about himself, I'd think he was hiding something. I'd start questioning him about it. He doesn't even care that I could be keeping things from him." She flung her hand in my direction. "I could be living a secret double life like Chelsea."

  "And I'm happy being a college student. College guys are more mature."

  Samantha let out a sigh. "Maybe I should become a college student too."

  Between space flight, and trying to hold onto notes with my diaphragm so Mr. Metzerol wouldn't jab me with his stick, I hardly had time to think about Tanner until he called me that afternoon. He wanted to know where he should pick me up for the dinner at his house.

  Yeah, I should have figured that out beforehand, since I didn't want to tell him that I lived with my family. "I'm going to be at the library working on a project," I said. "Why don't you meet me out front?"

  This still wasn't lying because I could work on the space flight stuff up at the campus library as easily as anywhere else. It just meant I had to take the bus up there to do it.

  The whole double-life thing could get complicated if I didn't confess everything soon. I mean, there is a fine line between verbal camouflage and out right lying. Tonight, I decided, after our date, assuming it went well, I'd tell him the truth.

  Tanner picked me up at six o'clock and we drove to Sunnyside Hill. He tapped his finger against the steering wheel as he drove. "I probably should warn you that my grandma is opinionated. She's old and rich and thinks
that gives her the right to say anything she wants."

  "Oh," I said, "I'll remember that."

  More tapping. "My brother, of course, is also opinionated. He's young and rebellious so he thinks that gives him the right to say anything he wants."

  "I understand," I said.

  "Richard's supposed to be on his best behavior tonight, but that's not saying much. Grandma thinks he should go to Juilliard and he's trying to get out of it."

  It only vaguely registered that this was the first time Tanner had told me his brother's name. I dredged my memory for everything I knew about Juilliard. It was an exclusive music school in New York. Very hard to get into. My next-door neighbor had practiced hours each day on the piano trying to get in and hadn't made it.

  "Your brother plays the piano?" I asked.

  "Juilliard isn't just for pianists. It has other programs. Grandma thinks if Richard wants a future in music, Juilliard is the place to go. She has connections so she thinks she can get him in." Tanner grunted and shook his head. "My brother's last comment on the subject was that he'd rather eat a classical guitar than play one." He glanced at me with an apologetic smile. "I'm only telling you this so you'll know what's going on if they start in on each other."

  It seemed like an odd thing to argue about. "Isn't it his choice where he goes to school?"

  "Sure. And Grandma can choose to do something else with his trust-fund money." Tanner shrugged. "You see how it is. Richard wants to be independent, but not so independent that he has to support himself on a musician's salary."

  We stopped at a large brick home with an immaculate yard. Tanner opened the car door for me, which was so nice. Not only did he treat me like I was smart, he treated me like I was a lady.

  When we walked into the house, Tanner's mother was the first to greet us. She gave Tanner a hug and me a big hello. She told me to call her Barb and said I was welcome over any time. Then Tanner's dad came up and shook my hand. They seemed so happy to meet me that I liked them immediately, and not just because I noticed Tanner's dad give him the thumbs-up sign while I was talking to his mom.

  Then Tanner and I walked into the living room to meet The Grandmother. I knew, from the tone Tanner had used to describe her, that she wasn't a "nanna" or any other endearing terms grandchildren use. She was The Grandmother, said in the same tone one would say The Godfather.

  As soon as I walked into the room I saw her perched in a Queen Anne chair. She wore a dark skirt, a blazer, and a pearl set that made me feel underdressed in my jeans and sweater. She lowered a china teacup and peered at me with bright, dark eyes, like a bird surveying its surroundings.

  "You must be Tanner's girlfriend." Her voice was more welcoming than I'd expected. "Come here and let me have a look at you."

  Tanner and I both walked over to where she sat. Her gaze followed me, appraising me like I was something to be bought.

  "Very pretty," she said. "You're a student?"

  "Yes, Ma'am." I'd never said the word "Ma'am" before in my life, but it somehow popped out, extracted by her presence.

  "Do you get good grades?"

  "I try." Probably not hard enough to impress her, but I wasn't about to admit that.

  Tanner leaned toward me, brushing his hand against mine. "Grandma, you're meeting Chelsea, not hiring her for a job."

  The Grandmother raised a hand and swatted away his objections as though shooing a fly. Without taking her eyes off me she asked, "And what field are you going into?"

  "I haven't decided. I like fashion design."

  This apparently was the wrong thing to say. She cocked her head and made a disgruntled coughing sound. "Oh, you're one of those girls who spend all day shopping at the mall."

  "No," I said, "but there are so many girls who do, fashion designers will always be in demand."

  The Grandmother laughed, conceding the point. "That's the type of thinking that makes money, at least if you know your area of expertise. Tell me, if I wanted to dress down this skirt what would I wear it with?"

  Tanner said, "Grandma—" but I held up my hand to stop his protest. I knew the answer to this question.

  "You could trade out the blazer for a twin set or a ruffled blouse. Something that doesn't button up to the neck. You'd also want to replace the pearls with a silver chain."

  "Not gold?"

  "Your skin tone looks better with cool colors."

  "What brand of clothing would you suggest? Escada? Dolce & Gabbana?"

  "The designer labels are nice, but you can find stuff that's just as well made for way cheaper."

  The Grandmother smiled at me and nodded in Tanner's direction. "She's talented and thrifty. Keep a hold of her. She's going places." She lifted her tea cup again, signaling my interview was over. She took a sip, then raised her voice slightly and called, "Why don't you follow your brother's example, Richard, and find yourself a nice girl like this?"

  I hadn't realized that anyone else was in the room and now I turned in the direction she was looking.

  Lying down on the couch so that he blended in with the throw pillows was Rick.

  Chapter 12

  Rick? Richard was Rick? Tanner was Rick's brother?

  Rick sat up; his eyes focused on me angrily."There's a thought," he called back. "Are there any more at home like you, Chelsea?"

  It didn't seem possible that this was happening, and yet it was. Rick was here. Tanner had never told me his last name. Apparently it was Debrock.

  Rick looked different than usual. He had none of his earrings or eyebrow studs in. He wore an unremarkable pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Even his hair was almost a normal shade of blond. Too bleached, but within the shades of actual hair color.

  "Rick." It was all I could say, and I barely managed that. The word came out half strangled.

  "It's Richard," The Grandmother said. "He was named after my husband and my husband always went by Richard." She took another sip from her cup. "Nicknames are so vulgar."

  Rick rolled his eyes, but didn't seem interested in fighting this point.

  I tried to keep my voice even, unaffected. To Tanner I said, "You didn't tell me Rick—Richard—was your brother."

  "Didn't I?" He looked genuinely surprised by this fact. "I thought you knew the night we met at his party, but then you left so quickly, maybe it never came up."

  "I did leave quickly," I said, glancing at Rick.

  Rick shrugged, "Well, my music isn't for everybody."

  I didn't know what to say, didn't know how much of our relationship to divulge. Would Rick tell his brother and grandmother that I was the one who'd inspired his anti-cheerleader songs? Should I?

  The Grandmother took another sip of her drink and looked at me. "You don't like Richard's music?"

  I didn't hesitate. "No, I've never considered electric guitar to be real music. Classical guitar, now that's a different story."

  It was perhaps an underhanded thing to do, but Rick deserved it. And it had the immediate desired effect. The Grandmother nodded and put down her cup. "You see, Richard, it isn't because I'm old. There is simply a difference between good music and bad—between melody and discordance—between depth of voice and that awful stuff you insist on singing." She waved a hand in my direction. "Even young people can see it."

  I smiled over at Rick. He glared back at me. "So you like classical guitar, Chelsea? And who exactly are your favorite classical guitarists?"

  I didn't have to answer because The Grandmother wasn't through with her remarks. She went on and on about how if Rick wanted a career in music he ought to take it seriously enough to become trained.

  Tanner and I sat down on the couch across from Rick, and Tanner sent me apologetic looks because his grandmother was delivering this huge lecture.

  I enjoyed it though. I nodded along to every point she made.

  When The Grandmother finally paused long enough for Rick to get a word in he said, "Yeah, all that's great, but Juilliard doesn't train people to sing rock. Just opera."
>
  "Exactly," The Grandmother said. "Rock isn't serious music."

  Rick glanced at me and paused. I could almost see him mentally rearranging his argument to incorporate the strategy I'd used. "But rock music sells. You don't see people packing into stadiums every weekend to hear operas."

  The Grandmother drew her brows together, factoring this new aspect into the discussion. After all, one did have to take money into account. Then she shook her head. "But most rock musicians will never succeed. They'll spend their lives wasting away, playing bars and free outdoor concerts. If you went to Juilliard you would at least have something to fall back on. You could teach music."

  I thought of Rick with a mustache and tie like Mr. Metzerol's. It made me smile.

  Rick leaned forward, his hands lifted, and his expression intent. For once, he actually cared about what he was saying, and I felt for him. Momentarily I rooted for him to win this argument. "Look Grandma, if you could just hear my band—"

  She folded her hands across her lap. "You gave me the Deadbeats CD. I haven't been able to get farther than halfway into the first song."

  "No, if you could only see me sing and watch how people react to my music. My band can make it. It's going to take some time; it always does. But we'd be able to pay you back for the equipment and give you a good return on your investment."

  So there was more to it than just a difference of opinion about classic guitar. Rick wanted his grandmother to help finance his band.

  "Come watch the High School Idol auditions," Rick said. "You'll see then."

  The mention of High School Idol immediately and firmly removed any sympathy I felt for Rick. He would sing about me. He wanted his grandmother to help his band succeed and then the whole world could listen to horrible Chelsea songs.

  Rick had been, and still was, the enemy.

  "I suppose I could come," The Grandmother said. "But I doubt it will change my mind. Juilliard is the best thing for you."

  Rick grunted and leaned back into his couch.

  I smiled over at him. "I hear New York is beautiful in the fall."