Page 20 of The Cheerleader

“If there were, you’d be it.”

“You’re mistaking princess for homecoming queen,” Judy says with authority, though there was no mistake. She just doesn’t get it—that princess means privileged, above the fray. Hiding my embarrassment, I pretend to be looking for something in my too-expensive purse.

Keith laughs the laugh of a troublemaker and drains his glass of beer.

With four empty beer pitchers littering the table in front of us, I shove my chair back.

Liz looks at me and stands. “Time to go. We need our beauty sleep.” She nods, surprisingly agreeable. Carol, Sherry, Tina, and Judy follow suit, and we all make our way out to the parking lot, hugging each other goodbye as if we’re not going to see each other first thing in the morning.

“Don’t be late,” Liz says. “Be at the football field at eight a.m.”

“What? I thought—” Judy says.

Liz laughs. “I’m kidding. Breakfast at the Student Union at eight. Then we’re practicing with the marching band at von der Mehden at nine. We can meet there, but I’ll need help getting all the equipment to the field.”

With reassurances that everyone would meet in the morning, I reach for the driver’s side door handle.

“What are you doing?” Liz says, practically pushing me aside. “I can drive. I’m fine.”

Her words aren’t slurred, though her eyes are heavy and her movements sloppy. Maybe she’s just tired.

“If you’re sure.”

Waving me off without an answer, she gets behind the wheel, and I hurry to the passenger side before she leaves me in her dust. When she turns right out of the parking lot, I wonder if I shouldn’t insist on driving.

“Weren’t we supposed to turn left to get back to campus?”

“Yes. But we’re making a stop along the way.”

“A stop? Where?” She’s wearing a mischievous—no, more like devilish—expression, her eyes bright, her chin set, and her mouth scrunched up on one side in a smirk.

“We’re going to visit Bryan. It won’t take a minute to swing by his apartment.”

“You’re crazy.” I refuse to believe she’s going to go through with it until she pulls up in front of a dilapidated apartment building. She gets out of the car, and I stay put, unsure of what she’s up to, but very sure she doesn’t need me.

Surprising me, she stops and turns. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t think I need to go inside with you.” I’m still not sure she’s going in because the windows are all dark, like either no one’s home or they’re asleep.

“What are you afraid of? Just don’t say anything about his major, and you’ll be fine.”

“What do you mean?” I have no idea what she’s talking about now. Maybe she’s not as lucid as I thought she was. I get out of the car.

“Anyone who laughs about him being an Ag major or gives him a hard time for being a farm boy gets an education on what it feels like to have their nose broken by a fist.”

I hold onto her elbow as she wobbles, then her words register.

“Do you mean he hit someone for calling him a farm boy?”

She nods more vigorously than necessary. “Twice. Now he doesn’t need to bother. His reputation precedes him.”

“Okaay. Maybe neither of us should⁠—”

“Don’t be a chicken, Susie. When have I ever steered you wrong?” She laughs with a note of hysteria. We both know the answer to that question. Every time I went along with her steering through the eighth grade, trouble followed.

But we had fun. Mostly. Until we didn’t. I bite my bottom lip for no apparent reason and nod. Maybe I should go along just to watch out for her.

“Fine. It’s not like I want to sit in the car in the dark and twiddle my thumbs.”