I smiled back at her. "Sure."
Samantha nodded. "That's fine."
Molly and Polly glanced at each other and then suspiciously at us. "I guess that's okay," Molly said. At least I think it was Molly I couldn't really tell them apart. They both had mousy brown hair pulled back in ponytails and identical wire-rimmed glasses.
Mrs. Addington said, "Great. I'll let you guys get to the library and decide whether you want to work on . . ." She peered down at a paper on her desk. "The history of space flight or inventions that spurred on the industrial revolution. They're both good topics."
We picked up our books and left the room. While we walked in the hallway, Molly and Polly kept two paces ahead of us, talking together and glancing back at us.
"Remember," I whispered to Samantha, "we're supposed to give them some pointers about fitting in here."
We reached the library door and Molly and Polly stopped to face us. "Look, you can be in our group," Molly said. "But we're doing the report on space flight, and we're not letting you cheat off of us." Then they pushed the library doors open and walked in.
We stood there in the hallway staring after them. "Well," Samantha finally said. "I just thought of their first pointer for fitting in."
I folded my arms. "Because we're cheerleaders we're automatically cheaters?"
"Shhh," Samantha said. "You don't want to give Rick any more song ideas."
We walked into the library, put our books on a table with Molly's and Polly's, then went and found books on space exploration, all of which, I'd like to point out, looked so boring they could be officially classified as sleep aids. We took notes, and in between jotting down things about Sputnik and Neil Armstrong I tried to make small talk with our new study partners. At first they answered all of my questions coldly, like they were just waiting for me to be rude, but after fifteen minutes they loosened up.
Molly kept saying snarky asides that made me laugh. "If they can put a man on the moon, why can't they put them all there?" And, "Well, of course the Soviets made it to space first. They were Russian."
She was as bitingly funny as Polly was tenderhearted. Polly kept ohhhing and ahhhing over the pictures of Laika the first astronaut dog.
And yes, in case you didn't know, they really did send a dog orbiting around the earth. Or as Molly pointed out, not only the Russians, but the canines, beat us into space.
When class was nearly over, I said, "Some of us are getting together to go to the movies this weekend. Do you want to come?"
"Who are 'us'?" Molly asked.
" I 'm not sure about everyone who's going," I said, because I'd just planned this off the top of my head and hadn't actually asked anyone. "Samantha and I—"
"And Logan," Samantha said.
"Right, and Logan . . . Aubrie, Rachel—whoever Rachel is currently stringing along in her football harem—"
"Sorry," Polly said. "We don't . . . um . . ." She glanced at her sister.
"Go anywhere near football players unless we're forced to by teachers or natural disasters," Molly finished.
Polly leaned over to her sister. "Not all the football players are bad."
Molly rolled her eyes, then turned her attention back to me. "Is Joe Diaz going to be there?"
Joe was a wide receiver, and not a bad one at that, although it was his twin brother, Garret, who got the most attention on the team. Garret was the quarterback. Plus, Garret had this tall-dark-and-handsome thing going for him. Joe and Garret weren't identical twins though, and Joe, well, Joe was just tall and dark.
"I could invite him if you wanted," I volunteered.
"No," Polly said quickly. "No, that would be awkward. If he wanted to talk to me again he would have by now."
"Again?" Samantha asked. Her voice had a tell-me-more lilt to it.
When Polly didn't volunteer any more information, Molly leaned forward, conspiratorially. "They once had a ten-minute conversation in English about why being a twin is the pits."
"It was nothing personal," Polly told her sister.
"Yeah, I'll remember that if you ever need a kidney," Molly said.
I shrugged at Polly. "Maybe he just needs an opportunity to talk to you again. Why don't you come with us to the movies, and I'll invite some of the guys—"
"No, I can't." Polly held up both hands to stop me. "I get nosebleeds when I'm nervous. Really bad. In my last school they called me A+ Polly—and they weren't talking about my grade point average. This school is already bad enough. I don't need any more nicknames."
Samantha said, "You shouldn't let a few names stop you from doing what you want."
"You just need some confidence," I said. "Hanging out with friends is nothing to get nervous about."
You would have thought I'd just told Polly to fly. She looked at me in total disbelief. "No offense, but it's easy for you to have confidence. You're both . . ." She waved a hand in our general direction. "Cheerleaders. You don't know what it means to have people make fun of you."
Which made me laugh out loud. "We don't just have nicknames," I said. "We've got an entire CD dedicated to us." Molly shook her head. "Yeah, but those songs are about how cheerleaders think they're better than everyone else. In the long run they'll probably just make you more attractive to high school guys. No one has ever accused us of thinking we're better than everyone else. How do you get that gig?"
I guess it was the fashion designer in me, but without thinking I said, "If you lost the sweatshirts and stood up straight every once in a while you'd find out."
"What?" Polly said.
Samantha put her hand over her face. She'd heard me give enough critiques that she knew where I was going with this.
"Those sweats aren't slimming. They actually add bulk. You need to get some shirts that taper in at the waist. Also your hair doesn't add anything when you just pull it back like that. Hair should frame your face, give it some lift and balance. Your hair isn't doing its job."
Molly and Polly both stared at me with their mouths slightly ajar. Since they weren't talking I figured I'd just finish off my critique. "And a good makeover would help. You're in high school. It's okay to wear makeup."
Molly let out a grunt. "You think a makeover would change anything? We slap on some mascara and suddenly guys stop calling us names and ask for our phone number?"
I said, "If I slouched around in sweats and didn't do my hair or makeup, I wouldn't be dating anyone—well, okay, actually I'm not dating anyone, but you know what I mean." I sat back in my chair and surveyed them. "Why don't you let Samantha and me do makeovers on you? We could go clothes shopping too. It would be fun."
Samantha snapped her fingers while she thought. "I bet we could get them in at the salon with Dotti." To the twins she said, "That woman can work miracles with highlights and a haircut."
"Wait a minute." Molly held up one hand. "Suddenly we're talking scissors?"
I nodded. "And you ought to consider contacts. You have really pretty eyes."
Polly touched the frames of her glasses and looked back at me wistfully. "You honestly think so?"
Molly elbowed her sister before I could answer. "Contacts are little pieces of plastic that people shove into their eyes. Hello, that won't feel good."