I didn't answer and kept looking. It only took me half a minute to realize that this wasn't such a good idea after all. I'd forgotten that trying to pick up guys involves the very big possibility of rejection. And did I really need any more of that right now? I think not.
"How about that tall blond guy by the door?" Rachel said. "He's here with a friend but he keeps looking around—a sure sign he wants to meet someone."
When I didn't protest, she nodded in his direction, sizing him up again. "We'll have to approach slowly so as not to scare him off. Blonds startle easily."
I didn't move. I just stood there clutching my glass. "You know, I'm not sure I want to do this. It's been so long since I've been hunting, I think I've forgotten how to talk to new guys."
Before Rachel could answer, a voice off to my right said, "Oh, I don't know about that. You didn't have any problem talking to me."
I recognized the voice. Even before I turned, I knew the Clark Kent guy stood next to me.
Chapter 6
I gasped and said something that came out as, "Ahh eeh!" Plus I jumped a little, which jostled the drink in my hand so that some of it spilled onto the floor. This was especially bad since he obviously worked here and probably didn't appreciate people sloshing soda around in the restaurant.
"Oh, sorry." I grabbed a few napkins from the table and bent down to mop up the mess.
"No, it was my fault." He took some more napkins and bent down to help me. "I shouldn't have spoken like that. I'd forgotten how easily blondes startle."
I felt myself blush bright red. I'm not sure which embarrassed me more: That I'd run into him again after taking his money and disappearing, or that he'd heard Rachel and me discuss hunting guys.
In an attempt to regain some dignity, I stuttered, "Uh, thanks for your help. With the floor I mean. And also, you know, the other night."
"You still owe me a dance," he said.
I blinked at him, surprised that he still wanted anything to do with me. "Do you want to dance right now?"
He glanced at the table. "Sure. Cup cleanup can wait for a few minutes.''
I'd forgotten he was working. "We don't have to if it's a problem," I said. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."
He grinned. "You're not getting out of our bargain that easily. Remember, I paid for you."
Rachel's jaw dropped, reminding me that I hadn't told her the complete story of how Samantha and I had gotten into the Halloween dance. I'd have to do that soon. In the meantime, I sent her a shrug and followed the guy toward the dance floor.
"I really meant to come back," I said as we walked, "but then I had to leave suddenly." Really suddenly, while being escorted by an angry security guard to the back door. Only I didn't want to admit to that. What would the guy think of me if he knew I'd been kicked out of the dance for disorderly conduct?
He shook his head. "You know, Bo Peep gave me a really bad time because you ditched me."
"I didn't ditch you. It's just a very busy time of year for angels."
Luckily I didn't have to hear his response to that, because Rick started up his next song and it was, as usual, too loud for any conversation and most brain-wave functions. It must be the loudness of the music, after all, that made it so hard to think straight. And also made my stomach feel fluttery this way.
As I danced I told myself not to continually stare at the guy. Which was hard. My gaze kept traveling back to him no matter how hard I tried to find something else to look at. I loved that his dark hair had a hint of curl so it looked like he'd just run his fingers through it. And that he had perfect angular features. And . . .
I made myself look for Adrian. She danced by herself right in front of the band. Her gaze didn't leave Rick, and I noticed for the first time how short her leather skirt was and how the black fishnet stockings she wore made her look ten years older. I'd have to point that out to Mom.
My gaze wandered back to the hot guy and I found him watching me. He smiled and looked away. The fluttering in my stomach spread through my whole body and Adrian's words ran through my mind. "The first time he danced with me, I knew it was love." Was this how Adrian had felt when she looked at Rick?
I dismissed the idea. It was foolishness. It was just because Mike was across the room paying attention to Naomi. Of course I wanted some new guy to notice me. Who wouldn't? There was no such thing as love at first dance. You couldn't really love a person when you knew nothing about him. We probably had nothing in common.
I peered at a wall for a full twenty seconds before my gaze slid back to the guy. Okay, who needed anything in common when a guy had broad shoulders, an easy smile, and Clark Kent blue eyes. I didn't want to just dance with him, I wanted to put on a cape and soar through the sky with him.
I forced myself to look away and take deep breaths. How old was he? He didn't look that much older than me, but it was hard to tell m the low light. If he was a freshman in college—just a year older than me, then maybe he'd still consider dating me. Although, even this felt like hoping for a lot.
As I watched him he turned and saw me staring. He smiled, but I turned away, embarrassed.
Off to my left, Rachel danced with the blond guy we'd been talking about. Further off Mike and Naomi danced, which yeah—who cared about them? Suddenly Mike seemed so young and blasé.
The song ended and the band slid into a slower beat. I didn't think Rick was capable of composing a ballad. So far everything I'd heard vibrating through my bedroom wall had been stuff you could pogo stick to, but he stepped to the mike and said, "We're going to slow things down for a few minutes. This is one of my new songs called, 'The Pretty Girl Curse.' "
Leave it to Rick to come up with a name like that for a slow song.
We stopped dancing and the guy looked over at the band then at me. "Well, I guess your debt to me is paid."
I put my hand on his arm so he wouldn't walk away. "But I accumulated interest. In more than one way."
Another smile. He had great teeth. "Then we should dance some more." He pulled me into slow dance position. I liked the way he smelled subtly of aftershave and how I fit so comfortably against him. I also liked the way he kept looking over at me, as though trying to read something in my face.
The only thing I didn't like was that the music grew so loud again that we couldn't talk. But it was nice standing with him, swaying to the music. I even started to think that Rick was not such a bad singer after all. His voice was sort of melodic when he wasn't using it to screech things.
Then a line in his lyrics caught my attention. "Cheerleading girl—behind the facade, isn't it odd, how ugly is your world." And the song went on, all about how awful cheerleaders were.
I stared up at the stage. "That is so mean."
"What?" the guy asked.
"His lyrics are so rude."
"What?" the guy asked again, and I knew he couldn't hear me.
I shook my head, "Never mind." After all, it was just a stupid song. So who cared that Rick bad-mouthed cheerleaders for one song? His last album had consisted of badmouthing the school, the government, and adults in general. Rick apparently didn't like anyone. Big deal.
The song ended but the guy held onto my arm. His eyes caught mine and I was struck again by how familiar they looked. "Do you want to go somewhere that's easier to talk?" he asked.
"Let's go back by the drinks," I answered, because at least I'd been able to understand him there. Besides, I really was worried about his boss getting mad at him for leaving his post. We walked to the back of the room while Rick started up his next song, entitled, "We Don't Need Your Sis-Boom-Bah Crap." This song consisted mostly of swear words.
"Unbelievable. Rick is absolutely unbelievable," I said.
"That's why I listen to country," the guy said.
I laughed and tried to shake off my irritation. "Yeah, country songs don't criticize cheerleaders."
He nodded, "You know, there are strikingly few country songs about cheerleaders. But maybe on
e day they'll find their rightful place in music lore with bootleggers and coal miners."
Which is when I decided not to tell the guy I was a cheerleader. Right then I wanted to be older, intellectual, and dripping with sophistication.
He tilted his head at me. "So if you're not a Rick and the Deadbeats fan, what are you doing here?"
"Watching my little sister. See, sadly she was born without the gene for taste or common sense and so she likes Rick's music. I only came to make sure there wasn't any alcohol here." As soon as I said this, I realized I'd insulted him. After all, he worked here.
I tried to backpedal. "Not that I'm saying you'd give alcohol to minors."
Instead of being angry he just laughed. "Yeah, high school kids don't need liquor to make them act like idiots." He nodded up at some of Rick's friends who were jumping around and slamming into one another. "They can do that on hormones alone."
He said this as if he didn't think of me as a high school student. Which made sense. He'd seen me up on campus first. Was there a way I could pull off being a college student? Maybe live a double life just so he'd be interested in me? I was willing to consider it.
He looked over across the crowd. "So your little sister goes to Pullman High?"
"Yeah." It wasn't a lie. Okay, he probably assumed she was a senior since most of Rick's friends were, but technically it wasn't a lie.
Out on the dance floor I noticed Samantha and Aubrie talking. Samantha kept shaking her head and Aubrie had her hand covering her mouth. Which meant they were listening to the anti-cheerleader lyrics of Rick's song too.
Adrian still stood in the front of the room by the band, swinging her hips to the music. My own sister was dancing to Rick ripping on cheerleaders. It seemed like she should have stuck up for me—or at least warned me. I mean, his new CD had two anti-cheerleading songs on it?
I glanced back at the guy and saw him watching me. I'd never lied about my age before, but looking at his eyes made me seriously consider doing it.
" I 'm sorry I keep staring at you," he said. "It's just that you remind me of someone." He looked down at the floor and shook his head. "You probably think that's a pickup line, don't you? You're going to put that into your supply along with the 'Is it hot or is it just you' line."
"No," I said. "Well—just as long as I remind you of someone who's pretty."
"Gorgeous," he said. "Stunning."
"See, that's much better than the 'Are you hot' line. Who do you think I look like?"
He shook his head. "I can't put my finger on it. That's what bothers me."
I took a step closer to him. "At this point most guys would just throw out the name of an impressive celebrity."
He laughed and leaned toward me. "I'm not making it up. You really do remind me of someone. Do you believe that?"
I nodded. "Actually when I first saw you I thought you looked familiar too."
His gaze grew more intense. "Maybe we've met before. Do you work on campus?"
"No." I doubted we'd ever met because I would have remembered him. I've got a good memory where good-looking guys are concerned.
The second song ended. It had been a short one. Probably because it's hard to find words that rhyme with curses. The music started up for the next one and Rick walked to the mike. "This is the song I'm going to sing for the auditions of High School Idol. I hope you'll all come out to support me as I rock to Dangerously Blonde."
"We must have met somewhere," the guy said. "What's your name?"
I hardly heard him because Rick sang the first verse of his song.
Chelsea is so pretty—
Every hair is in its place.
Lipstick adds a perfect smile
To her perfect face.
Yes, she's dangerously blonde.
The breath went out of my lungs. My heart slammed into my ribs. This song was about me. And although he'd called me pretty, he'd said the word like it was an insult. Time froze as I waited for the chorus of his song.
The guy stepped closer to me. "You do have a name, don't you?"
But I couldn't answer. I couldn't even talk. My gaze was stuck on the stage.
She'll wink at you, but
Only if you're cool.
Yeah, she knows what she needs to be.
It's all about pop-u-lar-ity,
When you're dangerously blonde.
"Are you okay?" the guy asked.
I had never been a violent person, but I wanted to wrestle the mike out of Rick's hands and club him with it. How could he do this to me in front of the entire senior class? Why did I deserve this?
The worst part of the whole thing was that—whereas most of Rick's songs sounded like they were wandering around in search of a melody—this song was catchy. It sounded like something you'd hear on the radio. People, people who went to my high school, clapped along. My sister was one of them.
It hurt to swallow. In another moment I would break into a thousand pieces. I turned to the guy, but only for a second. "I've got to go."
"Right now?" he asked.
"Sorry." I walked past him, making my way around the refreshment table.
"What's your name, at least," he asked, but I was not about to tell him my name was Chelsea when Rick was up in front of the room slandering it.
"Sorry," was all I could get out and I hurried away from him.
I took a deep breath. I had to make it to the door without bursting into tears or finding something to hurl at Rick. I could do this.
I would have to leave Adrian here. I wasn't about to walk up to the stage in front of everyone and cause a scene by trying to haul my sister away. It was bad enough that Rick had set his disdain for me to music. I wouldn't make it worse by showing everyone how it affected me.
I had just gone out the door when my friends caught up to me. Even Rachel came, which meant she had left the blond guy to talk to me.
Aubrie hurried to my side. "Chelsea, are you all right?"
"No," I said, and then the tears I'd held back spilled over anyway. I couldn't see but kept walking toward the parking lot.
"He's such a jerk," Aubrie said, and then Rachel added several more adjectives, most of which Rick had already set to music in songs about us.
Samantha glanced over her shoulder at the restaurant to make sure we were alone. "We need to go somewhere and talk. We can't let him do this to Chelsea. What if Rick actually makes it through the High School Idol auditions? We can't let him sing that song on national TV."
"How are we going to stop him?" I asked.
She looked around the group and then gazed at me. "I think you already know the answer to that question."
I held up my hands, using them to ask the question. "We cough on him and give him laryngitis?"
"No, Chels, you've got to sing. You've got to beat him at the auditions."
Chapter 7
We drove to Samantha's house, then sat cross-legged in her bedroom discussing the details.
"You still have two weeks to memorize a song. It will be easy," Samantha said. "You memorized 'Be True to Your School' without even trying."
"But Rick wrote his own song. How can I top that?"
Rachel waved off my question, like it was silly. "You're better looking and have nice legs. You don't think Britney Spears got where she is because she wrote her songs, do you?"
Aubrie considered me with her head tilted. "You'll need something sparkly to wear. Something that looks rock star. We'll look on the Internet."
"What if the High School Idol judges are mean?" I asked. "They chew people up and spit them out on those reality shows. I don't want the whole nation making fun of me because I forget a word, or drop a note, or pass out during the audition. I don't know if I can do this."
"Sure you can," Aubrie said. "We'll be your backup singers."
Samantha and Rachel shot her angry looks. Clearly, they were less than thrilled with the idea of being my backup singers.
"Oh come on," Aubrie said. "We do dances all the t
ime. It will be just like one of our pep assembly routines."
"Except for potentially performing in front of millions of viewers," Rachel said.
Samantha let out a sigh. "Aubrie is right. We're in this together. Rick didn't just attack Chelsea. He wrote at least two songs about cheerleaders and who knows how many more that we didn't hear. Maybe he'll sing about all of us tonight. He wants to take us on, I say we make sure his stupid songs never see the light of day. It will be our revenge."
"Revenge of the cheerleaders," Rachel said, and we nodded in agreement.
After that we spent the next hour on the Internet. We looked at dozens of songs, trying to find something that was in my vocal range, with a good dance beat, and recognizable but not played out. I wanted to find a song about evil band members entitled "Dangerously Stupid," but apparently nobody has written that song yet.
Finally, and after much discussion, we chose Cher's "The Shoop Shoop Song (It's in His Kiss)." It was fun, bouncy, and had a strong backup part. And besides, the words seemed easy to memorize.
I only had to sing a few lines before my friends came in with their response, and then so much of the song worked like a conversation.
Not really all that frightening if you took out the part where we had to do it in front of people.
"I'll sign us up for the audition," Aubrie said.
"I'll ask Mrs. Jones to help us come up with a routine," Rachel added.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
Samantha let out a sigh. "Remember when you quit choir, you were so glad you never had to sing for Mr. Metzerol again?"
"Yeah," I said. I knew what she was going to say, and dreaded it before she opened her mouth again.
"Go ask him if he can coach you through the song."
When I got home my mother asked me where Adrian was. I told her I didn't care because I was never speaking to Adrian again, and then, even though I thought I had finished crying, I cried all over again when I told my mother what had happened.
Mom listened, shaking her head. "How could he do such a thing?" she asked. "What's wrong with him?" And then finally she threw her hands up and said, "Well, that's the last straw. Adrian is not seeing that boy anymore. He is no longer welcome in our home."