The Cheerleaders(50)

“Because Jimmy wants to ask you to homecoming.”

I’d completely forgotten that homecoming tickets are going on sale this week. In my periphery, I catch Jimmy Varney staring at me. He gives me a sheepish smile and holds up a hand.

I wave back. Jimmy is cute, and sweet. He’s the type of guy who could blunt my sharp edges. But even when I was dating Matt, Alexa, Rach, and I went to the dance as each other’s dates.

“I don’t want to get involved with anyone right now,” I say.

Alexa spears an anemic-looking tomato slice. “Babe, Matt is gone. A really cute guy is into you. Let yourself have fun.”

I don’t want to tell her that I haven’t even thought about Matt in weeks. She’ll pry, and there’s no way in hell I’m telling her about Brandon. I hate feeling like I can’t talk to Rach and Alexa, but there’s not a single thing I could tell them about the last few weeks that wouldn’t horrify them.

“Jimmy’s signing up for male kickline,” Alexa says, oblivious to the way I’ve become overly interested in my sandwich to avoid the looks from the guys. “So he’s gonna be at the meeting today.”

Shit. I’d completely forgotten about that part of Spirit Night. Last year, Alexa, Rach, and I picked the song “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” for our class’s male kickline routine. The guys ad-libbed in the middle, unbuttoning their shirts and lassoing them around their heads, earning us a five-point deduction, but a raucous reception from the crowd. We came in second to the seniors.

“I don’t think I can do it this year,” I tell Alexa.

She stares at me like I’ve told her I have cancer. “Why?”

“I’m failing chem,” I say. It’s not completely the truth, but it may as well be—my average is hovering at a 70 right now. “I just don’t have time, between homework and practice.”

“You have time to hang out with Ginny Cordero,” Alexa says, eyes on her packet of salad dressing.

“Ginny Cordero knew my sister. Sometimes I want to be around someone who will actually talk about her.”

It might be the most honest thing I’ve said to Alexa or Rach in weeks.

As wounded as she still looks, Alexa doesn’t press the issue. When the bell rings, I realize I’ve only taken a few bites of my sandwich. I miss Alexa and Rach, and I don’t know how long I can keep this up, how long I can hide what’s been going on.

All I can do is hope that the truth will come out, and that they’ll forgive me when it does.



* * *



—

There’s an assembly during last period on drunk driving. The juniors are filing into the auditorium, and I decide to break apart from my gym class and wait by the doors for Ginny.

She lifts a hand in a small wave when she sees me, and I nod to the topmost row in the stands by the lighting booth. Usually those seats fill up the quickest during assemblies, but today both the guys and the girls are scrambling for the front rows.

The reason is on the stage: Mike Mejia is setting up a PowerPoint presentation, along with an extremely pretty officer I’ve never seen before. Tom didn’t say anything about Mike doing the assembly. It unsettles me a bit, having Mike close by, considering what I’m about to tell Ginny.

Ginny and I find two seats at the end of the highest row, skipping over one with particularly nasty-looking stains.

“My stepdad is going to a fund-raiser in Westchester Friday night,” I tell her before I even say hi. “Most of the department is gonna be there too. Except Mike. That’s Mike.”

I point to the stage. Ginny’s lips part, as if she’s having trouble processing everything I just threw at her. But I want to tell her everything before the assembly starts and the teachers tell us to shut up.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” I say. “If I can find a way to get the key to Tom’s office, I can stop by and pretend I need to talk to Mike. I’ll create some sort of diversion, and when he’s distracted, I’ll take his ID card from his reader and use it to get on the database on Tom’s office computer at home.”

“You mean steal the card? He’ll know it was you. And what if the database keeps track of who logs in? Tom could see that Mike logged in on his home computer and—”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” I say, deflating. “I got ahead of myself, I guess. Forget it.”

“I didn’t say it’s not worth trying,” Ginny says. “But you can’t steal the card. You have to get him to leave the station somehow, like an emergency, and if we’re lucky and he leaves his ID card in his computer, you can get on the database and email the files to yourself or something.”

Onstage, Mike is speaking with the woman cop, arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the girls leaning against the orchestra pit preening to get his attention.

I turn back to Ginny. “But how do I get Mike to leave for long enough?”

“You mean we. How do we get him to leave.”

The force in her voice jolts me, just like it did the other day in my kitchen. “Ginny. If I get caught, I’m screwed. There’s no use screwing both of us.”

“I’m not abandoning you now,” she says. “This is too big to pull off alone.”

I can’t think around the swell of noise in the auditorium. I want to tell her of course I need her, but there’s some sort of invisible force pulling me back. A conscience, I guess. “I can’t ask you to do this.”