Page 72 of The Cheerleader

“Have fun and drive safe,” I say instead.

“I’m not driving. I’m not tempting fate after today. Carol’s roommate is picking me up… right about now. You have sweet dreams.”

She goes to the door and blows me a kiss. “I love you, Susie.”

I know she’s not saying that to make me feel guilty—and I shouldn’t because I did her a gigantic favor today—but the way my mind—and my eyes—keep turning to Bryan, while she clearly still wants him for her boyfriend, doesn’t sit well with my conscience.

Not even when I remind myself that Bryan doesn’t feel the same way about her.

On Monday, the phone rings as I get in from class, and I answer.

“Susie, this is Robert Morse, the athletic director. I’d like you to come to my office for a meeting this afternoon with your cheerleading advisor, Pete Chenerski, and the president of UConn, Dr. Perry.”

I knew word got out about why eight of the twelve cheerleaders were late to the game, though I’m not sure how or who talked about it. My gut sinks as my heart speeds up, and I tell him I’ll be there. Shit. I should have been prepared for some major consequences, but I was hoping we could pay the fine and the incident would fade away.

Now, with shaky hands, I change into the most studious outfit I own—a navy wool skirt, white blouse, and Fair Isle cardigan sweater with knee socks and penny loafers. I’ll look out of place walking to the Field House where the offices are, but I think the university officials I’m about to meet with will appreciate the conservative clothes.

Liz comes in from class and puts her books on her desk. I’m waiting for her to notice me all dressed up, holding my breath about telling her the news about my appointment, and on the fence about asking her to come with me.

She’s taking off her jacket and stops mid-motion as she sees me, her eyes widening.

“What’s going on, Susie?” It’s like she knows something is wrong. Probably it’s the seriously panicked look I must have on my face that clues her in.

I tell her about the call and the meeting, rushing my words because I need to leave in the next two minutes.

“I’m coming with you.” She reaches for her jacket and pulls it on as she walks back to the door. She’s dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, but I don’t care because I need the moral support, especially from someone who knows what really happened, not that I’m going to let her confess. I don’t want her to lose her license.

I nod, and we leave.

We’re about to go inside the field house when Liz stops short and grabs my arm to stop me.

“I’m going to tell them what really happened, that I was the one driving and asked you to switch places.”

“Don’t. What good would that do? As long as we can raise the money to cover the cost of the ticket, I’ll be fine.”

“What if they…” She trails off and bites her lip, her brow furrowed, and I know she’s thinking they could expel me or put me on probation or something. They wouldn’t do that, would they? Not for a speeding ticket. But who knows? We’re supposed to represent the university with impeccable behavior.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” I’m hoping and praying like hell that they have some mercy. And I’m not much into praying, but Mr. Morse didn’t sound mean on the phone. “As my mother would say, there’s no need to borrow trouble.”

I’m already worried enough about the consequences I’m facing with the ticket and what it might do to my parents’ insurance bill, but maybe it won’t matter since it’s a New Hampshire ticket.

We go inside and find our way to the corridor where the athletic offices are.

When we find the athletic director’s office, Bryan appears from a doorway marked Exit. Shit. Liz immediately abandons me and rushes to him.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, grasping his arm and holding on as if she’s about to fall down.

“I’m on my way to meet with the football coach.”

“What about?” Liz brazenly questions him while I fight jitters in my stomach.

He shrugs. She whispers, but I hear her ask about his grades. “You know how it is,” he says. They exchange one of those looks that tells me there’s still something between them in spite of what Bryan has said more than once.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asks. I knew it was coming, but I stiffen, hoping Liz won’t say much.

“We have a meeting with the athletic director.” I breathe a sigh of relief when she smiles, and I think that’s all she’s going to say.

But then she goes on, “We’re in some hot water for a speeding ticket.”