The Cheerleaders(75)

I’m pretty sure that Kelsey Gabriel doesn’t think about me much at all, but the nervous blush in Jimmy’s cheeks makes a smile tug the corner of my mouth. The urge to flirt with him takes me by surprise. “Is that your way of indirectly saying you hope I’ll come to Kelsey’s?”

“Yes.” Jimmy grins. “Yes, it is.”

More cross-country guys pour out of the locker room, and Jimmy is swept up into a group of them asking him for a ride home. He meets my eyes over their heads—he towers over most of them—and smiles again.

My giddiness evaporates when I spot Brandon watching us. He looks away, palming the door frame to the men’s athletic office, talking to someone inside. He’s trying hard to angle away from me, suggesting he heard everything Jimmy and I said to each other.

My stomach does that suction-cup thing it does whenever Brandon is around. I think about last Tuesday in his Jeep, the tug of his fingers through my hair. Tamp down the image, because the thought of Jimmy knowing what we did makes me feel ill.

I don’t feel like setting my life on fire anymore. I want to fast-forward to the part where I look at Brandon and don’t feel anything at all.

Alexa’s voice echoes from the locker room into the hall; she and Rachel wander out, fanning their armpits. Like a hawk, Alexa zeroes in on me. “Why are you blushing?”

“Because we just finished a ridiculous practice,” I say.

“No, that’s a flirting blush.” Alexa looks down the hallway, past Brandon, whose back is turned to me. When she spots Jimmy Varney and his friends, she pokes me in the shoulder.

“Stop,” I say, “seriously.”

Rachel slides the elastic from her ponytail, letting her hair spill over her shoulders. “Monica, he’s been in love with you for, like, ever.”

I’m about to tell them both to shut the hell up when my tote bag buzzes at my hip. I dig out my phone. There’s a text from a number that’s not in my contacts.

Allie Lewandowski replied to my message.





It’s a little after five now; I fire off a response to Allie.





I chew a fingernail absently, keeping my eyes on my phone as Rach, Alexa, and I head outside the gym doors.





I look up at Rachel. “Hey, do you think you could drop me off in town on the way home?”



* * *



—

Earth Lily Café is two blocks away. I step into the library vestibule for show, keeping an eye on the window overlooking the street. When Rach’s car disappears from view, I zip my North Face up to my chin and head for the café.

Earth Lily opened a year ago, but I’ve never been. Tom once called the food hippie shit during one of his rants about how Sunnybrook will eventually be taken over by young, crunchy types like in Millerton.

I don’t want to take up a table without buying anything, so I order the only thing on the menu I recognize—a cappuccino. I order it decaf and when it’s ready I grab an open seat in the corner of the room, in a velvet armchair. It’s twenty after six, and Allie isn’t here.

“Monica?”

Allie Lewandowski is wearing a black off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. Her hair is twisted in an elegant bun at the top of her head. “I’m so sorry. Parking is awful around here.”

“It’s okay.” I wedge my hands between my knees, realizing they’re trembling. “Thanks for coming. I know you probably have better things to do.”

“No, don’t be silly. I’m going to grab a drink and then we can chat?”

I nod. I keep my fingers wrapped around my mug to warm them, trying not to stare at Allie as she orders at the counter. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. When she returns, she plops in the armchair across from me. Shoots me a warm smile.

“What do you teach?” I ask.

“Pilates at Barre-ing It All.” Allie gives a small smile. “It’s not a dream job, but I’m getting my master’s degree full-time. What do you want to major in?”

My mind goes blank. My sister was the one who was always so sure about what she wanted to be, while I gave a different answer every year. A ballerina. A teacher. A magazine editor. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe psychology.”

Allie’s eyes brighten. “That’s what I majored in! I’m in school to be a social worker.”

“That’s awesome,” I say. “Really awesome.”

Allie pulls her straw up to her lips and sneaks a glance at her phone. I’m making this totally awkward, and she’s looking for an excuse to bail.

“Sorry I’m being weird,” I blurt. “It’s just that my sister also wanted to be a social worker. Or a veterinarian.”

“Oh.” Allie’s eyes soften as she twirls her straw through her iced latte. “Jen was such a good kid. She would have been really good at both of those things.”

“She talked about you a lot,” I say. It’s a lie, and it’s a shitty one. All Allie has to do is ask what Jen said about her and I’m done. Once my sister started high school she never talked to me about Allie or about cheerleading or anything, really.

“You must really miss her.” Allie tilts her head, giving me an encouraging look. There’s sympathy in her expression, but no pity. She’s going to make a good social worker.