The Cheerleaders(9)

“We were just talking about the seniors,” Rachel says in a voice that suggests they totally were not talking about the seniors. “Coach didn’t pick captains yet.”

“Isn’t it going to be the Kelseys?”

“That’s the thing,” Alexa says. “They showed up late for the meeting yesterday because they went to Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“I didn’t show up to the meeting at all,” I say.

Alexa’s expression darkens. “Well, you had an excuse. You were sick.”

“Who else made it?” I ask, eager to shunt aside thoughts of what Coach will do to punish me for missing the meeting.

Alexa takes a noisy pull from the dregs of her iced tea. “Everyone from last year, plus these two freshmen.”

“And that girl Ginny or whatever her name is,” Rachel says. “The one in our grade.”

Obviously Rachel knows exactly who Ginny Cordero is—our class only has two hundred kids, so it’s virtually impossible to go ten years without learning everyone’s name. But we pretend we don’t know, because it makes us feel important.

“Her,” Alexa says.

I look over at the lunch line. Ginny Cordero is buying a Snapple. She keeps her eyes down as she takes her change from the lunch lady and tries to slip out of the cafeteria. Joe Gabriel, Kelsey’s twin brother, stumbles back to catch a Nerf football and nearly knocks Ginny over.

Ginny Cordero isn’t a loser or anything. People just don’t think about her much at all. She’s pretty in that untouched way—pale skin dotted with freckles, sun-streaked strawberry-blond hair she never cuts.

Sometimes I think about her.

When Jen was thirteen, she wasn’t in high school or on cheerleading yet, so she was still taking tumbling classes at Jessie’s Gym three nights a week. Whenever Tom had to work late, my brother and I had to ride along in the car with Mom when she went to pick Jen up.

Jen was always talking about how annoyed Jessie would get with Ginny Cordero’s mother, who was always late picking her up. Class ended at 7:00 p.m., and sometimes Ginny’s mom didn’t show up until 7:40, and Jessie would have to wait until she did to close the gym.

One night, my mother pulled into the parking lot, and Jen wasn’t waiting outside with the other girls. Petey was next to me in the backseat, straining in his car seat, fussy because it was approaching his bedtime.

Through the gym’s front window, I spotted my sister sitting next to Ginny in the waiting area. She refused to come outside until Ginny’s mother arrived at twenty after seven.

Now Ginny’s eyes connect with mine for a moment before she slips out of the cafeteria.

I wonder if she remembers that night—if it’s why she’s always avoiding looking me in the face.

“She was really good,” Rachel says. I don’t even remember seeing Ginny at tryouts on Monday.

“You’re really good,” I say. But I can tell she’s thinking about that triple pirouette—her Achilles’ heel.

When Alexa stands, announcing that she’s buying a cookie, Rachel turns to me, her voice low. “Why did you get called to guidance?”

“Coughlin wants me to help with a memorial for the cheerleaders.”

“She asked me too,” Rachel says. “After health yesterday.”

Bethany Steiger was Rachel’s cousin. Rach hated her; Bethany only ever wanted to hang out with Rachel’s older sister Sarah, and she would make fun of the gap between Rachel’s front teeth.

I look down at the PB&J I’ve barely touched. I tear off a piece of the crust. “Did you say you’d help?”

“I couldn’t say no. She put me on the spot.” Rachel eyes me. “Are you going to do it?”

I don’t answer. Part of me itches to tell Rach about the letters, just like I wanted to tell her about Brandon this summer. She and I tell each other everything; two summers ago, when Matt told me he loved me for the first time, under the porch light of my old house, I called Rachel immediately, even though it was almost midnight. I’m the only one of our friends who knows that her parents were separated for a year when we were kids and that she doesn’t remember losing her virginity to a senior on the soccer team last year at one of Kelsey Gabriel’s parties. She made me swear I’d never tell, and I know she’d do the same for me.

But when I think about telling her why I was in Tom’s desk, and what I found there and what I read online last night, something in me screams not to. And I don’t know why.

“Monica.” Rach waves a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear me? Are you going to help with the memorial?”

“I don’t know.” After a moment, I say, “Do you ever wonder if we know everything about what happened that year they all died?”

Rachel gapes at me. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” I pick up my sandwich. “Never mind.”

“No, seriously. Tell me what you mean.”

“It’s like…the accident, and the murders…” I have to swallow. “And Jen. Sometimes it feels like they’re all dots that no one ever tried to connect.”

Rachel almost looks scared. “Monica, what are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Forget it, okay?” I grab my empty water bottle and stand, aware that she’s staring at me the entire walk to the recycling bin across the cafeteria.