“Stop!” I felt the kid next to me stiffen, but despite his bravado in the video game, he didn’t have the kind of courage it apparently took to stand up to someone like R.J.
I snaked my hand into R.J.’s rib cage and pushed as hard as I could. He stopped, blinked, then smiled.
“You look like you could use a beer,” he said. “Hey, Peterson, help a girl out, huh?”
When Peterson turned to me, I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I’d really—”
“Want a joint instead?” R.J. asked.
All I wanted was to get out of that room. The door opened briefly, and I took advantage of the shift in everyone’s attention. I stood. “Jack’s looking for me,” I said, hoping it was true.
R.J. reached for my wrist. “Stay,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.” The crazy thing was, he sounded sincere. Like making out with a total stranger was the same kind of fun as the latest shoot-’em-up game.
“Let go.”
The voice wasn’t mine. And it wasn’t Jack’s. Ryan Nelson leaned over the couch and grabbed R.J.’s arm.
“Screw you, Nelson.”
Ryan frowned. “She’s Paulson’s girl. You want to get into it with him, just keep on pushing. But I wouldn’t recommend it.” It sounded like a warning—or maybe a threat.
R.J. snorted, but he glanced away. His grip loosened. I pulled free.
Go, Ryan mouthed, then gestured toward the door. My hand fumbled with the knob, and when I finally plunged into the dark hall, I took three steps and crashed into someone. Lukewarm beer soaked my jeans.
“Oh, my God,” said the voice that went with the beer. “I’m so sor—”
I looked down. The first thing I saw were pink and silver leather flats, a three-hundred-dollar pair that could only belong to one person.
Chantal Simmons.
Chantal never finished apologizing. She looked from her beer cup, now only a quarter full, to my jeans, to my face, and laughed. The hall was crowded, too loud, and now it smelled like beer and musky perfume, the sort that always stung my eyes. I blinked a couple of times.
All I wanted was to go home. Since I reeked of Miller Lite, I couldn’t do that, either. The door swung open again and R.J. burst out, followed closely by Ryan. Chantal tossed her head and acted like she hadn’t just dumped most of her drink on me. R.J.’s gaze flickered from her to me and back again.
“So,” he said. “You friendlier than she is?” R.J. nodded toward me.
Chantal did that move that made her hair shimmer. “I’m very friendly.”
R.J. slipped an arm around Chantal’s waist and steered her across the hall. He opened the door to a dark room.
“Chantal, you don’t—,” I started.
She spun and nearly lost her balance. “Don’t what?” she said, and though I could tell she meant to focus on me, it was clear that her eyes weren’t cooperating. God, she was so drunk.
“Jack and me—I mean, if you need a ride home.”
Chantal laughed. Then she smiled up at R.J. “Who’s Jack?”
“Now that’s what I like to hear.”
He pulled her into the room and shut the door behind them.
Just like that.
“Should we—?” Should we what? I didn’t have an answer for that, and I darted a glance at Ryan.
He gave the closed door a disgusted look, although whether that was for R.J., Chantal, or the situation in general, I couldn’t tell. “It’s not like it’s the first time,” he said. “Come on. I’ll help you find Paulson.”
11
From The Prairie Stone High Varsity Cheerleading Guide:
Cheering for our Prairie Stone High School athletes makes it easy to get attached to them. Affairs of the heart will happen. I won’t warn you away from that special football or basketball player. But I will caution you—as your friend and “big sister”: While all our Prairie Stone High athletes are talented, make certain the one you choose is special.
Nothing could be worse than that party. Absolutely nothing. I was convinced of that—right up until the moment I stepped outside and the subzero temperature iced my jeans. I’d worn my pink pea coat, and the entire length of my legs was exposed to the wind’s chill.
Jack started the truck but didn’t wait for it to warm up. The pickup sputtered and choked its way through Valley View Estates. We couldn’t look more out of place. On top of that, I reeked of beer. And Jack had a bottle of it tucked in his pocket. If a police car decided to stop us…I couldn’t finish that thought. I squirmed in the seat and tried to pluck the frozen jeans away from my skin.
“It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of party,” Jack said when we turned onto the main road.
“What kind of party was it supposed to be?”
“Quieter. You know…a couples’ party.”
A couples’ party? “You mean a make-out party?”
“No,” said Jack. “I mean, not really.”
He fell silent, which was just as well. I needed to figure out what to say to my parents when he dropped me off.
Hi, Mom, Dad, just back from a party I didn’t tell you about, where I wasn’t supposed to be, and where I wish I’d never been. That wouldn’t work.
When we reached the turn for my street, my nerves were a bundle in my stomach. I didn’t need Moni’s help to do the math. The probability of me racing through the house and into my room without Mom or Dad noticing either my soaked jeans or the scent of beer was easy to calculate: Zero.
Jack drove past the turn. I opened my mouth, then shut it. He was taking me home, all right. His home.
How Jack’s dad knew to meet us at the door, I don’t know. I’d never been so relieved to see anyone’s parent in my entire life. “Oh Bethany, honey,” Mr. Paulson said, “inside, quick.” He turned to Jack. “You have the heater on during the drive?”
“Full blast.”
He’d directed all the vents toward me as well. Kids in Minnesota learn about frostbite early. Mr. Paulson found a pair of Jack’s sweatpants for me to wear. I was glad the beer hadn’t soaked my underwear. Things were bad enough without that added humiliation.
By the time I’d changed, dropped my jeans down the laundry chute, and entered the kitchen, a mug of hot chocolate waited for me. Instant, with bobbing little marshmallows. I sipped, convinced nothing had ever tasted so good. It warmed me from the inside out.
Jack’s dad sat at the kitchen table, the now open bottle of Heineken next to him. “No white spots on your skin?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. Just pink.” Little pinpricks ran along my thighs. It felt almost like burning, but that was good. That was normal. No frostbite.
“I was telling Jackie how this reminded me of something that happened to me and his mom, back when we were in high school. Only I was the one who spilled the beer, on myself.” Mr. Paulson chuckled, and his face grew tender. “I was supposed to meet her parents that night too. You might not believe this”—he pointed the beer bottle at me—“but I was kind of a screwup in high school.”
I wasn’t sure what the proper response should be, so I just raised my eyebrows.
“We ended up at a laundromat,” said Mr. Paulson. “I wore some stranger’s towel while my clothes went through a wash and dry. In the end we were only ten minutes late. But you know what happened?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “That night Jack’s mom broke up with me.”
“Really?”
Mr. Paulson nodded. “I didn’t have sports to keep me grounded, like Jackie does, and his mom—she was pretty serious about school.”
I looked at Jack. His back was turned, so I couldn’t see his face or gauge his reaction. But Mr. Paulson seemed to want to tell this story, to relive the details with a fresh audience. Could that hurt? “What happened?” I said.
“I asked her out every week. And every week she turned me down. Finally, to get me to stop, she agreed to go to prom with me.”
“And did you go?”
Mr. Paulson nodded.
“And then?” I asked.
“And the rest is pretty much history.” Mr. Paulson grinned at me. “I’d better go check on the laundry, so we can get you home before your parents start to worry.”
What? My parents? Worry? I’d waltz in smelling like dryer sheets instead of beer. It was all good. I relaxed against the kitchen chair. But Jack still had his back toward me.
After I tugged on my still-warm jeans and laced my boots and after we climbed into Jack’s truck, he might as well have still had his back turned. The drive home was dark and silent. He left the truck running when he walked me to the door. It seemed ridiculous to say, I had a nice time, so I settled for, “Thank you, and tell your dad thanks too.”
Jack nodded. Then, without a kiss good night, without even a squeeze of my hand, he headed down the porch stairs and back to his truck. By the time I turned to close the door behind me, his headlights had vanished from the driveway.
I stepped back into the night and stared up at the stars, brilliant and clear in the frigid air.
“It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of party,” Jack had said.
Whether that was true or not, I didn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be that way last August, either. I thought about bumping into Chantal Simmons in the hallway tonight, and months ago, on the crooked path to the keg in the woods. She was no better at holding her beer inside than she was outdoors.
I thought about Dina’s Lexus wrapped around that tree, too. It really might have made a difference if I had spoken up last summer. If I could wish upon a star, I would take it all back. But maybe it would have just delayed the inevitable.
At some time, at some point, at some other party, Chantal would get drunk again. She’d get into someone else’s car, or wander into a dark room with someone she barely knew.
Like tonight.
And then there was Jack. I drew in a breath—to hold back the start of a sob—and the cold assaulted my lungs. Tears blurred my view of his brake lights, still waiting at the corner. Should I run to him? Try to explain the differences between girls like me and boys like him? My boots stayed frozen to the spot while Jack’s lights tapped once, twice, then disappeared. No risk, no reward, I thought. The stars blinked their agreement.
I pulled open the storm door and stood behind it until my breath crystallized on the glass.
The safest place to spend a cold winter Saturday was the Internet. I wouldn’t have to talk. I wouldn’t have to explain. I wouldn’t even have to think. All I had to do was point and click. I sat on my bed, fired up the laptop, and took advantage of the wireless network Dad had asked Todd to install for us at Christmas. With a pile of pillows around me, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: almost invisible. Right up until the IM program flashed, letting me know I had a new friend request.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t convince myself that it wasn’t Jack—even if that made zero sense. One, he didn’t have a computer. Two, if he wanted to talk, he wouldn’t schlep through minus-five-degree temperatures to the library or coffee shop for free Internet. He’d use the phone.
The IM program flashed again.
Moni? Was that better or worse than not hearing from Jack? I’d called her cell earlier that morning. I’d let my thumb hover over the talk button, half-ready to hang up. I didn’t have to make that choice, though. Moni’s phone rang and rang while I considered how much to tell her about the party. Should I mention Chantal? R.J.? The beer? What about Rick and the blonde who was probably failing my dad’s class? Voice mail seemed like the wrong place for all that. I hung up without leaving a message.
The IM program flashed at me again. I clicked the icon, and the new friend request appeared on the screen: Prez_Emerson.
I should’ve known. Todd discarded screen names like Chantal went through shoes. I approved the contact, and Todd’s message popped up.
Prez_Emerson: Do you want to talk about last night?
Did he mean my nonappearance at the campaign kickoff or Rick’s party? I was so not going there, not in IM anyway. I scooted farther into the pillows and tried to change the subject.
Book_Grrl: Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we, El Presidente?
Prez_Emerson: Positive visualization.
Book_Grrl: oic
Prez_Emerson: You know I hate that.
Oh, he did, with a passion. Maybe it was the speed chess, or the notes he took for debate, whatever. Todd could type normal, grammatically perfect sentences faster than IM junkies could whip out shorthand. As editor of the school paper, he tore into my Life at Prairie Stone columns with a glee most kids reserved for a snow day.
Prez_Emerson: So, forget last night. What about tonight?
Good question. The way Jack had hustled me out of Rick’s, his silence both at his house and on the ride—the missing good night kiss—did it mean things had changed? I couldn’t really blame him. In less than one hour, I’d dissed his friend, antagonized both Chantal and R.J., and gotten a beer bath. What good was a girlfriend if you couldn’t take her anywhere?
Prez_Emerson: Look, before you answer, let me say I know about the beer, and that you guys left early.
He did? My fingers trembled on the keyboard while I typed my response.
Book_Grrl: I’m afraid to ask. How do you know?
Prez_Emerson: Networking.
Book_Grrl: What?
Prez_Emerson: Wrestlers.
Book_Grrl: You know wrestlers?
Prez_Emerson: *Freshman* wrestlers. Think about it. They’re members of the tribe.
He had a point; they were. So now Todd knew. Freshman wrestlers knew. By Monday, everyone at school would know.
Prez_Emerson: So, about tonight. We always have room for the prodigal daughter at Geek Night. We can watch Firefly *and* Serenity. If you want, I’ll let you beat me at Scrabble. You can even play with my light saber.
I choked back a laugh.
Book_Grrl: That’s not a euphemism, is it?
Prez_Emerson: Euphemism? Big word for a cheerleader. But no, it’s not a euphemism…unless…*waggles eyebrows suavely*
Book_Grrl: NO!
Prez_Emerson: About tonight?
Book_Grrl: About the light saber part. I’m still thinking about the rest.
Prez_Emerson: Look, if you want, you can forward your calls to my cell.
Todd would do that for me?
Prez_Emerson: I just want you here.
Oh. Wow. I sank into the pillows, only to jolt forward when the phone rang. The laptop teetered and nearly slipped from my knees. The phone rang again. What if it was Jack? Gah. I really had to get my parents on board with caller ID.
Book_Grrl: vev
My fingers fumbled on the keyboard.
Book_Grrl: btg
I needed to catch the phone before it flipped into voice mail. One more time. I took a breath, found the keys, and wondered if maybe Todd had a point about Internet shorthand.
Book_Grrl: brb
I managed to pick up on the fourth ring. My “hello” came out in a rush of breath and heartbeats. And for three seconds, all I heard was silence.
“It’s me,” he said finally. “Jack.”
“Oh.” I eased the laptop from my legs and caught a flash of messages scrolling down the screen. Surely the boy genius could figure out what brb meant. I inched the laptop screen lower to block the abuse Todd was no doubt hurling at me.
And then, over the phone, that awful, excruciating silence fell. It was like the past two weeks had been erased—all those talks, dinner at Jack’s. I was as tongue-tied as I’d been on that first day of Independent Reading. Now that we couldn’t talk to each other, I finally realized that we had been.
“I was wondering,” Jack said at last, “if you’re not busy, you could maybe come over. The T-wolves are playing again, and—”
“I have plans,” I blurted out, startling myself.
“Right. I mean, I figured you probably—”
“It’s just this thing…we do�
��. Everyone’s invited,” I added, softer now.
“Everyone?” he asked.
Well, everyone who wasn’t anyone.
“Even a guy like me?”
A jock at Geek Night? Talk about messing with the natural order of things.
“Even a guy like you.” I paused. “At least, I think. Can you hang on a minute?”
I’d seen how the other half lived. Now it was Jack’s turn—if I could get Todd to agree. With my free hand, I eased the computer onto my lap. I set the phone down gently on the nightstand and then lifted open the laptop.
Prez_Emerson: What the hell?
Prez_Emerson: Oh. Be right back. Got it. Okay. I’ll wait.
Prez_Emerson: Here I am. Waiting.
Prez_ Emerson: Amazingly, I am still waiting.
Prez_Emerson: Like I don’t have better things to do.
Prez_Emerson: Actually, I don’t.
I snorted and scrolled through the remaining messages.
Prez_Emerson: About my whole thing against shorthand. It reduces complex thoughts to single letters and muddies communication in the process, and that’s *before* you add the gender gap to the equation. And by the way, I’m still waiting.
Prez_Emerson: Okay, Reynolds, I’m giving you one more minute, starting…now.
I rushed to type before he logged off, but another message stopped me midsentence.
Prez_Emerson: So I lied. I can see you’re still logged on. Look, forget Geek Night, you don’t have to come, but will you at least talk to me?
Book_Grrl: Yes.
Prez_Emerson: Yes, you’ll talk to me, or yes, you’ll come to Geek Night?
Book_Grrl: Both.
Before he could respond, and before I lost my nerve, I closed my eyes, typed four words, and hit enter. If it came out coherent, it was meant to be.
The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading Page 17