Page 22 of The Cheerleader

He intrigues me. Shit. That’s no good.

But I can’t help feeling we met once before. A long time ago. As I stare into his eyes, the recognition shakes me. I know it’s him. He’s that boy. The one in the ditch.

Turning away, I tug on Liz’s arm and murmur, “Let’s go.” She tugs back, ignoring me, her eyes aimed in Bryan’s direction.

My glance returns to him like it’s magnetized, and I watch his retreating back. Staring in astonishment at the massiveness of him, the rippling muscles of his back, the tight ass outlined perfectly under his tighty-whiteys, I’m glad he doesn’t see my wide eyes glued to him.

He may as well be naked. His dark, tanned skin ends halfway up his thighs, and the dark hairs on his legs show against his white skin. His back gleams white, and his dark, tanned arms perfectly mark invisible T-shirt sleeves halfway up his biceps.

I stare until he disappears down the hall into the darkness, and I hear a door shut. Letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I turn back to Liz.

She’s looking at me pensively, and God only knows what she’s thinking.

“He is breathtaking, isn’t he?” Awe fills her voice, and I know a rhetorical question when I hear one; honestly, I do, but I answer her.

“He is. Let’s go.”

She moves ahead of me, faster and with more force, taking me along with her energy when I thought I was leading her away a second ago. But that’s how Liz is—a force of nature.

Something I need to remember before I get too caught up in her whirlwind. Or is it too late? Because, hell, she’s already scooped me into her world of cheerleading.

Now I’m not only at a school where I never thought I’d be; my major is in question, and I’m without a plan for my future. My dad is desperate for work and may need to sell my childhood home, and who knows where my parents will end up or where I’ll go.

I’m doing things I definitely never planned to do: rooming with a childhood friend who my parents thought was a bad influence. My life is unrecognizable from a year ago. I’m struggling to figure out how to be independent and follow my own path.

Chapter Six

Susie

Waking up to the whirring buzz of the small box fan on the window sill, I glance over at Liz sprawled on top of her bed in her T-shirt and panties, with the sun glaring through the curtainless window. I forgot to pull down the shade last night. I shrug as I rise from the narrow standard-issue bed, more like a cot. If I thought Smith was stingy with their dorm furnishings, I was naïve. Because this place is less than bare bones, and I need to do something about it. I’ll have Mom send some pillows and curtains and maybe a small rug.

It’s too late to pull down the shade now, so I don’t bother. No one’s looking in our window. The campus is a ghost town. There are no students, no classes, and absolutely nothing going on except preseason practice for all the fall sports teams, the cheerleaders, and the marching band.

The ringing of Liz’s alarm bulldozes through the quiet morning, and she turns over instead of popping up like she did yesterday. We need to get going, or we’ll be late, so I go over to her bed and gently nudge her shoulder.

“Good morning,” I say tentatively because she’s got to be hungover.

She flashes her teeth in a convincing smile and rolls to a stand. “Not yet. But there’s aspirin for that.” She stretches and grabs her toiletry bag along with the bottle of aspirin and staggers to the bathroom ahead of me.

Even when she’s hung over, I feel like the tortoise in a race with the hare around her. Either I better speed up and get on board the Liz train, or I’ll need to get used to being left behind. Being behind someone doesn’t sit well with me. There’s a reason I was valedictorian of my class at Chaffee. And on my way to summa cum laude at Smith—but let’s not think about Smith.

I sigh and grab my toiletries and get moving.

We walk to von der Mehden, the fine arts building on the far end of campus, to practice with the marching band.

“You would think I was asking for the moon when I asked Pete to arrange a joint practice,” Liz rolls her eyes.

“You called our advisor?”

“Sure. He told me to. He’s also the ticket manager, and that’s the title he goes by. I don’t think he likes being the cheerleading advisor. He acts like he got stuck with the job because someone had to do it and they weren’t about to hire an extra staff person for us.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing that he doesn’t take charge. We can be in charge of ourselves.”

She looks at me and grins. “I like the way you think.”

We reach the glass front doors of the building, and as soon as she opens them, the sound of the band hits us in full force. I love the sensation, the vibration of a marching band close up.

“You’re right. We can do what we want if we do all the work for him. Pete’s a decent guy, and he’ll do what we ask. He’s already going to bat for us to get new uniforms.”