The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading (18 page)

“She wants to date a prick? Well,
I
can be a prick!”

Ahh. So that explained why Brian was being such a jerk. Part of me wanted to mention the wand incident. It put him in close second when it came to the prick contest. But I heard the hurt and regret in Brian’s voice.

Todd stepped back, shut his eyes for a moment. “I’m going to have to cut off his Red Bull supply,” he said.

Todd’s distraction was too much for Jack. The competitor in him took over. He lunged forward, ready to take Todd down. Todd parried, took a step to the left, and sank his light saber into Jack’s chest.

They stood like that for several seconds. Jack held both hands in the air, a startled expression on his face. Maybe I should’ve told him about Todd’s three years of fencing lessons—the compromise between him and his father over sports.

Then Jack threw his head back and laughed. The boys shook hands and did a punch, slap, shove thing that I chalked up to male bonding. Todd secured the light sabers above the bar, then turned to Jack.

“Isn’t there a T-wolves game on tonight?”

Jack shrugged. “No biggie. We’re not having the greatest season.”

“Come on.” Todd pointed to the television and the group that surrounded it. “Like any of these guys need to see this episode of
Naruto
for the hundredth time.”

The boys walked off together, leaving me behind, forgotten. I pulled my legs up so I sat cross-legged on the granite countertop. I planted my elbows on my thighs and watched them. It looked like the start of a beautiful friendship.

We need to talk!

That was all Moni’s e-mail said, but I knew the code by heart. Weekends with her dad were jam-packed and hectic. Sure, she could chat on the eighty-mile drive south to Prairie Stone, but the code also meant whatever she had to say wasn’t for parental ears.

I could hardly wait for her call.

In fact, I cleared off everything in anticipation. Homework, done. Dishes from Sunday night dinner, done. A long conversation with Jack, done. We’d even talked about the party at Rick’s.

“We don’t always have to go to those,” he said.

I felt the last bit of leftover tension from the party slip away. “We don’t always have to go to Geek Night.”

“Hey, I’ll go wherever there’s a game on.” Which was exactly what he was doing now, watching some sports thing on ESPN with his dad.

As a bribe, I even let Shelby have full, unsupervised access to the pom-poms. I snuggled into the pillows on my bed and waited for the phone to ring.

I didn’t have to wait long. “Guess who I had brunch with?” were the first words from Moni’s mouth, not even a “hello” to get things rolling. In the background, I could hear a car door slamming and the crunch of tires, and I guessed she’d already said good-bye to her dad.

“Wait,” I said. “I know this one. Orlando Bloom.”

“Better than Orlando Bloom.”

There was better than Orlando Bloom in Moni’s world?
The actor had always been Moni’s ultimate brunch—or anything—date. She’d watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy so many times that she could finish any of Orlando’s lines. It was fantasy life on an epic scale—and Moni knew how to dream big.

And how to fall hard. That was why I’d planned to listen first before telling Moni about Rick’s party. It could wait. And the blonde—Amanda—the one who dissed me and my dad’s class? Maybe that should wait forever.

I heard her keys drop, then the scrape as she opened the front door. Moni was a barely contained bundle of news and nerves, so, to give her an opening, I said, “What’s better than Bloom?”

“Two words: Rick. Mangers.”

“Not Rick the—”

Moni drew in a breath. “You can’t say it, because it’s not true.”

I wished it weren’t. Or that it was all just a case of mistaken identity. That there were two Rick Mangers, the nice one Moni was crushing on, and his evil, party-throwing twin.

“He called Saturday,” Moni continued. “When I told him I wouldn’t be back until tonight, he said—get this—that it was ‘too long to go without seeing his spark plug.’ You did notice the
his
, right?”

Rick Mangers was even smoother than I had guessed possible.

“And then he drove all the way to Minneapolis this morning just to meet us for brunch. Can you believe it?”

Actually, I couldn’t. But I couldn’t doubt it either. Despite Moni’s enthusiastic fantasy life, she could tell reality from fiction, and dream dates from real boys. Even if the idea of Rick Mangers driving to Minneapolis sounded like something from a romance novel.

“Really,” I said, hoping Moni wouldn’t hear the tightness in my voice.

“It was the best. We went to this place Monica wanted to go to, of course.” Moni made gagging noises. “But it wasn’t that bad. And get this. Rick totally distracted Monica so I could, you know, have an actual conversation with my dad.”

Moni drew in another breath. “Then we went to the Walker Art Center, and while Monica was going on and on about modern art, Rick did this thing—” Moni broke off. It sounded like she was stifling giggles. “This thing,” she tried again, but the giggles returned in force. “Never mind, you had to be there.”

I was glad I hadn’t been.

“And then he drove me home!” she ended with a squeal.

An awful realization hit me. That was Rick Mangers’s car I’d heard in the background, not her dad’s. He’d been right there, only moments before. With Moni.

“Was he…just now—?” I began.

“Yes!”

“Wow,” I said.
He didn’t happen to mention Friday night’s party on the drive back, did he?
I wanted to add, but couldn’t. Moni’s voice was beyond ecstatic. Beyond brunch with Bloom, even. And it was real.

At least I hoped so.

“So,” said Moni. “How are you and Jack?”

“Things are, you know, good.”

“The kissing?”

“That’s good too.”

Moni laughed. “So, what happened after you guys left the party?”

“The party,” I said, my words flat.
Moni knew about the party?
How could she? Unless Rick told her. I didn’t like that option at all. It was one thing for Todd to hear secondhand accounts from skinny freshman wrestlers. It was a whole different thing to have Rick the Prick Mangers feeding his version of the story to my best friend.

“Rick says next time it won’t be so last-minute—that way I can come too.”

“Oh. Of course.” I wasn’t sure Moni heard me, because she barely paused before her next words.

“Can you believe Chantal?” she asked. “Oh, my God. Rick told me she was totally wasted. Some people never learn, you know?”

Despite my relief that Moni apparently hadn’t heard some of the more horrid details, I felt kind of sad. All of it, Rick and the blonde, the encounter with R.J., the beer, and Chantal. I wished none of it had ever happened.

“We went to Todd’s on Saturday,” I said to change the subject.

“Please don’t tell me you took Jack Paulson to Geek Night?”

“Well, yeah. Why not?”

“I’d never take Rick there.”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

Silence from the other end. I waited, worried that somehow Moni and I had started speaking different languages. Then, over the line, came the
whoosh
of the refrigerator door.

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it,” Moni said around a bite of something. It’s just…you know.”

“No. I don’t know.” I didn’t mean to say it sharply, but there it was. “Jack and Todd got along great,” I added.

“Whatever. I just can’t see Rick there.”

“Well, hey,” I said, “at least we agree about that.” You could probably poll the entire student body of Prairie Stone High, and they’d all agree about that.

“You really don’t know him,” she said after another bite. “He makes jokes about his mom trading up and all that. I know he’s a jerk at school sometimes. But on the way home, we talked forever, about everything. And I think this is it, the real thing.”

“You really like him,” I said, echoing Todd’s words to me.

“God, yes. Even though people say he’s a—”

“Prick?” I suggested.

Moni laughed, and I relaxed a little.

“Yeah, that. Except he’s not.” Her voice went quiet and dreamy. Of everything I’d heard during the conversation, this scared me the most.

“He’s not,” Moni said again. “Not with me, anyway.”

I
stared at my clock until one thirty in the morning, when I couldn’t stand it any longer and turned over. Monday I arrived at school bleary-eyed. Cheerleading practice was going to kick my butt.

“So what do you think?” Moni whispered. We were standing by my locker, talking behind the door. “I mean,” she continued, “the whole drive up to Minneapolis and back again? You can’t call that anything but serious.”

Actually, I wanted to call it a lot of things. “Unreal” was at the top of my list. But during my midnight tossing and turning, I’d decided to follow Todd’s example. After all, I brought a jock to Geek Night. The least I could do was give Rick Mangers a chance.

“Hey, spark plug!”

It looked like I had my chance right then. The two of us peered from behind my locker door. At the entrance to the cafeteria, Rick stood and waved Moni down the hall. She took a few steps before turning to me. “Come on. Jack might be there.”

He might. But then, so would Rick. And I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that. “You go. I’ve got to finish up some notes before history.”

But I stayed at my locker, hand on the door, and watched Moni half glide, half bounce down the corridor, straight past Chantal and company without a glance or bump in her stride. Rick’s protective arm around Moni’s waist didn’t bother me, and neither did the condescending tug to her curls. But then he leaned back and flashed a look at me.

What was that about?
It felt like he was laying down a challenge. Like when it came to Moni, it was either him or me. Couldn’t we go for one of those peaceful coexistence things? But Rick was a jock. “Peace” and “coexist” weren’t in his vocabulary. Of course, words of more than two syllables weren’t either.

Moni likes him. A lot. Be nice. Think nice thoughts,
I told myself.

I pulled a stack of note cards from my backpack. I’d written them the day before, while on the phone with Jack. Should I go see if my oatmeal-loving boy was busy shoveling in breakfast? Prepare for honors history and avoid the inevitable lecture from Todd?

Or stand here like an idiot with a stack of note cards in my hand?

The bell rang. Decision made.

According to Sun Tzu and
The Art of War
, “The worst calamities that befall an army arise from hesitation.”

I hoped he was wrong.

The way a guy said your name meant something. I came to that conclusion after Jack started saying mine. I’d also come to the conclusion that cheerleading took up more time and dedication than anyone would ever suspect. Really, before people talked trash about cheerleaders, they should walk a mile in their Skechers.

By the time the last bell rang, I was exhausted. I still needed to push through the students pouring from classrooms, stop by the library to pick out a new book for Independent Reading, drop off a draft of the abstract for my chemistry project, change for cheerleading practice, and then spend a couple of hours in the newspaper office.

Between now and then, I hoped to devise a reasonable excuse for why my next Life at Prairie Stone column—“Life as a Cheerleading Coach”—still wasn’t finished. I had all the material for it and had even listened to the interview with Sheila during sixth period. After the school board fiasco, I felt I owed her. Besides, it was way better than Todd’s proposed column idea. But other than the title, I couldn’t get a single word on the page.

I checked the big clock in the hall and calculated the minutes and seconds it would take to race to the locker room. If I didn’t swap shirts, I might still make it on time. I couldn’t force myself to leave, though. Even with the halls so crowded, the jock-talk from where Rick Mangers stood in the middle of a bunch of seniors was all I could hear.

The way a guy said your name meant something. And the way Rick said Moni’s gave me the shivers. Especially when the response to her name included laughter. And grunting.

I pretended to flip through my notebook while I tried to listen. I couldn’t pick out many words, but everything I needed to hear was there in Rick’s tone. It was there in the way a couple of the boys stole looks at me. Ryan Nelson even blushed.

“Hey, Bethany!”

That was another way to say someone’s name. I turned and stepped out of the way just as Andrew nearly crashed into me.

“Hey,” he said again, out of breath. “You and Moni cheering for wrestling this week?”

“Weren’t we there last week?” I teased. “And the week before?”

“Yeah, but you know.” Andrew gave his shoes thorough consideration. “The guys wanted me to check.” He looked up at me and started to say something more, but raunchy laughter came from Rick’s group.

“He’s such an ass,” Andrew said.

“I thought he was a prick.”

“That too.”

“I’m going to do it,” I said out loud. I wasn’t certain what “it” was, but I took a step forward anyway.

“Wait.” Andrew touched my sleeve.

I teetered slightly. “What?”

“I can—we can, you know, keep our ears open in the locker room.” He eyed Rick. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Doesn’t that go against some kind of secret guy code or something?”

Andrew rubbed his shoulder in a way that made me wonder what exactly went on in the boys’ locker room. “Technically,” he said, “you need two human beings for that. Mangers—he doesn’t count.”

Did all guys have to be jerks? At least Jack wasn’t. And neither was this skinny freshman wrestler standing in front of me.

“I’m still going to talk to him,” I said.

“I’m still going to listen.” He turned from me and headed down the hall.

I called after him. “Hey, Andrew.”

He spun, almost losing his balance, and I bit back a grin.

“When you’re a senior, promise me you’ll remember all this.”

“I’m never going to forget.” He vanished into the crowd of students—not tall enough yet to track, not large enough to cause a ripple in the mass of high school humanity.

By now the jocks had closed ranks; the group seemed tighter, more solid than before. I marched up to them anyway, still not sure what I’d say to Rick. Of course, that was assuming he’d let me say anything at all.

“Excuse me? Rick?”

The group shifted, all at once. And damn if it wasn’t intimidating.

Rick stared.

“Can I talk to you?”

He shrugged, palms outward. Nice time to go all dumb jock on me.

“Alone?” I added.

He slapped one of his palms against his forehead. “Oh, alone.” He turned to the other boys and winked. “You gentlemen will excuse me? Duty calls.”

A snicker ran through the crowd, but I ignored it—or tried to. And when Rick grabbed my elbow, I tried not to flinch—but I did. “Ooh, Paulson’s got himself a live one,” he said.

Moni likes him. A lot. Be nice. Think nice thoughts.

I couldn’t. The only thing that came to mind was Rick’s nickname. He truly was a part of the male anatomy. We stood for a moment, silent.

“This is the part where you talk,” said Rick.

Okay. I knew that. “Moni’s my best friend,” I said.

“I know. She talks about you. All the time.”

I could tell he was positively thrilled about that. “She’s been through a lot of stuff lately, especially with her parents, you know,” I said. At least he
should
know. If Rick even half listened to anything Moni said, that should’ve been obvious.

The divorce was way less friendly than everyone liked to pretend. Moni’s dad had gauntlet-girl-all-grown-up Monica. Her mom drowned her sorrows in poetry readings and now Starbucks Boy. But when Moni’s schedule put them all on a collision course, there were usually no survivors.

I had been along for one of those once, and it wasn’t the insults or the anger or even anything the four “adults”
did
that got to me. It was Moni, the way she stood stock-still, waves of sadness rolling off her. I’d tugged on her arm. Together we’d walked away from the group, found a coffee shop, and ordered white chocolate mochas, the large size, with extra whip. And no one,
no one
, bothered to find us.

Rick needed to understand that. Instead he checked his cell phone. “Anything else?”

“I don’t want to see her hurt,” I said.

“And what makes you think I’d do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I didn’t. Not right away. “Maybe…that bet?”

But Rick only laughed. “Yep, a live one.”

Oh, SHUT up.
“Moni deserves the best,” I said. “And you need to prove that’s what you are.”

He stepped back, surprise erasing the smugness on his face. I didn’t really get him with that, did I? It didn’t seem possible.

“You think Paulson’s all that perfect?”

“This isn’t about Jack.”

“If he doesn’t win that bet, do you think he can even afford to take you to prom?”

That was low. “I don’t care about prom.”

Rick gave me a look, one that said,
All girls care about prom
. “I’ve got a stretch Hummer lined up already.”

Of course he did. A more perfect vehicle for Rick Mangers did not exist—a real prickmobile.

“Maybe spark plug and I can give you two a ride,” he added.

“I don’t care about prom,” I repeated. What was the big deal, anyway? “I care about Jack.” My mouth clamped shut, but it was too late. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. Out loud. To Rick Mangers.

“Oh? You
care
about Paulson?” he asked, gloating in his voice. “Well, here’s a tip for you. Paulson doesn’t like uptight chicks.”

“I am not uptight.”

Rick laughed again, louder this time, longer. “You’re wound so tight, you’re about to spring a leak.”

I blinked, trying to imagine what that would look like. “That’s a mixed metaphor,” I said.

“A what?”

“A mixed metaphor,” I said again. “I’m tutoring English this spring.” Actually, I was signed up to start as soon as cheerleading ended. And yeah, it was snarky, but I added, “You might want to stop by and—”

“You think you’re pretty smart,” he interrupted, “but you don’t know everything that you think you know, you know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the one with all the brains.
You
figure it out.”

I climbed the stairs, wondering—not for the first time—why the newspaper office had to be on the top floor. My legs trembled, and I used the handrail to pull myself up. Sheila had been brutal in practice that afternoon.

I collapsed at a desk in the journalism classroom. A few feet away, Todd gave me a salute with the blue pencil he was using to mark up some poor freshman’s attempt at a feature article.

“So,” Todd said. “Life at Prairie Stone?”

Sucks.
“Working on it,” is what I said out loud. “I modified your suggestion.”

Todd arched an eyebrow. “So no ‘Life as a Cheerleader’?”

I didn’t want to go there, not in print, anyway. “‘Life as a Cheerleading
Coach
.’” Todd opened his mouth, but I rushed to speak before he could say anything. “I have a ton of material. For instance…” I dug through my bag and brought out the notes and the digital recorder I’d used during my interview. “Did you know Sheila’s had articles published in
American Cheerleader
?”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

I ignored him. “And she published her own book.” Okay, so it was
The Prairie Stone High Varsity Cheerleading Guide
, but that counted, right?

“I was hoping for something meatier,” Todd said. “An exposé. A first-person account. A look at the high-stakes world of varsity cheerleading from the inside. A little scandal. Personality conflicts.”

He paused. “Catfights. You know, the good stuff.”

Oh, please. “Well, you know, today, at practice…” I leaned across the desk and made my voice all breathless. “Somebody stole Kaleigh’s lip gloss, but it turned out she just left it in her locker.”

Todd closed his eyes.

Before I could say anything else, Jack rapped on the door frame, then strolled in. His hair was still damp from the showers, skin still flushed from basketball practice. He collapsed, much like I had, into the desk next to mine. I was surprised that he’d found me. Sure, I mentioned something about the newspaper during Independent Reading, but nothing about when I’d be there or for how long.

“Look,” I added. “No one wants to read about my life as a cheerleader.”

“I would,” Jack said. “I like reading all your columns.”

“Then tell her to write one,” said Todd.

“Right,” I said.

“And if you could get her to lose the one-word sentences…,” Todd continued.

“Those are my favorite,” Jack said. “Hey, I’m a jock.” He shrugged. “We’re all about the one-word sentences.”

I giggled. Todd scowled. Jack grinned, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Listen, Reynolds.” Todd reached out to touch my hand. “You’re a columnist, not some freshman flunky churning out copy. You have real clips, ones that matter.”

“Like I said, right.” The
Purple Pride
was hardly the
New Yorker
, but I didn’t dare tell Todd that.

“Think about college applications. Clips, combined with your academics, and now this cheerleading thing. Colleges will be begging you to apply.” Todd turned to Jack. “You get it, right?” he said. “I mean, with that recruiter coming—”

“What? Wait. Whoa.” I swiveled in my seat to look at Jack. “A recruiter?”

“According to this article.” Todd tapped the papers in front of him, the ones covered in blue marks. “Basketball, swimming. We have a couple recruiters coming in.”

“That’s great,” I said, then, “Who? I mean, where? And when?”

“University of Minnesota,” Jack said. “This Friday. Hey, newspaper girl, I think you forgot the What and the Why.” He tried to hide a smile.

“Wait,” said Todd.