Page 119 of The Cheerleader

“I offered her food first, and she refused, saying she didn’t take charity. So I told her it was a birthday present. Which was funny at the time because it happened to be her birthday.” A rare smile crosses his face, albeit sad. My heart rises again, and this time it creates one of those lumps of emotion that should feel threatening, but it feels like heaven, and I want more.

But I swallow down my emotion and change the subject.

“The McMahon cocktail party is Saturday, and I’m told it’s a big deal. Everyone dresses up, they have a good band and real drinks, not just beer.”

He nods.

“Are you going?”

“You know I’m not into parties.” He pauses. “Are you going, Miss Nonparty girl?”

The way he says it, I’m almost worried I’ll disappoint him. “Yes. This one sounds more like my style.”

“That’s right. It’s a semi-formal, like a ball, and you can get all dressed up like the princess you are.”

I swat his arm. “No, I’m not. All the girls in our dorm are going, and I’ll be the least dressed up of all.”

“I thought it was for McMahon residents. Are they making an exception because you’re across the street?”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone goes. Some of your teammates are going. It’s the biggest event of the year. Although if you don’t live in McMahon, it’s harder to get tickets. You have to find a resident to buy them for you.”

“And you got tickets,” he says.

I nod. “I can get you a ticket if you want it.”

“No. Thanks.”

As I turn over to my other side, making a mess of my sheets, trying to get to sleep, I let out a groan. My mind won’t shut down, won’t dismiss the idea of finding one special someone who I can always count on. A special guy who I can love forever. The possibility dogs me like I’ve discovered it’s the key to life, to heaven on earth.

My biggest fear is that I’ve found him, and he belongs to someone else.

My alarm clock reads one-fifteen in the morning. Shit. Liz has been asleep for a while. She never has a problem sleeping like the dead. I wonder if she had anything to drink while she was out, and maybe that’s why she fell asleep so fast, why she always crashes so easily.

Then my conscience scolds me for thinking uncharitable thoughts about her. She’s troubled, and I should help her. Somehow. I should talk to her about it, be a better friend. The kind of friend I want her to be to me, one I can count on to be there.

The kind of friend I can talk to about anything. The way I can with Bryan sometimes.

But I wonder if I even know how to have that kind of open, intimate relationship, the kind I know is solid and always going to be there. Outside of my parents, I don’t have it. Maybe not even with my parents now that I think of it, because even though I know they’ll always be there for me, I can’t talk to them about everything.

I thought I could tell Liz anything. But since I’ve been spending time with Bryan, I feel like I have a big secret that interferes with my relationship with her. Tonight, I saw for the first time how my spending time with him pains her. Not in a jealous way or mean way, but like she’s feeling left out.

Maybe we’re both feeling the same way about our relationships. I feel left out of her relationship with Bryan, and she feels left out of my relationship with Bryan—except I don’t have much of one, not the way she does. Mine is made up of fleeting heart-stopping moments and old heart-wrenching memories interspersed with lots of discomfort and confusion.

Hers is long-standing, uninterrupted, soul-deep, and solid, based on years of day-after-day reality.

Shit.

Chapter Thirty-One

Bryan

Liz and Susie stay in the dining room after dinner, a habit that’s evolved in the short time since I started as a waiter in their dorm. It started when I stayed for tutoring with Susie, and then Liz stayed to talk, putting off her work until later.

I finish clearing the tables in no time. The work here is easy compared to the farm or football, and the food is good. My roommates are jealous that I have the gig, except for Eldy. The worst part of the job is the unwanted attention from the girls, except Liz and Susie.

They sit on the windowsill talking in low voices, not that I would pay attention to what they’re saying anyway. I’m torn between wanting to take off and wanting to stay.

After I throw the dirty wet rag in the kitchen sink, I let the cook know I’m done and come back out to confront my two least and most favorite girls on campus. Either way, they’re distractions. And even though the football season is over and I shouldn’t care about being distracted, I can’t turn it off, can’t suddenly ignore the baked-in self-discipline.