Revenge of the Cheerleaders

by Janette Rallison

  Tanner left the bag with the prime rib on the hood of his Accord where it would stay cold, but took a Styrofoam box and some plastic forks out so we could eat the cheesecake inside the car. I liked the fact that he'd packed plastic forks. It meant he'd thought about it and wanted to eat dessert with me tonight. Well, either that or he thought my family was too poor to afford utensils.

  We climbed into his car and he turned the heater on high. I shivered for a minute, but I wasn't sure if it was from the cold or just being so near to Tanner.

  At first we didn't talk much. We just said the usual sort of, "So what have you been up to?" small talk. I watched the snow glittering in the light of the street lamp and wondered if that's all he'd say. But when we were nearly done eating, Tanner's face grew serious and I knew he was getting ready to say whatever it was that he'd come to say. He leaned against his door so he nearly faced me. Slowly, as though he'd given it a lot of thought, he said, "I've told myself since Monday night that things would never work out between us so I ought to forget about you."

  I shrugged as though hearing this didn't bother me. "Oh? How's that going?"

  With an almost accusing look, he shook his head. "Not so well. It turns out you're hard to forget." He waved his fork absentmindedly in my direction. "It's probably your eyes. Did you know they're the exact same color as the ocean at Oahu?"

  "I've never been to Oahu."

  "You'll have to trust me about that then." He took a bite of cheesecake and considered me for a moment. "It could also be your smile. When you smile you look like you have all these secrets you're about to share, like you'll let me in on some inside joke because you think I'm special."

  "Oh." I didn't plan on smiling then. It just happened.

  "We seem to smile a lot around each other," he said. "Have you noticed that?"

  I nodded.

  Tanner gazed up at the ceiling of the car. "Of course maybe it's just impossible to forget you because Richard brings you up every five minutes."

  I stiffened. "Rick talks about me?"

  "Oh yeah. Mostly along the lines of: How can you like the girl who wants to ruin my life? Or, Mom, talk some sense into Tanner. He can't date Chelsea. She tried to kill me."

  The fork went limp in my hand. "He told your mother I tried to kill him?"

  "Yeah, death by locker door." Tanner sent me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Mom didn't believe him. Very few people are actually killed by locker doors." Tanner's warm blue eyes rested on mine and his voice softened. "Besides, my parents like you."

  "Your parents have good taste."

  "So do I. I have good taste." His gaze turned intense then, and my insides warmed by degrees. "I want to keep seeing you, but I'm not sure how to work this out. Do we try to reach a truce with our siblings? Do we ignore them and pretend we're both only children? Or maybe we should lie to each other—I'll say I think your sister is sweet and you can tell me my brother is charming."

  "Let me try that." I put my fork to my mouth, gently tapping it against my lower lip. "I think Rick is charming."

  Tanner nodded, his lips slightly twitching. "And Adrian is a sweet girl."

  I pointed my fork in his direction. "I can tell you're lying." Tanner dipped his chin down and laughed. "Well, you said 'charming' like it was an insult."

  "Yeah, and let me tell you Rick is the prince of charming."

  Tanner took my fork, put it with his into the empty Styrofoam container, and set it in the backseat. "Okay. Maybe we just need to agree that we'll both do our best to be nice to each other's siblings and never talk about them again. We can't change them, and we don't want to spend our time together discussing them anyway."

  "Right," I said. "And actually now that you mention it, I think it would be best if we didn't hang out at my house. Since Adrian broke up with Rick, well, I just don't think she needs any reminders of him."

  "That's fine," he said, and sounded relieved that I didn't want to force him into spending time with Adrian.

  So much for honesty being the best policy. I was getting an A+ on this ethics test.

  "We can go other places. I'm not working Saturday." Tanner moved closer to me. With his arm stretched across the back of the seat, he played with the ends of my hair. I shivered again and this time it was definitely not from the cold.

  "Good."

  I knew he was about to kiss me and then the subject would be gone forever, so before he did I said, "Tanner, did you know your brother is singing a song about me for the auditions?"

  He leaned closer to me, his hands twining through my hair. "He changed his mind about that. He's singing a different song now."

  "He is?"

  "Yeah, as I recall he had a change of heart around about the time I held his guitar out a second-story window. Plus, I told him I wouldn't ever help him lug around his band equipment again if he kept bothering you."

  He ran a finger down the nape of my neck, which made it very hard to do things—like concentrate on the conversation, and breathe.

  "Do your parents know about all of this?" I asked.

  "They overheard some of it, but they didn't say much. They couldn't really because my grandmother was too busy lecturing about how young men treated young women when she was a girl. Opening doors. Holding chairs. That took quite a while."

  I considered this while Tanner slid even closer to me. If Rick had decided not to sing "Dangerously Blonde," wouldn't he have told Adrian about it? He would have told her he was doing it for her and then Adrian would have triumphantly told me about it.

  But that hadn't happened.

  Then again, if Rick had told Tanner in front of his parents and grandmother that he wasn't going to sing the song, that meant something. Maybe I really didn't need to get up in front of everyone in a skating outfit and sing.

  I should have felt relieved or hopeful, but I didn't. I realized with almost a shock, that even if Rick didn't sing "Dangerously Blonde," I still wanted to audition for High School Idol. I wanted to do it for me and I wanted to win.

  When had that happened? When had I stopped mocking all of those people with singing ambitions and become one of them?

  Tanner bent down and kissed me and I kissed him back. His arms felt warm and comfortable and for a few moments I didn't think of auditions, or Rick, or anything. There was just Tanner and me, and he was holding me close. It was enough.

  Chapter 16

  Friday brought rain, which immediately turned to ice, and then it snowed some more. This didn't mean that the football game would be canceled. Football players are too rugged for that, or fans too insistent, one of the two. What it did mean was that we got to wear our cheer sweats and gloves. It also meant, unfortunately that instead of riding in the school van with our advisor, we would ride in the school bus with the guys.

  Moscow's high school is only a twenty-minute drive from PHS, but Mrs. Jones won't drive us anywhere if the roads are icy.

  I don't mind riding to a game with the team, but trust me, riding back home with a bus full of riled-up, sweaty guys is not something anyone would voluntarily do.

  The game started out well. The sky cleared, we scored a touchdown during the first ten minutes, and Mike got tackled. As if this wasn't enough to put me in a good mood, I noticed Naomi up in the stands flirting with Bjorne Jansen, a foreign exchange student from Sweden. He didn't speak much English, but Naomi's body language was easy to read in any language.

  So much for, she understands me better.

  That's one of the perks of being a cheerleader. You get to watch the crowd. Sometimes it's as entertaining as the game. I wondered how long it would take for this incident to get back to Mike.

  Molly and Polly came, although they were barely distinguishable under their down coats, long scarves, and hats. They sat alone and as the stands filled up I kept checking to see if someone would sit next to them. But no one did.

  Rick and some of his friends showed up, and Adrian arrived with some other sophomore girls, both of which surpris
ed me since neither Rick or Adrian are football fans.

  At first I was afraid they'd gravitate toward each other, talk, and work things out. But when Adrian saw Rick, she sent me a withering glare, as though she thought he'd come to see me.

  Which was only true if he was looking for material for his follow-up CD: More Reasons to Hate Cheerleaders. The only attention he threw my way was the few times when he rolled his eyes at me. We sang our song during halftime and it went perfectly. I loved the feeling of belting out the tune and knowing my voice did everything I wanted it to. High notes, low notes, I held onto them triumphantly. The crowd clapped and cheered, giving me an incredible rush. As I smiled up at the audience I thought, this is why Rick wants to sing for a living.

  And I'm not sure which was a bigger compliment: that I noticed Mr. Metzerol in the stands, nodding in rhythm with the song—I knew he'd just come to see my performance—or that Rick stared down from the stands, absolutely stunned.

  The only time he'd heard me sing before was the pep assembly when I did my impromptu duet with Mrs. Jones.

  Yeah, I wanted to tell him. I'm a little better with music, practice, and the help of my new best friend, Mr. Metzerol.

  As we walked off the field, Aubrie grabbed my arm. "We're totally going to kill the competition tomorrow."

  "I hope so." I smiled and then remembered that Aubrie is the optimistic one. I turned to see Rachel's expression.

  She nodded in agreement. "Rick is toast."

  Samantha said, "All you have to do is sing for the judges like you just sang for this crowd. No pressure. No reason to be nervous."

  But I wasn't. "I can do it," I said. "It feels like I've been waiting my whole life to do this and just didn't know it until now."

  We didn't say any more about it after that because we'd reached the stands, but we all cheered extra loud for the next few minutes.

  Rick didn't roll his eyes at me anymore. He only scowled. I could see him talking to his friends, spitting out words. He got up from his seat and wandered around the stands, talking to this clique and then to that. Networking, I supposed. Proving to me he could play the popularity game if he wanted.

  Adrian left not long after that, probably to sulk. Which was stupid because Rick would have eventually gotten around to talking to her group.

  We won the game 21 to 14, and the crowd started their own impromptu cheer of: "We'll take state again!" Then the team, fans, and cheerleaders assembled on the edge of the field to hear the coach give his usual commentary/pep talk and to sing the fight song. After that, the fans headed back to their cars and the team to the bus.

  Samantha and I took seats up at the front. We made it there long before Rachel and Aubrie because they were walking with some of the guys. The dating goddess was always in high form after a game.

  I noticed Coach Davison talking to Mrs. Jones a little ways away from the bus, and neither looked happy. Then Bryce and Derek, two linebackers, rattled up the steps. Bryce shook his head at us. "You guys are busted. Someone ratted you out."

  "What?" I asked.

  "Someone told the coach you've got beer in your duffel bags," Derek said.

  Samantha wrinkled her nose like it was a ridiculous thing to say, which it was. "We don't have beer in our duffel bags."

  I didn't chime in to agree because I noticed Mrs. Jones and Coach Davison stop Rachel and Aubrie as they walked by. Coach Davison took their duffel bags from them.

  "Look," I nudged Samantha and pointed to the scene out the window. "Someone is about to feel foolish."

  That's when Coach Davison pulled a beer can from Rachel's bag. Both Aubrie and Rachel's mouths dropped open. So did mine. And then my heart pounded in my chest. I turned and grabbed my own duffel bag from underneath my seat. As I did, I noticed Coach Davison open Aubrie's bag and pull a can from it too. He gripped the can while Aubrie shook her head vigorously. She put her hand against her chest, protesting.

  Coach Davison gave her a grim look and headed toward the bus.

  I fumbled with the zipper on my duffel bag. The cold made my fingers clumsy. After long moments the zipper finally came open. There along with my make-up kit and granola bars lay a can of beer. "How did this get in here?" I breathed out.

  Samantha had her own duffel bag open on her lap, and she glanced down at a beer can with horror. "We've been set up," she whispered. "We've got to get rid of these."

  "Where?" I asked. The bus didn't have any hiding places, and I couldn't have pried open one of the windows if I'd wanted to. I glanced at it anyway. The coach and Mrs. Jones were almost to the bus steps.

  Samantha grabbed the can from my duffel bag. I had no idea where she planned on hiding it. Before I could ask her, she put my can next to her own, zipped her bag shut, then shoved it back underneath her seat.

  I stared at her. "What are you doing? They'll find them in your bag."

  She took my bag, zipped it, and slid it underneath my seat. "Yeah, but they won't find anything in yours."

  It still didn't make sense. She leaned toward me. "This has to be Rick's fault. If we're not students in good standing, we can't sing for High School Idol. This way at least you'll still be able to audition."

  I didn't have time to answer. Coach Davison was beside me, his gaze boring into mine. "Do you girls mind handing me your duffel bags?"

  I glanced at Samantha and gulped. I felt my face flushing in frustration and anger. We pulled our bags out and handed them to Coach Davison. First he opened mine. He rummaged around the contents, then set it aside without comment. Then he opened Samantha's.

  He immediately pulled out one of the cans of beer and held it up for Samantha to see. His jaw clenched tight. "Would you like to tell me what you're doing with this? You know the rules about alcohol at games. It's an automatic two-week suspension from school."

  Samantha blinked up at him. I knew she was trying to look surprised but her words came out frightened. "I didn't put that there. Someone is trying to get us in trouble."

  "Us?" he asked. "Who else has beer with them?"

  She didn't answer. If we admitted that we saw what happened with Rachel and Aubrie, then they'd know we had time to rearrange the contents of our bags.

  Coach Davison nodded at Samantha's silence. "I'd like you to step off the bus for a minute. We need to call your parents."

  Samantha stood and pushed past me without another word.

  The ride home was horrible. Aubrie was near tears, Rachel was so steamed you could have boiled rice on her lap, and Samantha sat with a look of broken trust on her face. I don't know which reaction made me feel worse.

  Even though I knew this was Rick's fault, part of me felt guilty about it anyway. They were in trouble. I wasn't. And they wouldn't have been in trouble if they hadn't been helping me in the first place.

  Rachel told me every word Mrs. Jones and Coach Davi­son had said to them. Mrs. Jones had tried to stick up for the squad. "The duffel bags were by my seat, but I wasn't watching them that closely," she had told Coach Davison before he'd called everyone's parents. "It's possible that someone sneaked the cans into the duffel bags. The girls might be telling the truth."

  "Might" was not a strong enough alibi to keep him from calling parents.

  While he did, Mrs. Jones told Rachel, Aubrie, and Samantha, "We'll talk to the principal on Monday. I'll explain and hopefully she'll lift your suspension."

  "Hopefully" was not all that comforting and Monday would be too late.

  We discussed the situation in hushed voices on the bus ride home. "You could just sing with me anyway," I said. "We've already got the paperwork signed that says we're students in good standing. The judges won't know what happened tonight."

  "You don't think Rick is going to tell them?" Rachel said. "If you win, he'll have you disqualified faster than you can say, 'sore loser.' "

  "And what if the principal doesn't lift our suspension?" Aubrie asked. "They have evidence against us; it's just our word that we didn't do it."

 
; "Mrs. Jones will help us. She believes we're innocent." Samantha cast a glance in our advisor's direction. "I think."

  Rachel lowered her voice even further. "Mrs. Jones should have been watching our stuff better and none of this would have happened."

  True, but I couldn't muster much anger at her. "She couldn't have known that Rick would do this." It hurt to say the words more than I thought it would. After all, I'd known Rick was my enemy. He'd never made a secret of it. So why had I thought that lately his complaints against me were more hype than hatred? Dating Tanner hadn't made me immune to this sort of attack.

  "We can't let him get away with this," Rachel said.

  Aubrie shook her head. "We have no way to prove it was him."

  Rachel's eyes narrowed, calculating. "Is there any way to let the air out of his tires right before he has to leave for the auditions?"

  "We need to concentrate on winning first. Then we'll worry about Rick." Samantha turned in her seat, surveying me. "You'll have to sing a different song. What's another one that you know the words to?"

  Offhand I couldn't think of any. Besides, I hadn't practiced any other songs with Mr. Metzerol. I didn't know where to breathe and how to hold onto the notes or anything else. I'd only barely been able to get the notes of this song in the vicinity of my forehead. How could I start all over again and have something ready by tomorrow?

  "I don't know what would work best with my voice. Plus if I'm nervous, I won't be able to remember any of the words of a new song anyway. And what about dance moves?" The more I thought about it, the harder it seemed. It was a huge, insurmountable mountain. I couldn't do this alone.

  Still, all the way back home we tossed out song titles. I even tried to sing a few of them to see if they were in my voice range. Nothing sounded good. Nothing.

  I nearly forgot about the party. It only fluttered back into my consciousness when we pulled into the PHS parking lot. As we got off the bus Aubrie said, "There's no way my parents are going to let me go to Garret and Joe's party."