The Cheerleaders(65)

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?”