Page 121 of The Cheerleader

She hands me her coupon. “Get me a rum and Coke if they have it, and if not, a white wine.”

Judy says, “You don’t mind getting me a screwdriver, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she goes with Sherry to join Eldy and some of the guys from the football team.

“It’s funny that Bryan isn’t with his teammates,” I say to Liz as we reach the line at the bar.

“He gets like that. He’s a loner at heart.” She clutches my arm. “That’s why I’m so surprised he’s even here. He let you convince him too easily.” She glances in Bryan’s direction again, and so do I.

There’s a girl standing close, talking to him, leaning against him, if not hanging on him. I recognize her.

“Isn’t that the reporter from the Daily Campus talking to him?”

“Shit. Yes.” Liz takes in a deep breath, looking unsettled, like a small earthquake caused a tremor in her confidence. Then she mutters, “Maybe she’s the one.”

I’m not sure she’s talking to me because it makes no sense. “She’s the one? What do you mean?”

She looks at me, her eyes wide, and then blinks. “Nothing. I just wish… never mind.”

Carol laughs at something and takes us by the hand. “Come on, these guys are letting us cut the line.”

We get our drinks and deliver the rum and Coke and screwdriver to a table where Sherry and Judy are laughing with Dane, Mack, Chuck, Fletcher, and some others from the team. A few other girls are there who I don’t recognize, and I smile at them, but they don’t smile back.

“What are you drinking?” Dane asks. “I’m kind of surprised to see you with anything but ice water.”

“It’s beer I have a problem with. This is my favorite drink, a whiskey sour.”

“Should have just got a shot and saved the sour.”

Everyone laughs.

“Where’s your drink?”

He flashes a big grin, opens his jacket, and I see a silver flask in his inside pocket before he closes it again.

I shake my head. “Is that what all the guys are doing?”

Mack says, “All the smart guys.”

“That means everyone but Granger,” Fletcher snorts. A few guys chuckle, but not Dane. I don’t find it funny either.

I put a hand on my hip, feeling offended on Bryan’s behalf. “I think he’s the smartest of you all.”

There are a couple of whistles and Liz pats my back. “She’s right.”

The band starts playing Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock,” and Liz takes me and Carol by the hand. “This is our song, girls. Let’s do that dance routine.” She rushes us to the dance floor and calls out to the cheerleaders she sees along the way.

We’re all on the floor, and some of the guys from the team join us too. I finish my drink fast as I dance and laugh and forget everything outside of the McMahon cafeteria and this moment, soaking up the fun.

After a few more dances, I go back to the bar for some ice water with Liz, except she gets another whiskey sour and talks the bartender into pouring some extra whiskey into her cup. I contemplate whether or not to say anything, but it’s only her second drink, and it feels like we’re sweating all the alcohol out with our dancing. Or some of it, at least.

Liz changes our direction on the way back to the dance floor, and I realize we’re meandering toward where Bryan’s standing against a post. He’s alone now, and Liz’s eyes are intent on him. I can’t make myself go with her. I feel like I’ve gone past third wheel, and I’m now officially her crutch and her competitor at the same time.

And the closer we get to him, the more my belly churns with guilt.

Pulling from her grasp, I say, “He looks like a sad wallflower. You go cheer him up. Dance with him.”

“He doesn’t dance. I’ve never seen him dance. Even though he went to Suffield Academy, he went to every Saturday night dance at Suffield High—to watch out for me—and he never once danced.”

“You should get him to dance tonight.”