Page 50 of The Cheerleader

As long as whatever I did at night didn’t interfere with my chores before and after school, they left me alone, like a sturdy tractor they left in the field expecting it to start every day anyway.

Football season was the only time I was excused from chores, and even then I made up for some of the lost work on Sundays. I used to listen to football games on my transistor radio stuck in my overalls pocket while I worked. I needed to keep my mind from wandering and thinking about my big brother Caleb.

“There are worse things in life. I have a love-hate relationship with farming.” A love-hate relationship with my memory of Caleb. But I can’t tell Eldy that because he doesn’t know about Caleb. I can’t talk about him. None of us do.

Eldy grunts. “Guess you don’t mind the smell of manure?”

“Maybe I’m used to it.”

“What happened after that day—when you met her? Why didn’t you see her again or ask Liz about her? You were obviously smitten⁠—”

“Smitten? We were kids.” I may object to the word, but I can hardly deny having profound feelings back then.

Not now. She’s not the same girl. It’s like confronting a dream in the light of day. Not the same.

She seems different, cool and composed, hiding all that youthful impetuousness. I can’t help wondering what’s underneath, if she still has that caring girl inside her, that giving soul that I felt down to my bones that day.

I have no right to judge her for being reserved and cool when I’m colder than the polar ice caps. But we’re different. Her reserve is bright and inviting, nonthreatening, and I wonder if she realizes how vulnerable she seems. Whereas my reserve is like a forbidding wall around a self-contained castle, to keep the enemy out.

She’s nothing like Liz, who has no lines, no barriers, no reserve whatsoever. Nothing but relentless positivity. Though I’m not fooled by the optimism. I know it’s a protection between her and her surprisingly needy demons made of bravado. I found that out the hard way when I tried to reestablish the line of friendship between us.

It’s been nearly impossible once I made that one mistake, the one night we slept together. And now she refuses to let me go. She’s not rational on the subject. I don’t want to go too far and push her away for good. But dammit, I can’t sleep with her again because I don’t feel that way about her, and it doesn’t feel right to hook up.

I pace around the room, something I never do. Shit.

If I show any friendliness to Liz, it encourages her and makes her more determined to sleep with me again, to make us a couple. If I keep shutting her down the way I did that night when she showed up drunk, I’ll grow to hate her for being a mean fucker. And worry that she’ll end up hating me too.

“Never mind. It’s all too complicated.” I stop my pacing and stare at the floor while Eldy waits in silence. I can feel his curiosity and feel the change in energy the second he decides to give up and leave me in peace for the night.

He mumbles on his way out, “We have a game tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

I would laugh at him throwing my own advice to him at me now, but laughing hurts.

At 8:00 a.m. the morning of our first game, I’m sitting in the whirlpool bath with my colorful bruises on display. A buzzer goes off, and I jump out of the tub. Sopping wet, I grab a towel on my way to the trainer’s table.

Al shakes his head as he tapes up my ribs in silence. I appreciate that about him. He respects my pregame need for concentration and does his part to keep me free from distractions.

Coach Torino walks in and closes the door behind him. I wish I could say he respects my need for no distractions, but he counts himself as too important to ignore.

“Tell me he can play, Al.”

“You’ll have to talk to Doc.”

Torino turns to me and smirks. “Doc says to talk to you, Granger.”

He knows my response and doesn’t bother hiding his pleasure in knowing.

“I’m in.”

Al swears under his breath. “How about limiting his playing time? You’re playing Maine. You should be able to beat them without trouble.”

Torino nods as if he’s thinking it over. “We can give our backup running back some reps. He’s a new transfer student. He has some game experience, but needs to get used to our system.”

He turns to me, and I know his words are meant to rile me. “What do you think, Granger?”

“Fuck the backup.” I meet his eyes and stare. He nods. We both know about the attention our team is getting, the possibility that NFL scouts will be at the game, at any or every game this season.

Coach says to Al, “We’ll need Granger ready to play as many minutes as possible. Give him a shot to make him good and numb.”