The Cheerleaders

by Kara Thomas

  Carly Amato had Allie by a fistful of her hair. Jen threw herself between them, yanking Carly off of Allie. In the fray, one of the girls’ elbows smashed into Jen’s jaw.

  Jen ducked back, her eyes watering at the pain. Allie lunged at Carly, landing both hands on her shoulders and shoving her. There was a sickening crack as Carly fell backward, her blond head bouncing off the locker like a rubber ball.

  Behind Jen, Susan’s voice was breathless, warbly. “Should we call someone?”

  Allie turned to look at the girls, as if finally noticing that she and Carly weren’t alone. The adrenaline pumping through Jen’s veins slowed. She felt like she might puke. Jen rounded on Carly, who was slumped against a locker, massaging her jaw. A dribble of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth.

  “What is wrong with you?” Jen shouted.

  Carly jerked her head toward their coach and winced in pain. “She came after me.”

  Every pair of eyes in the room swiveled to Allie. Up close, Jen could see that Allie had fared far better in the fight. Her ponytail had come undone, and the skin on her forehead was red from where Carly had pulled her hair, but there wasn’t a scratch or a gouge on her.

  Allie’s labored breathing filled the silence, making it clear she wasn’t going to deny Carly’s accusation. Instead, she opened her clenched fist, revealing something that glinted in the light. A silver hoop earring. Allie threw it at Carly; it bounced off her chest and skittered across the locker room floor.

  Jen stepped back, nearly stepping into Susan, as Allie pushed her way past them. The locker room door slammed, making Jen flinch so hard that her arm, as if on instinct, shot up to protect her face.

  The room was silent as Carly picked herself off the floor. Licked the bloody drool from the corner of her mouth.

  Before Jen could say anything, before any of them could part to get out of her way, Carly stormed off, in the opposite direction of where Allie had just left.

  * * *

  —

  Sleep eluded Jen that night. She drifted off after midnight, only to wake a few hours later in a cold sweat. Jen touched her throat; for a moment she thought she was in the locker room, and Carly Amato had her hands around her neck, squeezing—

  Jen tried to swallow. Her head was cottony and it felt like there were razor blades in her throat. She stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom she shared with her sister. One word broke through the haze in her head: sick.

  She couldn’t be sick. Not today.

  Jen blinked against the lights above the vanity mirror and opened her mouth wide. The back of her throat looked like raw meat.

  The pep rally was after first period, only a few hours from now. Jen was a base; without her, Allie would have to rearrange the pyramid. An image fought through the pounding in her head. Allie, storming out of the locker room. Carly Amato sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from her mouth. There was the ghost of pain at Jen’s jaw from where one of them had rammed her with an elbow.

  Jen fumbled through the contents of the vanity cabinet until she found a box of cold medicine. She popped a horse-sized pill out of the foil. Her body struggled against swallowing it.

  Her mother was shaking her awake. Jen rolled over, the back of her neck and pillow slick with sweat. She didn’t remember coming back to her bed or falling asleep.

  “You’re burning up,” her mother said. Jen opened her mouth to speak; her throat was gummy.

  “The pep rally,” she forced out.

  “Sweetheart, you’re not cheering today. I’m calling Dr. Ramdeen.”

  Jen felt the fight leave her body. She drifted into a hazy sleep, groaning when her mother flipped the light on, gently coaxing her to get up.

  She wore her pajamas to the doctor. Dr. Ramdeen’s hands were cool around Jen’s throat as she massaged her swollen lymph nodes.

  Dr. Ramdeen stripped her gloves off and deposited them into the waste bin. “I’ll send the cultures to the lab, but it looks like strep.”

  “How long,” Jen croaked, “until it goes away?”

  “Homecoming is tomorrow,” her mother said from the chair in the corner of the room. “She’s on the cheerleading squad.”

  Dr. Ramdeen squeezed Jen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, love. You’re contagious, and in no shape to fly.”

  I’m a base, Jen wanted to say. I can perform. I don’t need to shout the cheers—

  As if sensing mutiny, Jen’s mother stood. “How long until the antibiotics are ready?”

  “I’ll send the prescription in right now.” Dr. Ramdeen gave Jen’s shoulder another squeeze. She paused, seeing the devastation in Jen’s eyes. “There will be other homecomings.”

  The sting of tears followed Jen to the car. After she’d buckled herself in, her mother reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind Jen’s ear. “Honey. It’s just a football game.”

  “And the pep rally and the dance.”

  She could sense her mother’s patience eroding. “Jennifer. You’re very sick, and contagious. Do you want to give Susan and Juliana strep?”

  The sleepover at Susan’s house. Jen had forgotten; the Berrys were in Vermont for a wedding, and Jen and Jules were staying with Susan tonight after float building.

  Now Juliana would be staying alone with Susan tonight. Jen should have felt sick at the thought of her friends hanging out without her. What would they say?

  Instead, Jen felt a bubble of relief.

  The pep rally would be over by now. Jen’s phone had blown up with texts while she was in Dr. Ramdeen’s office. Several of them were from Juliana.

  Jen tapped out a reply:

  There was the threat of tears again. Jen was so sick of crying, of fighting with her friends, of dancing around all of Juliana’s lies.

  The little ellipsis that signaled Jules was typing appeared and disappeared. Jen thought she wouldn’t respond at all, until:

  Seconds after she fired the message off, Jen started typing again, blinking away the spots of anger in her eyes. The dam had finally broken.

  Adrenaline pumped through Jen’s veins. When she saw that Juliana was typing, it felt like an ice cube sliding down into her gut. She expected Jules to shoot something equally nasty back. Maybe an accusation that Jen was stalking her and Carly.

  She never saw Juliana’s response coming.

  The car blipped. Jen jolted; her mother climbed into the driver’s seat, holding a paper bag from the pharmacy. Jen flipped her phone over and rested it on her lap.

  Even after she settled in at home, swallowing the antibiotic with a glass of Powerade, at her mother’s insistence, Jen didn’t text Juliana back. She had no intention of staying up until Juliana got home from float building. If Jules really wanted to talk, she could come to her.

  Jen opened up her conversation with Juliana and sent her a text telling her as much. It was barely noon now; Jules would see the message and stop by after school.

  She’ll come, Jen thought as she drifted off. I know she will.

  * * *

  —

  Jen awoke with a start. The sky outside was indigo streaked with gold. She fumbled around her sheets for her phone. It was almost eight o’clock.

  Why had her mother let her sleep so long? Jen swallowed, massaging her lymph nodes. Her throat still hurt, but the pain in her head was gone, and her skin was cool to the touch.

  Jen got out of bed and headed downstairs. The house was oddly quiet for a Friday night. The kitchen was empty, lights off. It was quiet except for the swish of the dishwasher cycle.

  Her mother was in the living room, e-reader in one hand, a glass of white wine in the other.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Her mother turned her head, looking surprised to see Jen. “Monica is sleeping over at Rachel’s, and your brother is asleep. Tom’s at work. How are
you feeling?”

  “A little better,” Jen said.

  “Do you think you can eat? I’ll make you something.” Her mother moved to set her glass of wine on the coffee table.

  “No. I’ll grab an ice pop.” Jen didn’t want her mother to move. There was something so odd about the scene—her mother, without Monica or Petey hanging off her. It was like stumbling across Mango sitting next to a cat, calmly. Jen didn’t want to disturb it.

  “Let me know if you want anything later,” her mother said.

  When Jen got back to her bedroom, she moved to the window. She could just make out Susan’s place down the street, three houses over. The driveway was empty, and the timers hadn’t turned the porch light on yet. Susan and Juliana would still be at school for float building.

  Juliana had never texted Jen back.

  At the end of the street was a tall figure. Ethan.

  Jen’s heart scrambled into her throat. She opened the window next to her desk. Tapped on the screen until it made a warbling noise. The person looked up. The glow from the streetlamp bathed Ethan’s face in orange light.

  Jen waved. Ethan returned it, cautiously.

  Jen held up a finger. One minute. She tugged open her desk drawer, searching for a permanent marker. She uncapped it and scribbled something on two pieces of computer paper.

  She held the papers side by side in the window, hoping the numbers were big enough for Ethan to read from the street. Ethan blinked; the confusion on his face dissolved. He removed something from his pocket. Moments later, Jen’s phone vibrated from her nightstand.

  Jen texted back:

  Jen swallowed.

  Jen thought of her mother, immersed in her book. She gave Ethan instructions to meet her at the side gate.

  Jen slipped her feet into a pair of moccasins. She snuck through the kitchen, quiet not to alert Mango, and unlocked the back door. The grass in the yard tickled her ankles.

  Ethan was on the other side of the gate. Jen undid the latch and let him in the yard. His hands were in the pocket of his hoodie.

  Jen held a finger to her lips as she led Ethan through the door into the kitchen, then up the stairs. Her heart hammered against her ribs when they came to her bedroom door. What the hell was she thinking? If her mother caught them…if Tom found out—

  A calm settled over her as Ethan stepped into her room. She closed the door behind them and popped the lock in case her mom came up to check on her. Ethan was looking around her room; Jen tried to see it through his eyes.

  Did he only see the cheer trophies, the uniform folded neatly on the chair next to her full-length mirror? Did he notice the dozens of pictures of the friends who were barely a part of her life right now?

  Ethan began to lower himself onto the other side of the bed.

  Jen pulled her knees up to her chest, inching back into her headboard. “I have strep throat.”

  “I’ll stay over here,” Ethan said. He sat at the edge of the bed, looking at the few feet of space between him and Jen. “Is this okay?”

  Jen nodded, even though she wished he could come closer. She studied Ethan’s face. Up close, under the lights in her room, he looked so much less brooding and serious. His hair flopped almost playfully across his forehead. “Why do you walk around at night?” she asked.

  Ethan hesitated. “My mom. She’s dying.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. She’s been sick for a really long time. Sometimes it’s hard to watch.”

  Jen didn’t know what to say, but Ethan seemed eager to change the subject. “What about you? Are you okay?”

  Jen shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

  “It’s stupid compared to what you’re going through.”

  Ethan caught her eye. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Everyone goes through shit, and there’s always someone somewhere who has it worse. It doesn’t make what you’re feeling any less real or any less shitty.” Ethan shrugged. “You can tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I feel like I’m losing my friends,” she said.

  Ethan was watching her, waiting for her to explain, but now that Jen had said it aloud to someone, she didn’t want to talk about her friends. She didn’t want to admit that she’d creepily followed Juliana into the parking lot or that sometimes she hated the hypercompetitive robot Susan was turning into. Jen didn’t want Ethan to see the ugliness inside of her.

  So she nodded to the headphones dangling out the neck of his hoodie. “What are you always listening to?”

  Ethan tugged at his headphones, as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Books.”

  “Can I listen with you?” Jen asked.

  Ethan’s voice was soft. “I don’t know if the headphones will reach you.”

  Jen stared back at him. The look on his face made her flush. He inched closer to her, until they were only half a foot apart.

  “I’m contagious,” she whispered.

  “I don’t care.” Ethan lowered himself so he was lying down facing her. He reached over and brushed her hair aside, slipping one of the earbuds into her ear.

  The narrator’s voice was gentle. Jen had no idea what the story was about, but she could have listened for hours.

  When she woke up several hours later, the space on the bed next to her was empty. She felt around, desperate for some sign she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

  On the pillow next to her, something crinkled. She came away with an orange Post-it note stuck to her hand.

  You fell asleep around chapter three.

  Maybe we can find out what happens together.

  I spend the walk to class trying to rationalize Carly’s reason for blocking me. Maybe I’ve been a little aggressive, trying to get her to talk to me. Any reasonable person would be creeped out.

  But there’s little evidence to indicate that Carly Amato is, in fact, a reasonable person. She lied about being friends with Juliana. She said she barely knew her, which just isn’t the truth.

  I force Carly out of my mind when I get to first period. I can’t afford to bomb another AP chem quiz; there’s time in the quarter to pull my average up, but Mr. Franken will call my mother if I get lower than a 70 today.

  Coefficients. Add the coefficients first.

  Why would Carly lie?

  I shake my head and add an O2 to the equation. Next to me, I catch Dave Camarco stealing glances at my paper. If I wasn’t so sure Mr. Franken would accuse me of cheating, I’d lean over and hiss Good luck with that at Dave.

  I’m the second-to-last person to finish the quiz. After I turn it in and get back to my desk, I sneak my phone out of my backpack’s side pocket while Mr. Franken is distracted stapling the test Scantrons to the long answer sheets.

  “Monica.”

  I wince at my name, closing my eyes. When I open them, Mr. Franken is staring at me. He beckons me to come up to the front of the room.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper when I reach his desk. “I just had to look something up real quick.”

  He silently picks up the wire basket where he puts confiscated phones. I drop my phone in and Mr. Franken tells me I can pick it up at the end of the day. I want to cry as I do a walk of shame back to my desk.

  I’m so eager to talk to Ginny about Carly blocking me that I’m about to explode. Without my phone, the minutes to lunch creep by more slowly than they usually do. When the bell rings after fifth period, I bolt for the stairwell.

  When I get downstairs to Mrs. Goldberg’s room, the lights are off and the door is locked. I knock three times, but no one comes. I have to fight off tears as the bell rings.

  I turn to stalk off to the cafeteria, nearly colliding with Ginny.

  “Sorry,” she say
s breathlessly. “I texted you that I’d be a little late.”

  “Mr. Franken took my phone away.”

  A man’s voice booms down the hall—a security guard, doing his post-bell sweep to make sure no one is lingering. Ginny slips a key into Mrs. Goldberg’s door and herds me inside the room, locking it behind her.

  I follow her into the back office, where she sets her lunch bag on the round table in the corner. Below is a mini-fridge. Ginny grabs a yogurt from inside; she offers me one, but I shake my head.

  She plops into one of the chairs at the table. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Saturday night, I went through the files again. I found one from a woman on Norwood Drive who said Jack Canning broke into her backyard—she said the Berrys put up a privacy fence because of him. I didn’t remember at the time, but it’s true. They had a really high fence around their backyard.”

  Ginny cocks her head a bit, as if she’s not sure where I’m going with this.

  “Ethan couldn’t have seen anything in the Berrys’ backyard from the woods,” I say. “I met him at Osprey Lake this morning to ask why he lied.”

  Ginny freezes, her fingers on the foil seal of her yogurt. “Wait. You met up with him alone?”

  “A ton of people were around.” I try to ignore how unsettled Ginny looks. “Anyway, he told me the real story. He was in Jen’s room that night and saw the argument from the garage roof when he snuck out.”

  “You believe him?”

  “He described Jen’s room,” I say. “And there’s more. Jen told Ethan she felt like she was losing her friends, and he thinks it’s because Juliana was spending all her time with Carly Amato.”

  “But Carly said she barely knew Juliana.” Ginny drums her fingers against the side of her yogurt. She stands, abandoning her lunch on the table. “I need to show you something.”