Ann Martin: Stacey And The Cheerleaders

"Can you stand on your head?" RJ asked.

"Huh?" Great. I was hiccuping like a frog, and RJ wanted to do gymnastics in the living room. "Uh, yeah, but . . ."

Hie.

"It's how you get rid of hiccups," RJ said.

"Here, drink this." Mom, the voice of reason, walked up behind me with a glass of water. I swallowed it slowly.

RJ shook his head. "Nah, standing on your head is definitely better."

I managed a smile. "It's okay. Really. They're gone."

Have you ever actually forced down a hiccup? I did. It wasn't fun. It felt as if a tiny bomb had gone off in my stomach. But I was not going to be talked into doing headstands on a first date in a beautiful new outfit.

Mom cheerfully waved good-bye as RJ and

I slid into the car. Mr. Blaser was driving. He was a bigger version of RJ — tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome.

How was the ride? Well, we started by talking about the cold winter weather. That was okay. But it led to a very long discussion about the right kind of antifreeze for the Blasers' car. RJ and his father both had strong opinions. Me? I understood a little bit of it, mainly words like and, the, and bottle. I nodded a lot.

Fortunately, we reached the theatre before the conversation became too unbearable. We went straight to the box office, bought tickets, and stood on the popcorn line.

"Hey, great, they have caramel corn!" RJ exclaimed.

"Um, I'll have regular," I said.

"Your choice. I'll get one of each. I guess you're on a diet, huh?" He said "diet" in a mocking tone of voice.

"Yeah, I am, sort of," I replied.

RJ smiled and rolled his eyes. "Girls." He sighed. "Diet soda, too?"

"Thanks," I said.

Okay, okay, I chickened out. I admit it. I didn't want to tell RJ about my diabetes. Some people get grossed out by the mention of it. Why spoil the date so early? I'd mention it when we got to know each other better.

The theatre was busy, and we had to ma-

neuver our way through a crowd to get to the door.

I saw a few familiar faces. Sabrina Bouvier and her date were talking to some friends by a water fountain. Erica Blumberg, Cokie Mason, and a bunch of their friends were in line for the restroom.

You know what? They all, all stared at me.

You know what else? It felt wonderful. I slipped my arm into RJ's, and he gave me a huge grin.

The theater was noisy and crowded as we walked in, but in the last few rows were plenty of empty seats. "Want to sit back here?" I asked.

"It's kind of far away," RJ said. "There are seats up front."

There were — in the first two rows. "Those are too close," I replied.

"Okay, no problem."

RJ marched to the center of the theater. One row was not quite full, with two single seats separated by three couples. "Yo," RJ called out, "can you guys move over so we can sit together?"

I couldn't believe he was doing this. All six people had to get up and move, muttering and fumbling with their winter clothes. I felt awfully guilty.

We squeezed by everyone, took off our coats, and sat in our seats.

"This okay?" RJ asked.

It wasn't. The guy to my left was hogging the armrest. In front of me was a girl with major hair. She was either six feet tall or was sitting on her coat. The only place to hold my coat was in my lap, which was also the only place to hold my popcorn and drink. "It's fine," I answered.

"I hear this movie is really funny," RJ said. "Marty saw it."

"I like Todd Byron," I replied, mentioning one of the stars. "He's a great actor, even in serious movies. Did you see My Only Girl!"

RJ shook his head. "Uh-uh. I guess I like movies that make me laugh, you know? And they have to have a plot."

"I -know what you mean. I like mysteries. Did you see — "

"Also action films," RJ barged on. "Car chases and stuff. I like them. I don't know why, I just do. You sure you don't want some of this?" He held out the caramel corn.

"No, thanks."

RJ shrugged, stared at the blank screen, and started munching away. I took a handful of my popcorn.

Everyone seemed to be talking but us. I hate

when I'm getting to know someone and the conversation goes nowhere. I don't know whether to feel bored or boring. "So," I said, "who are you playing tomorrow?"

Ta da. RJ came to life. Talking about basketball, he was funny and easygoing. He was explaining something called sudden-death overtime when Mall Warriors II began.

I hadn't seen Mall Warriors I, and I was a little concerned I might have missed something.

Well, I didn't need to worry. A three-year-old could have followed the plot. It was about a group of teens who booby-trap a mall to catch a pair of world-famous mall thieves.

Personally, I found it amazingly dumb. I couldn't wait for it to end. But RJ laughed a lot. This was not a good sign.

After it was finally over, RJ turned to me with a huge smile and said, "What did you think?"

Under my down coat, I was sweaty. My neck hurt from craning to see around the hair mountain in front of me. The movie hadn't made my top-ten list by a longshot. And I'd spent two hours deciding that RJ and I had nothing in common.

I had to be honest. "I didn't really like it," I said.

RJ's face was a little curious, a little con-

cerned, and (I think) a little annoyed. "Yeah? Oh, that's too bad, Stace. You should have told me. We could have snuck out."

"It's okay, RJ. I mean, I still had fun — " Okay, I was stretching it.

"Hey, I'm starving. Let's get something to eat," RJ suggested, his face suddenly brightening. "How about Pizza Express?"

I have about three or four favorite places to eat in Stoneybrook. Pizza Express is not one of them. (If s okay. It's just not my fav.) But I was dying to get out of that theater. "Sure," I said.

In the lobby, RJ called his dad to let him know where we were going. I stretched my legs and let myself air out.

Sabrina saw me again and waved. She had that envious look in her eyes. Somehow, it didn't affect me the way it had earlier. I was busy evaluating my date. I gave it a 3 on a scale of 1 (worst) to 10 (best). RJ was okay in some ways, but I had a feeling we weren't made for each other.

I felt depressed as we walked out of the theater. I guess I had built the date up too much in advance.

Well, guess who was in Pizza Express that night? The Group. Just about the entire cheer-leading squad and the basketball team, taking up four tables and having a great time.

"Hey, Blasemeister!" Marty Bukowski called out to RJ.

"The Bukeman!" RJ returned.

RJ took my arm and we walked to Marty 's table. Everyone turned to us and said hi. I have never seen so many toothpaste-ad smiles in my life. Sheila was pulling over a couple of chairs from a nearby empty table.

Boy, was my mood changing. A few days earlier, none of these kids would have given me a second look. Now they were moving aside to let me sit down.

RJ did a few high-fives and low-fives, then introduced me all around. No one seemed to care how loud we were, not even the owner of Pizza Express. In fact, as we sat down he personally came over to take our orders.

"So," Sheila whispered, "did you have a good time?"

I glanced at RJ, who was deep in conversation with another player across the table, Robert Brewster. In a low voice, I said, "Yeah, except the movie was kind of dumb."

"Sometimes that's better," she said with a

I knew what she was implying. She figured RJ and I had spent the whole time kissing.

I didn't know how to answer her. Would I sound dorky if I said nothing had happened?

Maybe I was supposed to have been kissing RJ. Maybe he brought me to a bad movie on purpose, so our attention wouldn't be distracted from each other.

But he hadn't even tried to kiss me. I wondered why. Was I that boring? Did he find that awful movie more interesting than I was? Should I have made the first move?