Page 54 of The Cheerleader

“I always intend to improve my performance.”

“So your goal is to break your own record then?” he says, “Whether you’re injured or not?”

I don’t answer since I already answered the guy once.

Anita Yardly raises her hand and whistles through her teeth to get my attention, so I oblige, meeting her eyes and waiting for her question, hoping she makes it a good one, something I can answer, something about the game.

“On your second touchdown, it looked like you used a new move, a lateral stutter fake or something…”

“Yes.” I answer her even though she didn’t exactly ask anything. I might even owe her for distracting the questions away from my injury.

“So is it a new move?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it from?”

“My imagination, practice, natural evolution through repetition.”

“Over the summer? Who were you practicing your move on? The cows?”

A few of the guys laugh and nod at her in approval. I stare her down because she thinks she’s goading me, winning points and making her tough-girl reputation with her fellow reporters. She has to be related to the professor. No more favors for Anita Yardly.

Torino finishes his interview and slides in next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder as if he’s heard the rumors and believes them—the ones about me punching a guy out for farmer boy jokes. It was only half true.

Shrugging his hand off my shoulder, I say, “No. The cows are too slow. I practiced against the bull. He’s quicker and more dangerous.”

The laughs are bigger this time, and Coach doesn’t mind when I turn away to head to the fieldhouse, ending the interview.

“That’s all for now, folks,” Coach says. “It’s time Granger gets to his celebration.”

I hear the reporters yell questions at him as he follows me, and I hear Anita shout out, “I thought Granger didn’t believe in celebrating because he’s in training.”

She needs to learn how to ask questions instead of making provocative statements like a difficult twelve-year-old. She’s insecure. I slow my steps because, damn, the ribs throb like a fucker. Coach catches up with me.

“Well done, Bryan.”

“The interview or the game?”

He laughs. “Both.” He lowers his voice. “How are the ribs?”

“I’m upright and walking.”

I’m sure he notices the slow, less-than-graceful way I’m walking with the distinct tilt of my torso to the right, like I’m the Leaning Tower of Granger. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Bainbridge from the Courant was right about the scouts. They were in the stadium. Chenerski, the ticket manager, arranged passes for a couple of guys from San Francisco.”

I almost trip. Fucking San Francisco 49ers?

Before we get far, I automatically turn to the space in front of the stands where the cheerleaders are gathered. My eyes search and find Susie first. Then I force my gaze to skip to Liz. And there she is. Smiling. She looks happy, but I wonder how deep it goes.

Taking a breath, I return my gaze to Susie. She’s collecting her pom-poms and megaphone, talking and laughing with the others. Not watching me. But why should she?

I’m the dangerous guy she’s supposed to keep her distance from.

Chapter Fourteen

Susie