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“Oh,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly, “and you’re not like that?”
“I’ll bite,” I said. “What am I smart about?”
“Almost everything,” Sawyer declared. “Though, as you pointed out, you don’t believe it. Is there anything you honestly think you’re good at?”
“Being a cheerleader.” I smoothed my hands over my short skirt, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “Not the part where I babysit Grace and Cathy and Ellen.” In a normal tone I said, “The part where I actually cheer and dance. I love dancing. And of course this would be what I really enjoy, because my mother makes a comment every time I leave the house for practice. ‘That’s really going to help get you a job as a professional cheerleader.’ ”
“It could be a backup career if your corporate takeover falls through,” Sawyer said.
“You laugh,” I said. “But lately, every time I’m on the field during a game, I’m thinking, ‘I don’t want high school to end.’ It’s partly because I don’t want to leave my friends. But I also don’t look forward to spending the rest of my life sitting in a tiny room, ciphering. That’s what my career is going to be like. That’s what my college experience will be, too.”
“Surely Columbia has cheerleaders,” Sawyer said.
“I never really thought about it,” I admitted. “But their football team sucks. Cheering them on wouldn’t be much fun. The whole school seems focused on academics. They put classes ahead of sports in a way the entire state of Florida doesn’t really comprehend.”
“What about actually trying out as a professional cheerleader?” he asked. “You could do that while you’re in school. I don’t think it pays much at all. Those girls are trying to get discovered as models. But if you were just doing it for fun . . .”
“My mother would disown me.” I enjoyed saying these words more than I expected. After picturing myself for half a second in a low-cut bra top and shorts the size of panties, I shook my head sadly. “I’ll bet I can’t try out until I’m twenty-one.”
“I’ll bet you’re wrong,” Sawyer said. “Men still make most of the rules in this country. Men aren’t going to prevent an eighteen-year-old from being a professional cheerleader. It’s her God-given right.”
I stared at Sawyer, who watched me with his brows raised. The interstate lights caressed his face and released him, then slowly moved across his face again. I was so accustomed to Aidan talking me out of crazy schemes that I hardly ever came up with them anymore. This one was so nuts that I was having a flashback to eighth grade, before I started dating Aidan, when my friends laughed and called me a live wire. At some point along the way, the life had gone out of me.
And here was Sawyer, calmly encouraging me to do exactly what I wanted.
I fished in my bag for my phone, then looked up the Giants. “The Giants don’t have cheerleaders.” I typed the Jets into the search engine. “The Jets have a cheerleading squad called the Flight Crew. That’s adorbs.” I thumbed through to an information screen and enlarged the tiny print. “I can’t do it. Tryouts are in March. My mother would never let me go up to New York for that. And I won’t be eighteen by the deadline. But I could try out the next year, when I’m already at Columbia.” I took a closer look at photos of the current squad. “They would make me relax my hair.”
“You don’t know that,” Sawyer said, “but it makes an excellent excuse not to try.”
I eyed him. “You’re daring me.”
“I’m definitely not. You’d be wearing next to nothing, and men would leer at you. I wouldn’t encourage you to do it, except that you obviously want to. I think you understand the leering aspect and accept it, even want it. And that’s okay.”
“You wouldn’t be jealous about the skimpy uniforms and the leering men?” My tone was teasing, but suddenly I wanted so badly for him to acknowledge that the thought made him crazy.
“Your body belongs to you,” he said solemnly, “not any guy, and not your mom. You really don’t seem to understand that.”
Across the aisle from me, Cathy shifted in her sleep and nearly fell off her seat. Instinctively I dodged away from her, cupping my hands over my phone screen.
“It’s not a joint,” Sawyer said.
“I feel awful even looking this up, like my mother is watching me and doing calculations about how much money I’m wasting if time is money.”
“Anything making you feel that guilty is definitely worth doing.”
I looked over at him, at his sharp nose and soft mouth coming in and out of focus as the van moved through the interstate lights. My lust for him had grown as the ride went on. I wondered if he meant we should indulge our own guilty pleasure. I’d reached the point that I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, or ever, if I didn’t find out.
I bent to slip my phone back into my bag. Then I moved toward him.
His eyes widened, but he didn’t back away.
I cradled his chin in my hand, his blond stubble scratching across my fingertips.
His lips parted. He looked a little outraged, honestly, like this was unseemly behavior for a future valedictorian.
If I’d thought about the expression on his face, I would have backed away. But I was sick to death of thinking. I kissed him.
