Page 128 of The Cheerleader

He shoves a hand through his hair. “You’re right. Whatever my life is about, I’m alive, and I should make the most of it.” He looks off into nowhere, and I have a feeling he’s thinking about his brother, that Caleb haunts him even more than his father does, more than the poverty and back-breaking work of his farm life.

The notion burns a hole in my soul as I imagine the fortitude he has to have just to walk around every day and to work so hard for a dream he tries equally hard not to believe in.

“This conversation is over,” he says, sitting up and picking up his books. He stands and starts to walk to the door.

“Where are you going?” Stupid, desperate question.

“Back to my apartment—or I should say, back to my hovel since I’m in a melodramatic mood.” He allows a quirk of one side of his mouth, and it’s enough for his dimple to show, enough to make my heart dissolve.

Then he leaves and walks back to his apartment, taking the better part of my heart with him.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Bryan

Staring across the room at the phone on my wall, I squelch the urge to call my mother. I need to study. Sitting at my desk, I shut the book and shove both hands through my hair.

I can’t tell Mom about Susie anyway. I’m not sure what I’d say or how to explain how I feel. Years ago, I met Susie when I needed someone pristine, undamaged, and hopeful, as kind as an angel; someone who I could think about to get rid of the horrific and endless visions of my brother’s accident playing in my head, of him dying in my arms and telling me to never give up on my dream, to never quit football.

Fuck. I stand up from my desk, unable to stand my own company for another minute, and yank my door open to find fresh air. I run into Dane in the kitchen. He’s drinking a glass of water at the sink. I go to the fridge and guzzle a quart of milk.

“Take it easy, farm boy. You’ll have to go and milk a few more cows if you keep that up.”

Normally I’d laugh at his disrespectful sense of humor, but the mention of the farm turns my stomach.

I close the refrigerator door and lean against it, waiting out the nausea, the disgusting memories, and will them to fade back into the past. Will Caleb’s ghost dissolve away.

“You okay? why?”

“You don’t look well.”

I shrug and pull myself up to my full height, take a deep breath, concentrate on Eldy, my teammate and friend, here in the present.

“You’ve been unusually quiet this week.”

“I’m always quiet. It’s finals week.”

“You going to pass English comp?”

“Yes.” I wish English Comp was my biggest problem.

Eldy nods, but I know he’s looking for something, for my weak link.

“How are things with Susie?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Bingo. I hit a nerve. What’s up? She pushing you into the friend zone?”

I laugh because last week or any other week that might have been true.

He scrunches his eyes at me like he’s trying to read my face and it’s written in Latin.

“Do me a favor and don’t try to figure me out today.”

“Come on, man. We’re friends. I don’t want your head to explode. Speaking of which—have you heard anything from your agent?”

Shit. My second least favorite topic of conversation. I give him the finger.