I looked down into my cup and didn't say anything. I felt Tanner's gaze on me, but he didn't say anything either. Maybe he understood my silence just like he'd understood my complaints.
Finally I looked back up at him. "I really love her," I said. "I worry about her all the time."
He put his hand on my back and rubbed a slow pattern of consolation across the material of my jacket. "I know what you mean."
He kept rubbing my back and I leaned my head into the crook of his shoulder. How had this happened so fast? Usually on a first date I worried about what kind of impression I made. I'd not only told Tanner about Adrian, I'd leaned into his shoulder like I'd known him forever.
Neither of us said anything for a moment. Then Tanner said, "I'm sure you're a really good sister."
I straightened up to tell him he was wrong. There were many times when I was an awful sister, but before I could say anything he leaned over and kissed me. Which put thoughts of Adrian right out of my mind.
It's not that I hadn't been kissed before. But kissing Tanner made me feel like it was the first time. My heart pounded and I felt dizzy and happy and awkward all at the same time.
When he finally stopped kissing me, I didn't know what to say and felt myself blush bright red. That's the problem with blushing. Telling yourself that you shouldn't do it, doesn't help at all.
Tanner smiled at me then looked away. I could tell he was weighing some matter in his mind, trying to decide something. At last he said, "My grandmother is coming from California for a visit in a few days. We're having a big family dinner up at the house on Monday. I know it might seem too soon to meet my family but it would be nice to have you there, you know, to kind of balance out my brother's loser girlfriend and show Grandma that one of us has normal taste. Do you want to come?"
"Sure." That's how much I liked Tanner. I wanted to spend time with him even if it meant meeting his family, his slacker brother, and a loser girlfriend.
I spent the rest of the week working on homework, singing practice, and dance rehearsal. We had it down perfectly, and it looked good. Sometimes while we ran through it, I imagined myself performing under a spotlight that illuminated me to thousands of screaming fans. What would it feel like to be a star? To be rich? To be famous?
Even though I tried to be realistic and not get my hopes up, thoughts would pop into my mind. I'd look across our cramped kitchen and think, "If I had a music deal, I could buy my mother a new house."
Unfortunately this thought was quickly followed by, "If my dad found out I was rich, he would try to take the money from me."
I spent about half an hour one night worrying about this, and remembering the times when I was little and he emptied my piggy bank because he needed money for liquor. My father wasn't nice when he was sober, but he was worse when he was drunk. I didn't have a good childhood.
Most of my early years were spent watching out for Adrian because she was a couple of years behind me in understanding how to keep out of his way. We either roamed around the neighborhood like miniature nomads on bikes, or we hid in my room, inventing fairy spells to keep him away. Our best one was touching the doorknob, then tapping the edge of the door three times when we passed by.
Even after Dad moved out, Adrian kept doing the spell for years. She said it worked on keeping all sorts of bad things away, and I admit I did it periodically for insurance that he wouldn't come back.
You would think the courts wouldn't have given my father joint custody of us, but they did. So we're all just glad he lives far away and never visits. Once in a while he calls, mostly to complain how my mother has ruined his life, and how he can't pay child support, but we can live with that.
If I came into any money before I turned eighteen though, could he get a hold of it?
This caused me actual anxiety until I realized my father wasn't likely to even call before I turned eighteen let alone find out my financial status, so I had nothing to worry about. I let myself return to the daydream of being discovered, of hearing myself on the radio, of Mr. Metzerol just once nodding proudly and telling me my potential was officially shaped.
In real life, Mr. Metzerol continued to prod and poke me through my voice lessons. He told me that Molly and Polly still refused to sing solo. He said this like I could change their minds. Right. I couldn't even get them to agree to come to the movies with a few people from school, and believe me, I tried.
Samantha and I invited Aubrie, Rachel, and half the football team—including Joe—to go to the movies with us on Friday. Molly and Polly wouldn't come though, because in English class Polly heard Joe say he was going bowling. Yes, bowling. I was trying to play Cupid and the boy would rather flatten a bunch of bowling pins.
Mike and Naomi, of course, showed up. This hardly bothered me though, because while we stood in line to buy tickets, Tanner text messaged me twice from work. He complained that the weekends were the busiest time for restaurants and tried to entice me to stop in by telling me the specials. The lobster is fresh, he wrote. Like I needed lobster to persuade me to see him. If I hadn't been stuck in line, he could have lured me in with dry toast and pretzels.
I must have been smiling a lot because while I texted him back, a couple of the guys commented on what a good mood I was in.
"It's the new boyfriend," Rachel told them. "Chelsea's seeing a college man."
They both went "Ohhhh," like it explained everything.
"It's not that," I said. "It's just that life is a wonderful, precious gift so we should be happy."
Both of the guys laughed and one said, "Yeah, she's got it bad."
The other imitated my voice and said, "Life is a precious gift. Well, my life, anyway. Your life ain't worth squat because you ain't got my boyfriend."
And they laughed some more. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Mike. He wasn't laughing. In fact he glared over at us, but I didn't care.
On Saturday and Sunday I doubled my singing practice, but I still couldn't get notes to properly come out of my forehead. I followed Mr. Metzerol's instructions. I went around for an hour doing diaphragm exercises and practicing scales. Once when I got to the point where I sang, "Mi-mi-mi-mimi-mi-mi-ii" Adrian strolled by and shook her head. "Isn't that the truth?"
Instead of getting Adrian in trouble for this kind of commentary, Mom bent over backward to be nice to her. On Sunday when Adrian skipped out on helping with the dinner dishes and disappeared into her room—an impenetrable fortress of screeching guitar music—instead of calling her to come out and help, Mom just did Adrian's j ob for her.
"She's having a hard time right now," Mom told me as she cleared off the table. "We can be sensitive about that."
"No one was sensitive to me when Mike dumped me."
"But you've dated lots of boys," Mom said. "We knew you'd find someone else quickly. And you have. Don't you have a date tomorrow?"
Well yes, but there had still been several weeks that I had sworn off men altogether and no one had done the dishes for me.
"Adrian dumped Rick, not the other way around," I said. "I don't see why she's so upset about it."