Page 43 of The Cheerleader

Fuck. I don’t say it out loud, but I bet my expression shouts it loud and clear. Fuck Liz. I can’t be there every minute to stop her from drinking, from turning into her father.

“Don’t say anything. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She said she had a long day of classes. She was⁠—”

“Forget about Liz.”

Her eyes widen, but only for a beat. Then she presses her lips together like she’s squeezing away doubt. “You’re right. We have work to do.”

We sit at a table near the kitchen with a window view. Thank god the room is empty. Gazing around, I notice a basket of snacks, a box of hot chocolate packets, and a large plate filled with cookies covered in plastic.

“Someone having a party in here later?” That’s the last thing I want. I don’t need a bunch of girls gossiping about me getting tutored—or hanging out with Susie Bennett.

She follows my gaze and deepens her smile. “No. Those are the evening snacks our cook leaves out for us. Would you like something? I can get you some milk to go with the cookies if you want⁠—”

“Are you fucking serious?” I’m practically salivating. My self-discipline to stay away from sweets to keep lean wars with my empty stomach.

She saves me the decision, popping from her chair and bringing the whole plate of cookies over with some napkins. Then she goes into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of milk.

“You sure your name isn’t Susie Homemaker?” I’ve already pulled the plastic wrap off the dish and helped myself to a handful of cookies. In for a penny, in for a pound. If I’m going to be bad, I may as well be absolutely wicked.

She laughs. “The women’s libber in me should feel insulted.” She doesn’t let down her rays of sunshine, and I stare at that curvy mouth, maybe a little too long, but it’s looking too fucking inviting.

Turning away, I shove a cookie into my mouth and slap my notebook on the table, making a mental note that she’s not much of a women’s libber considering she came from Smith, and she’s serious as fuck when she’s not cheerleading.

Shit. She’s the worst kind of girl—she’s complicated.

“How about if we start with this week’s assignment?” She catches my eyes for approval. She’s a people pleaser. Even though I don’t bother nodding because it’s obvious, she keeps going. “We’re supposed to write a personal essay about campus life, but we’ll need to narrow it down to something specific, something that means something to us. And that we know a lot about.”

I shrug. “Whatever you want.” I almost smile at the way she darts her eyes down back to her paper. It’s a copy of the syllabus, and I wonder where she got it, whether she had to go back to Professor Yardly’s office for it.

She looks up, her face bright as if she has a cartoon lightbulb hanging over her head. “How about football? You love football.”

“Why do you assume that?”

She blushes awkwardly again, but sits up straighter, losing her smile. “You spend a lot of time and effort playing football.” She’s defying me, daring me to tell her she’s wrong.

I don’t bother.

“What about you? What do you love, Susie?” And why the hell are you teasing her?

But I don’t care why. Maybe it’s just fun to rattle her, to make her feel uncomfortable. Because if I’m going to hell anyway, I may as well fully deserve it.

The curve of her mouth returns. “You enjoy playing games, don’t you? And I thought Dane was supposed to be the player.”

It’s impossible not to stare at her mouth. I shrug, not bothering to deny it. If she thought she was going to make me feel ashamed or… anything, she was wrong.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I like dancing. And now cheerleading too.”

“Great. You can write an essay about being a cheerleader, and I’ll write one about playing football, and we’ll win the prize for the most conventional pair of students in the class.” Yardley will have a field day with us, probably mock us in front of the class, but I don’t give a shit. I wonder if Susie cares.

She laughs. The sound pierces me. I physically feel it slicing me open, the burn of it, the excruciating pleasure of it. I was far too wrong about her not making me feel anything. And that’s not good.

“That sounds perfect. It’s a gas when you can be rebellious by being conventional, isn’t it?”

“Enough bullshit, Susie.” I lean in and watch her mouth open with apprehensive surprise. She leans back away from me. But I take hold of an arm and pull her closer to where I can see the specks of gold that literally light up her eyes whenever she feels emotion of any kind. I’m an observant person, but especially when it comes to Susie Bennett.

“What—”