Page 37 of The Cheerleader

They look hard and dangerous. I shudder involuntarily, and I can’t, god help me, blame it on fear. That leaves only one other emotional reaction that I know of that would cause such a shudder.

Excitement.

Shit, no.

After he helps Liz into the passenger seat, he comes around the car with me and opens the driver’s side door like he’s a valet. I get in without a word. Liz is already slumped in her seat. He backs away, watching as I start the car and pull out of the parking space. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see him standing there motionless, still watching as I turn out of the parking lot and drive out of sight.

“He’s so…” I don’t know what to say.

Eyes still closed, Liz says, “Yeah. I know what you mean.” She pats my leg and I turn to the road. She adds, “Thas why I love him.”

Her words make me flinch, and I glance over at her. She looks like she’s sleeping with a smile on her face.

But she reaches up and squeezes my arm. “Thank you for being a good friend, Sooosie.”

I drive us in silence the rest of the way back to the dorm because I’m gripped with a strange mix of guilt and confusion, excitement and contentment.

When I drop Liz off at the dorm, one of the girls on our floor helps her to our room while I go back to park her car in the student lot. Walking back, on my way down the hill from the lot, a chill makes me shudder, and I decide to run, not sure if I’m feeling cold or vulnerable. Or maybe it’s still that strange uneasy mix of tension.

Breathless when I reach the door, I collect myself before I go inside the dorm. I don’t know why I bother since no one’s here, and when I reach our room, Liz is out cold, fully clothed on top of her bed covers. I take her sandals off and then turn on the fan, postponing my call to Bryan.

Do I really owe him a call? Yes. He’s a friend, Liz’s friend, who wants to be reassured. He’s a worrier. Like someone much older. Like someone’s older brother.

I scoff out loud at that thought because I’m not deluded enough to let myself believe I feel he’s actually brother-like, or anything but a compelling guy with a caring protective streak wider than a football field. And that threatens to melt me.

For the millionth time, I wonder again what he was doing in the ditch near Liz’s house that day. This time I stave off the chilling speculation that he was there to protect Liz—from her father.

Commanding my hand not to shake as I reach for the phone, I pluck his number from my recent memory where it’s waiting, fresh and alive and prominent—now unforgettable—and dial it. With the receiver clamped to my ear and the phone ringing, I extend the cord and slip outside our room, closing the door as far as it’ll go behind me. It’s dark in the empty hall, with only moonlight coming in from the solo window at the end.

I can’t help myself from counting the rings, and after four, I decide to give him until six to answer. He must be home by now because his apartment isn’t far from Huskies, and I had to take the time to walk-run from the student parking lot. On the sixth ring, I hesitate for a split second, with disappointment tugging at me⁠—

“Susie?” He answers the phone in a gruff voice, making my name sound sexy.

“Yes.” He knew it was me. I feel a flash of giddiness for no reason. Why shouldn’t he know? Did I think he’d be expecting someone else to call? Like maybe one of the hundreds of girls Judy says are panting after him?

“How’s Liz?”

“Asleep.”

“Passed out.” His voice is flat, but I hear unmistakable disappointment.

“I can wake her if you want to talk⁠—”

“No.” That’s it. That’s all he says, and I almost yawn while I wait a few hard beats of my heart for more.

But there’s no need for me to wait for an explanation because I know he has no intentions of giving me one. He doesn’t share.

“Well, good night then,” I say, expecting him to hang up, but he surprises me when he replies.

“Good night, Susie. And… thank you for the candy.”

He hangs up.

The loudness of truth in his raspy voice rings in my ear.

I stand there in the hallway with the receiver buzzing against my ear and his words echoing like the hallelujah chorus in my head.

He remembers. He knows it was me who came to his rescue in the ditch. And he’s grateful. Like a friend. Like we have something special between us, a real connection after all these years.