Tanner let out a sigh. "Look, I really don't think he had anything to do with it, but I'll talk to him and let you know."

We hung up, and while I waited for him to call back, I took off my cheerleading stuff, flung it onto the floor in a heap, and kicked it—I knew it was childish, but I'd stopped caring. Then I changed into my grubbiest sweats. Five minutes later he called me back. "Richard said—and this is a direct quote—that he doesn't know now, has never known, and never wants to know anything about the contents of the cheerleading squad's duffel bags."

"And you believed him?" It was a stupid question. Tanner had believed Rick before he'd even asked him about it. Still, it amazed me that Tanner could be so blind.

"Chelsea," Tanner's voice turned soft, reasoning. "Why would he risk getting you in trouble when he already thinks he's going to win? No offense, but Richard's been at this for years."

And apparently Tanner thought that meant no one else stood a chance.

I said, "I don't understand why Rick does the things he does. I guess that's always been part of the problem." My throat felt tight. It was getting harder to push out the words. "Look, Tanner, I've got to get off the phone. I need to figure out a new song for tomorrow."

"Chelsea . . . " He let out a sigh and didn't say anything else. Well, what else was there left to say? "I'll let you go then."

He was letting me go, I knew, in more than one way.

I shut my eyes and then opened them again. It was too easy to picture Tanner with my eyes closed and I didn't want to see him right now.

"Good luck with your audition tomorrow," he said.

"Thanks," I said, but didn't mean it.

Then we said good-bye. That part I meant.

After I hung up, I went back to the computer, fighting harder than ever to keep the tears at bay. Even with my eyes open I could see Tanner's face. I could see the way he'd smiled at me before we kissed. But I didn't have time to cry about this. I needed to stay angry. Anger was easier to deal with and more time-effective, too. Anger gave you energy. Tears just made you weak.

I was on my third music site when the doorbell rang. I trudged to the door and opened it, already resenting the interruption. Molly and Polly stood on my door step. "Hi, we called a little while ago, but it was busy." Polly's gaze took in my faded sweats. "We wanted to get your opinion on our outfits in case we needed to change before we left for the party."

Molly looked me up and down. "I told you we were overdressed."

Which made me feel even worse. They had put all that time into getting ready, and I'd been so upset about everything I'd completely forgotten to call them and cancel.

I invited them in, then explained what had happened. " I 'm sorry, but I don't have time for the party. I've got to learn a whole new song."

"Why not just get new backup singers for your old song?" Molly asked.

"Because I don't know anyone else that can sing who isn't already trying out themselves." As soon as I said the words I realized I did. And they were standing right in front of me.

Chapter 17

I nearly gasped in excitement. "You guys could do it." Polly gasped too, but not in excitement. "No, we can't."

"Mr. Metzerol says you have beautiful voices."

"And I get nosebleeds when I'm nervous," Polly said.

"So don't get nervous," I said.

Polly looked back at me like I'd just told her to stop breathing.

"We could do it," Molly told her sister. "It wouldn't take us any time to learn the song." Then to me she said, "But we're not doing any of those dance steps, so don't even ask."

"No dance steps," I said. "You can just step and clap or something."

"What were your backup singers wearing to audition?" Molly asked.

"A sparkly dress which may in fact be an ice skating uniform."

"We're not wearing those either," Molly said.

Polly raised her voice. "Did I mention that I get nosebleeds in front of crowds?"

"She has a point," I told Molly, "Maybe you should wear football uniforms, like we did for the game. That way she can shove toilet paper up her nose and it will just look like it's part of the costume."

"Okay," Molly said. "We'll sing in football uniforms." She snapped her fingers. "We can put a cheat sheet on a football, just in case we have trouble with the words."

Polly folded her arms. "Do I have any say in this?"

Molly turned to her, with a stern look. "Chelsea is our friend and she needs our help."

She said this so simply, and yet it still hit me with eye-blinking force. With that one sentence I had been bestowed friendship status. They wanted to help me. I could see Polly's resistance melting as she considered her sister's words.

"Oh sure, guilt me into it. All right, I'll do it, but if the number is interrupted by paramedics rushing onto the stage because they think I've suffered some sort of head wound, don't blame me."

"You'll be fine," Molly said. To me she said, "She worries too much." Then Molly glanced back at her sister. "That reminds me, did you bring Kleenex for the party tonight?"

Polly patted her pants pocket. "Check." She patted her other pocket. "Check." Then she flipped open her purse. "And check."

"We're ready to go any time you are," Molly said.

"We'll go after we've practiced the song a few times." I didn't want to tell them what a perfectionist I was about practicing, for fear they would immediately take back both their offer of help and friendship. We would most likely not have time to go to the party, because we'd be practicing for hours.

But as it turned out, Molly and Polly picked up the song effortlessly. And Mr. Metzerol was right. They sang beautifully. I stopped worrying that they wouldn't get the number down and started worrying that they would out-sing me.

An hour later we were ready, for both the auditions and the party. I changed into jeans and a sweater, and then we left.

Cars lined Garret and Joe's street. From the looks of it a lot of people were here. As we walked toward the house, I gave Molly and Polly last-minute instructions. "Stick close to me. I'll try to find a time when Joe is alone and then I'll go up and ask him about something. After we've talked for a few minutes, Molly will ask me where the bathroom is, and I'll volunteer to show her. I'll tell you I'll be right back, but in fact I'll give you ten minutes alone. You can make conversation for ten minutes, right?"

Polly flipped open her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. "I made a list of things to say. I even jotted down notes about tonight's game."

"Great." I took the list and put in back in her purse. "But don't look at that list while Joe is around. You want to appear relaxed and confident, remember?"

"Relaxed," Polly repeated, "and confident."

We rung the doorbell and someone yelled, "Come in!"

I was about to, when I noticed Polly blinking repeatedly. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"One of my contacts suddenly hurts."

"That's why sensible people wear glasses," Molly said. "They don't accidentally fold over in your eyelids."

Polly dabbed at her eye with a finger. "It will be okay in a second." Neither Molly or I opened the door, though. We just watched Polly's eyelids fluttering.