Page 107 of The Cheerleader

“I’m your mother. I know that class is tough for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“What’s your grade so far?”

“C+,” I say without thinking, pride getting the better of me because now Mom’s going to ask more questions. I hate questions, hate giving out details of my life. She doesn’t need to know about Susie, my tutor. Because that’s all she is.

Fuck. I’m not supposed to be kidding myself, and I know Susie is more than my tutor. Not that I know what the hell she is. Friend? I don’t think so. Not going to delude myself about that. She’s not a girlfriend because I don’t do girlfriends—not since Liz and not again any time soon.

But we shared too much, and my need to see her, to be with her, to have her in my bed is too strong to think of her as a tutor or a casual acquaintance.

There’s nothing casual about Susie and me. Not since the first day I met her nine years ago.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. I gotta get going⁠—”

“What. Aren’t. You. Telling me?” Her words slow down, and each word sounds and feels like a block of ice. She’s the only person on the planet who can read me, even with as little as a misplaced vowel or a small tick in my voice.

“Nothing. I’ve been working extra hard. Problem?”

“Don’t you give me attitude, Bryan Granger. I get enough of that⁠—”

“Is everything okay?” Code for has he kept his hands off her? I keep waiting for the day when he uses her as my substitute.

She sighs. “Everything is fine here. You know Dad isn’t like that.” Her voice softens. “Not with me.”

“Good. Talk to you next week⁠—”

“Don’t you dare hang up without telling me what’s different⁠—”

“Nothing. This call is costing us. Good-bye.”

She groans and huffs because she knows I’m right even if it’s an excuse not to give away much. “Take care of yourself, Bryan. I love you, boy.”

We both hang up then, knowing I’m not going to answer her because we both know how I feel about her. She’s the one person on the planet I love without reservation.

For her, Dad is the one person on the planet she loves without reservation.

And for a fleeting second, I wonder if that’s ever going to change, before I remind myself how much I don’t care because it doesn’t matter.

Football, friendships, romance, none of it matters. Putting food on the table for the family matters.

Or so my old man pounded into me until I’ve absorbed it as a fact of life.

I toss the empty milk carton in the trash barrel across the kitchen.

I need to figure my life out and what the hell I’m doing with football, though I don’t dare believe that there will be football after UConn. Not unless you count playing with Coach and his group of guys at the academy field in the off-season, which I don’t, and I probably won’t.

Because I’m a farmer and from the end of this season on, when I’m done at UConn, I’ll have a heavy workload all spring and summer. In the fall too because Dad will expect me to pick up the slack, to take over the things he’s having trouble doing. He’ll be angry that he can’t do things and blame it on me like he does everything else. Wordlessly. Sometimes with meanness. Occasionally with the back of his hand.

But that shit’s going to stop. I’m not taking his shit, and I don’t care how old he is or how broken he is. The slapping stops. And I don’t mean I’m just going to put up a defense like I’ve been doing for a few years. I mean I’m going to put him in his place so he doesn’t even take a swing or go for his shovel like he did last time.

Susie’s already in her seat when I get to class because I’m late. She’s the first person I’ve ever sat next to on purpose besides a teammate.

She looks up like she didn’t expect me and smiles. “I’m glad you made it.”

I’m close enough to catch a waft of her sweet scent. I don’t know how to describe it except that I’ve never smelled anything like it before on anyone. I’ve been with my share of girls, experienced the scent of the women at church, been around the block when it comes to feminine smells, and Susie’s scent is singular. I could identify her by smell alone.