The Cheerleaders(11)

“It’s fine. It was done. Whatever we were doing.” Pressure builds behind my eyes. “I’m going to go now.”

He says my name, but I don’t turn around. Two hard blinks and a look at the light overhead in the hall. Foolproof tear quelling.

Ginny Cordero is sitting cross-legged on the ground, her back against her locker. She looks up from her copy of The Grapes of Wrath as Brandon steps out of his office.

My stomach goes hollow. Ginny looks from Brandon, to me, then back down to her book. Cheeks pink. Brandon steps back into his office and closes the door, but it doesn’t matter; it’s too late. She knows I was in there, alone with him.

“I missed the bus,” she blurts. “I’m waiting for my mom to come get me.”

I don’t say anything. I just haul ass out of there, too ashamed to look at her for some reason.



* * *



—

The locked drawer in Tom’s desk has been haunting my thoughts.

My brother has soccer on Wednesday evenings, so the house is empty when Rachel drops me off after practice.

I close and lock the front door behind me. Mango runs circles around my feet. I sidestep him and make my way into the kitchen. He gets on his hind legs and scratches my calves until I relent and dig a Milk-Bone out of the pantry for him.

Mango loved Jen more than he loves any of us. He slept in her bed every night, and every afternoon, he would sit on the back of the couch, looking out the bay window, waiting for her to get home from cheer practice.

While the dog spreads out on the kitchen floor and crunches his treat, I eye the dark hallway leading to Tom’s office.

Petey’s practice started at five, so he and my mom won’t be home for at least another hour, and Tom’s shift ends at seven. I head up to my room and peel off my sweaty dance tights, replacing them with cotton pajama bottoms.

Back downstairs, Mango is scratching at the back door. I let him into the yard, leaving the door open so he can come back in when he’s done, and pad down the hall to Tom’s office.

Like always, his door isn’t locked. I push it open and head straight for the desk. I pull on the second drawer again before revisiting the top drawer. No key. The pullout tray under Tom’s keyboard is empty, save for a pen and a few stray rubber bands and paper clips.

I’ve seen Alexa pick the lock on her parents’ liquor cabinet with fewer tools. I grab a paper clip and bend it into a hook shape. Bite my lip and feed the paper clip into the lock.

I can feel where the bolt meets the desk. I just need to wedge something between them. The house phone rings; I ignore it and wipe away the sweat forming at my hairline. Somewhere around my hundredth attempt, Mango wanders into the office and scratches my knee, asking to come onto my lap. I nudge him away. “No. Bad dog.”

Another paper clip. I untwist the second paper clip so it’s straight as a needle. While that’s wedged between the bolt and the lock, I stick the hooked clip in and twist, nearly jumping out of Tom’s chair when the lock clicks.

Inside the drawer looks innocent enough. There are several file folders; I thumb through them—pages of account information for the power company, the mortgage on the house.

I replace the folders; something at the back of the drawer glints, catching my eye. The screen of a cell phone.

A foul taste comes into my mouth. I’ve seen the movies about cheaters. I know what a second phone means.

It’s an older model—the kind I used to have a few years ago. Smaller than the version my whole family owns now. I pick it up and turn it over.

Juliana’s, Susan’s, and my sister’s faces smile up at me.

My fingers go numb. Juliana had this case made as a Christmas gift for my sister; the photo was taken at their first football game. The girls are huddled together, arms draped over each other’s shoulders. Hair partless, slicked back and shiny, blue ribbons tied around their ponytails.

I hold down the power button, but nothing happens. Of course it’s not charged—my sister has been dead for almost five years.

So why the hell does Tom have her cell phone?

In the hall, Mango is going berserk. Barking, nails sliding on the hardwood floor. I shut the drawer at the same moment a car door slams in the driveway.

My foot snags on the carpet as I stand up. The drawer. I don’t have the key to lock it back up. I survey the office, panicked, as Tom’s voice calls out.

“Monica?”

I step out of the office and shut his door, quietly, my pulse pounding in my ears. I round the corner of the hallway at the same time Tom steps into it.

“You’re home early,” I say.

Tom frowns. “Guy who’s supposed to fix the AC unit is running early. Mom said she called you to let you know I was on my way.”

“My phone is upstairs.” Jen’s phone weighs down the thin material of my pajama pocket. I put my hand over it. If Tom knows that my mother called the house line as well, he doesn’t say anything.

He gives me a curious look before eyeballing his office door. My pulse stills; Tom’s gaze sweeps over it, and seeing nothing of interest, he heads back toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna throw in some pizza rolls, if you’re hungry.”

I’m the opposite of hungry. The thought of Jen’s phone locked away in Tom’s desk drawer all these years has me deeply unsettled.