Page 81 of The Cheerleader

To his credit, Dane laughs and waves, but doesn’t show signs of running up here.

Below us, a couple of heads appear out their window, turned up to look at us.

“Hey there.” It’s Mack and another guy from the defensive line whose name I don’t know.

“Good luck tomorrow!” I shout.

“What are you girls up to?”

“We’re partying. Come on up and join us.” Liz rattles off our room number for anyone within a mile to hear. I cringe at the way her voice carries.

“Liz,” I whisper-shout. “Don’t blast our room number for everyone.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry. We have enough booze for a crowd.”

“Can’t do it,” Mack yells. “We’re under lock and key.” I notice Dane head back inside.

“What about Dane?” I ask.

“He left something in the bus. Even he’s not crazy enough to cheat on curfew.”

“Curfew already?” I ask, then I check my watch and realize it’s already six thirty. Shit. We haven’t eaten dinner, and no one’s showing any signs of simmering down the party.

At least we’re drinking something other than beer. I take another sip of my dirty banana. It’s yummy, and I’m feeling buzzed, but not out of control.

The guys disappear from the window suddenly as if someone’s reeled them in.

“Hey, where’d they go?” Liz says, then drains her glass. They have real glass glasses at this place—a Sheraton—as opposed to the motel I stayed at when I visited friends at Smith last semester. Smith seems so far away from my world now; it feels like the girl that went there was a different person. The old Susie Bennett.

“I hope they didn’t get in trouble,” I murmur.

“No,” Judy says, frowning. “I bet it was Bryan Granger who yelled at them to get inside. He’s the team’s official party pooper—according to Fletcher.” She stares at me as if I’m somehow an accomplice. Or maybe she’s daring me to disagree.

My first instinct is to stick up for him, but I bite my tongue, still sober enough not to be drawn into a disagreement and not to give away my feelings in front of Liz. I’m still worried that someone may have seen Bryan kiss me at the beer fest—besides Josh.

I know I can trust him to not gossip. But even though I’m friends with everyone else and feel a bond, a kinship of spirit and mission, I don’t know if I can trust anyone else when it comes to keeping things from Liz. Especially not Judy. We would stand up for each other when it comes to outsiders, but within our group, everyone seems to be very open. I feel like I’m holding out on them, but maybe Liz is too.

Keith gets us more snacks from the lobby shop because after paying for the liquor, it’s decided that we don’t have enough for dinner at the hotel restaurant, especially since everyone, including me, wants to go to the lounge for dancing later.

We change our clothes and go downstairs to the lounge together at around eight, which may be early, but Liz insists we need a good night’s sleep, so she’s imposing a ten o’clock curfew. I’m not so sure she’d normally be up to imposing it, except that none of us have enough money for more than one or two drinks.

The lounge is empty when we get there, so the band is happy to see us and they're happy to play whatever we ask for. We get to business dancing an impromptu routine to the Doobie Brothers' “Old Black Water” with the entire dance floor to ourselves. It’s not super large, but there’s only twelve of us, and the dance floor might hold another dozen people if they were here.

After more songs than I can count, I take a break to get some ice water. A few of the others join me, including Liz, but they order drinks.

“Well, look who’s here,” Liz says, grinning as she takes her tall glass of something strong-looking—definitely not a dirty banana.

I turn to see who she’s waving at, and my mouth falls open. The UConn football coaches parade into the lounge and take a seat at a table. Liz quickly goes over to say hello, and I trail behind her out of habit, with Carol and Judy.

They’re not as surprised to see us as we are to see them, and I’m relieved they seem to have no intentions of playing chaperone. I’m more than surprised, more than shocked, when Liz invites Coach Morse to dance—and he accepts. Dismay is too light a word.

Carol whispers to me. “That girl has more balls than a basketball team.” She’s smiling, and I laugh, nodding in agreement.

“It seems to work for her,” I say, not saying that I hope it keeps working because it feels like she’s walking a tightrope between acceptable and unacceptable behavior. And that’s a line that’s more than wobbly these days and very subject to differing opinions.

Carol rejoins the dancing, and I stay on the sidelines with Josh and a few others, sipping my ice water and waiting to get a second wind.

“Don’t look now,” Josh says, “but we have some new guys joining the party.”