Page 39 of The Cheerleader

He sighs deeply and slides his gaze to mine for a bare fraction as if to confirm it’s me who’s daring to disturb him.

“Why?”

I’m startled by his question. “Because you’re a senior, so I figured you’d already have taken this class⁠—”

“I did already take it.” He’s staring at me now with the kind of expression that makes me wish he’d go back to ignoring me.

“But that makes no—” Shit. I suddenly realize what he’s saying.

“I failed it the first time.” He gives me a snarly smirk, like he’s satisfied that he’s shocked and embarrassed me.

I don’t know what to say. It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable joking about. Not that I feel comfortable joking with Bryan Granger under any circumstances. My cheeks heat up, and it’s my turn to look away, luckily saved from further embarrassment when the professor walks in and introduces herself.

“Welcome to the fall semester, students. This is English Comp 101, and I’m Professor Yardly. Since you’ve all seen the syllabus kindly distributed by my TA, let’s dive into discussing your first assignment.”

Shit. I missed the syllabus. Professor Yardly surveys the class like she’s looking for a victim. I’m too embarrassed to raise my hand to ask for a copy. Leaning over slightly, I try to peek at Bryan’s syllabus to see what I’m missing.

I had trouble sleeping last night—or rather, my sleep was disturbed. It was the same dream where I’m being chased by that boy in the ditch, and I’m scared and thrilled at the same time, slowing down and facing him at the last minute when he grows into a giant, and then just before my heart is about to explode, I wake up. In a state, with my heart palpitating like mad and perspiration filming my skin.

She calls on someone up front, and I’m relieved as I focus and start taking notes.

Bryan slides his syllabus seamlessly from his desktop to mine, covering my notes. He doesn’t turn his attention away from Professor Yardly, and my mouth twitches, but I hold in my smile as I note the highlights on the syllabus.

When I’m finished copying what I need for the week, I slide the sheet back to him and whisper, “Thank you.”

“I look forward to reading your first essay on the educational value of campus social life and what part it plays in the totality of your college education. It’s due next Monday at the beginning of class with no exceptions. You will be handing in a paper of some kind every Monday of the semester other than midterm exam week.”

She surveys the room. “Can you tell me what type of paper this will be?”

Someone shouts that it’s an essay.

“What type of essay?”

“Persuasive?”

She points to someone else, and I don’t hear their response, but she frowns and looks around the room again, her eyes reaching us in the back row.

“Mr. Granger, tell us all what type of essay this is.” Her tone has a taunting quality to it, as if she’s baiting him about the fact that he’s taken this class before. All eyes turn to him, including mine, but he doesn’t move his stare from Yardly.

“Personal essay.” His voice overpowers the room, not because it’s loud, though it carries like he’s had training as an opera singer, but because it’s firm and unapologetic and sounds like the opening salvo of a war.

She nods and then claps her hands to get the students’ attention back on her. She spends the rest of the class telling us about the elements of a personal essay and reads excerpts from a few.

“Aren’t you going to take notes?” I ask Bryan because, as he listens to her attentively, he’s flipping his pen back and forth in his fingers like he’s a magician about to do a trick.

“No.” He doesn’t look at me.

Professor Yardly finally concludes her lecture by telling us we should be prepared to do some writing in our next class on Wednesday and then dismisses us.

We stand ready to file out with everyone else when Professor Yardly calls out Bryan’s name. We both look up.

“I’d like a word with you.” She stands there waiting, expecting him to come to the front of the class. He waits until the rest of the students are gone, gathers up his single notebook with the syllabus slipped inside, shoves the pencil into the back pocket of his jeans, and stalks toward her like a tiger hunting down prey.

I wait for him, hovering at the back of the classroom. They talk quiet enough so I can’t hear them for a couple of minutes, and then the professor looks past Bryan and sees me. She beckons me forward.

“You’re a friend of Mr. Granger?”

I dart a glance at him, but his unreadable face is no help, so I nod. It’s not a lie when you nod. Besides, maybe we are kind of becoming friends.