Page 58 of The Cheerleader

I don’t argue as she pulls a UConn baseball-style shirt from her drawer and tosses it to me. She gets a short-sleeved T-shirt for herself with a Husky dog on it, and we finish dressing. The one she gave me is tight because I’m bigger than her up top, but I don’t complain as I surreptitiously pull at it, trying to stretch it out as much as I can.

“I should have told everyone to wear UConn shirts.” She picks up her shoulder bag and keys, and we head for the door.

“Will you help me with my strategy to get Bryan’s attention tonight?”

“Of course.” It’s my automatic response. “Whatever you need.” I have no idea what I can do, and I get a frisson of guilt when I think my presence might take his attention away from Liz rather than help keep it on her.

By the time we pick up Carol, Judy, Sherry, and Keith and arrive at the party, it’s already crowded. I suppose that’s easy since the place is small to begin with. A few guys are standing at the front door, almost like sentinels, and Liz apparently knows them because she gives them each a hug of congratulations.

The door opens, and Mack Delaney shouts, “The cheerleaders have arrived.” To my surprise, that elicits a roar of approval from inside. Liz laughs as she hugs Mack. That makes the third cute guy she’s hugged, and I’m waiting for her to choose one of them for her flirting maneuver, but I don’t see Bryan anywhere as we go inside.

The other girls grin and laugh, comfortable with the notoriety, even Sherry, the new girl who’s only a sophomore. Shit. I need to get with it. I try to shake my discomfort as we move through the crowd. The place is more open than I remember it, with the sparse furniture pushed aside and the floors litter-free—unless you count all the people, mostly guys.

Dane greets us as we reach the hallway between the living room and kitchen, giving Liz a hug before she gives him one. I envy how comfortable she is with all these guys, like she’s part of a big happy family. I guess that’s what being Bryan’s girlfriend got her, whether she’s still with him or not. That also might make her plan to flirt with one of them a little awkward.

“Great party, Eldy, and it’s barely started,” Liz says.

“It’s a fantastic party now that the cheerleaders are here,” he winks and turns to me with a shameless smirk.

“Where’s Bryan?” Liz asks.

Eldy’s grin disappears, and he pulls Liz aside into the dark hallway. Liz pulls me with her.

“He’s in his room. He’s messed up. His ribs gotta be busted. I have instructions that he’s not to be disturbed except to bring him ice.”

“I’ll bring him ice,” she says as if she’s Nurse Nightingale, her expression all business.

Dane nods and hands her a lump of ice wrapped in a towel. “Go easy, Liz. He’s really hurting.” His sly grin is toned down with concern.

“He’s in a fucker of a mood. His ribs are worse than he’s admitting.”

Liz nods as she takes the ice. “It’ll be all right. He and I have been through worse things.”

“I bet. Go ahead. Your funeral.” He accepts her statement as if he knows something about her mysterious past with Bryan. Probably more than I know—which is next to nothing.

Only about that one day when I’m sure he went to see her—and ended up cut badly and in a ditch. With that image in mind, I don’t want to imagine the terrible kinds of things they might have been through.

“I’m going with her,” I say impulsively. I’m not smiling, expecting an argument from him or from Liz.

Instead, he nods. He knows something. I wonder how close he is with Bryan, whether Bryan would have told him about—no. Bryan Granger is the most closed-mouth person I’ve ever met.

Undaunted by Dane’s warning, Liz heads down the hallway towards Bryan’s bedroom, and I follow for no real reason—except a mindless compulsion.

Liz knocks on the door gently as I hover behind her. His door is the last one on the left, and they’ve put a big piece of cardboard in front of it as if to block people. Liz pushes it aside, knowing exactly where his room is.

“He’s not answering,” she whispers. “I wonder if he’s sleeping. I’m worried about how hurt he is. Maybe he needs help. More than ice. Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain.” She’s almost talking to herself, so I don’t answer.

She turns to me, shaking her shoulder bag. “I brought a couple of nips in case. Knowing him, he wouldn’t take pain pills.”

Pushing past the fact that I’m not surprised she’s carrying nips around in her bag, the genuine worry in her voice registers.

“Maybe you should go in and check on him then and see if he’s okay. If he’s sleeping and you’re quiet, you won’t wake him.”

Her face brightens like she needed my permission before she opened his door. Unlike dorm rooms, the bedroom doors in the apartments don’t have locks.

“Okay. Wait here.” She turns the knob by fractions and presses the door forward with enormous patience, a big accomplishment for her since she normally does everything at a breakneck pace. But then, this is Liz we’re talking about, and she’s good at everything. Or so it seems.

As she slips inside his room, my heart takes a leap and I feel apprehension mingling with anticipation that creates a little volcanic reaction in my chest. A flash of the old days when she had us sneaking into places we didn’t belong—like the teacher’s room when we were in seventh grade—rushes to the surface, almost like a warped kind of déjà vu that’s too real.