"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.
Finally Polly turned to her sister. "Maybe it's not the contact. Do you see anything in my eye? A piece of dirt? An eyelash? A small crowbar?"
Polly held her eye wide open and Molly peered at it. "I don't see anything unusual except your mascara. It's starting to run."
That's when the front door swung open and Joe greeted us. "Hey, don't wait for an invitation, come"—his voice trailed off as he saw Polly blinking furiously—"inside."
"She's not winking at you," Molly said. "She's got contact problems."
"Contact problems?" Then Joe let out an "Ohhh," of understanding. "You mean contact lenses." He chuckled to himself. "For a second there I thought you meant physical contact."
Polly let out a strangled laugh and blinked harder.
Molly hurriedly said, "No, she doesn't have physical contact problems. She could make physical contact with you without any trouble at all."
Polly smacked her sister in the arm with one hand and covered her eye with the other. "Maybe I'd better go home."
I took Polly's arm and pulled her into the house. "I'm sure you can fix your contact in the bathroom."
We walked into the living room and immediately noticed people sprawled all over the couches and floors. Well, at least I noticed them. Polly with one hand over her eye apparently didn't notice much and nearly stepped on Mike's leg.
"Watch where you're going," he said, and then he saw me. His eyes narrowed as his gaze went back and forth between Polly and me, but he didn't say anything else.
Naomi wasn't with him, but I didn't have time to think about that piece of information. I put my hand on Polly's shoulder and propelled her toward the hallway, weaving her around people and objects. Molly followed close after us. "Hey," I heard a voice somewhere back in the room chide. "Do you have a license to drive that thing?"
I hoped that neither Molly or Polly heard this, or if they had, that they didn't realize that the comment was directed toward us. It had been a mistake to bring the twins here, I realized. It probably would have been okay if Aubrie and Rachel had come with us too, but at this point I was Ms. Dangerously Blonde, and my teetering popularity was apparently not enough to keep people from being rude.
Still, the only thing to do at this point was smile, pretend we belonged here, and only make an exit after it was clear no one had chased us away.
And perhaps that comment would be the worst of it. I mean, certainly as soon as Polly stopped flapping her eyelids like she was trying to take flight with them, we'd look like just another normal group of party guests.
We found the bathroom, and Molly and I waited outside while Polly fiddled with her contact. "I can't believe he answered the door," she said from inside. "And I can't believe you told him I'd have no trouble making physical contact with him."
"Sorry," Molly said. "I didn't come with a list of prepared topics like you did."
Polly's voice dropped to a growl. "Just don't say anything to anyone for the rest of the night."
"I didn't even want to come here," Molly hissed back. "You made me."
And then neither of them spoke until Polly emerged from the bathroom. "How do I look?" she asked me.
"Great," I said, and I wasn't lying. She looked nice. She was even standing with good posture. It was unfair that even though she looked so much better, stood so much more confidently, that someone had still made fun of her when she'd walked in.
What did people want from her? They'd tormented Molly and Polly for looking like geeks when they moved in, but now that they'd shaken off that image, people didn't want to treat them any better. Why did high school cliques have to be so rigid that once you'd been thrown in one, public opinion cemented to keep you there?