We Know It Was You Read online

  He shouldn’t take advantage of her like that, Virginia thought. Maybe they were trying some post-breakup friends-with-benefits thing, but who did Zaire think she was kidding? Herself? She obviously still liked him, and if she kept throwing herself at him, she’d just drag the whole thing out. Maybe if she’d been the one to dump him instead of the other way around, they could still hook up without it being a disaster. But everyone knew Zaire had pressured him into the relationship in the first place.

  They flopped over Gottfried’s bed and were rolling around in the tangled sheets. Gottfried’s hands pawed Zaire’s smooth body, and Virginia could hear their soft moans. She held her breath, feeling weirdly transfixed. Gottfried was such a weirdo and a goofball, but all of a sudden he seemed brutally sexy. Maybe even the biggest goober in the world would seem sexy if you stuck a naked, shimmering, big-boobed girl on top of him, Virginia decided.

  Zaire squirmed beneath Gottfried to wrap her legs around him, and in doing so, they rolled out of Virginia’s view. She craned her neck a little but couldn’t see them without stepping perilously close to the light and possibly exposing herself. She knew she’d better leave and was embarrassed to realize that if her view hadn’t been blocked, she probably would have stood there endlessly like a peeping blob, watching until they’d moved way past making out. It made her shudder, realizing how easy it was to become a pervert if you didn’t stop yourself in time.

  Friday

  Backstage of the assembly hall, 11:30 a.m.

  A huge neon-pink banner hung above the stage: GATORADE PRESENTS: HONORING OUR CHEERLEADERS, A DAY OF SPIRIT AND GRATITUDE.

  Backstage, Gerard did a few lunges to warm up. Then he flexed his biceps and checked them out for the hundredth time. Not bad! he thought, nodding to himself. The thing people didn’t realize about Gerard was that he actually had a pretty great body. Maybe he wasn’t as ripped as some of the guys at Winship, but he was lean and toned and had nice arm muscles from lugging fifty-pound water jugs all the time. Unfortunately, the only person who ever noticed was his mother, who always squealed, “Don’t crush your poor mama with those big manly muscles!” whenever they hugged.

  But today everyone was going to notice. Gerard was wearing a skintight black shirt with the buttons undone halfway down his chest and a pair of equally tight black high-waisted jeans. His hair had been carefully disheveled and then glued in place with his dad’s pomade. The look verged on being seriously queer, Gerard knew, but he was confident he had the masculine prowess to pull it off. And besides, it was for Brittany. He’d have dressed like a clown or a transvestite or Curious George if he thought it would impress her.

  Gerard was proud to say he knew Brittany’s favorite movie, which was Dirty Dancing. He felt this knowledge was very intimate, and wasn’t aware that it was true for half the girls in America. Nor was he aware that Brittany had about five hundred “favorite” movies, which changed depending on whatever movie anyone happened to be talking about at the time. “That’s my favorite movie!” she gushed indiscriminately. But Gerard had seized upon this nugget of Dirty Dancing, and in his mind Brittany’s love for it had ballooned into obsession. Brittany was obsessed with Dirty Dancing! Patrick Swayze was her god!

  Which was why he was standing backstage in an uncomfortably tight Patrick Swayze outfit, preparing to perform a feverishly practiced solo dance to “The Time of My Life” in front of the whole school. It was all in honor of Brittany Montague, the unfallen mascot of beauty and innocence and joy.

  Gerard knew he had to do something dramatic to erase the image in everyone’s minds of him being hauled away in handcuffs, all because that Detective Douche Bag was a power-tripping asshole. Just remembering it filled Gerard with fresh humiliation. Everyone probably thought he had something to do with Mr. Choi’s perverted demise now, when really he’d just been defending the cheerleaders’ honor. “Hot little numbers” that macho dickhead detective had called them. Hot little numbers! Gerard had wanted to punch his big, smug chin, and had in fact tried to but just ended up getting himself thrown in jail for five hours. Which, besides being a total indignity, showed that this detective had no idea what the fuck he was doing. Arresting Gerard? Gerard, lover and respecter of all cheerleaders? Organizer of the protest against perverts? Devoted provider of strawberry-kiwi Gatorade? It was like the police department had especially chosen their biggest moron to put on the case.

  Let it go, Gerard told himself, taking a deep breath to clear his head. He bounced on his toes to loosen up, and then admired his biceps again. Today wasn’t about stupid detectives or perverted, dead band teachers. It was about Brittany. It was about joy and spirit and honor. It was about having the time of their lives.

  The assembly hall, noon

  The cheerleaders scurried around the assembly hall, happily passing out ice-cold bottles of strawberry-kiwi Gatorade to anyone who wanted one. Everyone was talking excitedly as they filled the hall, the pink bottles popping brightly against the blue of the cheerleaders’ uniforms. The “Cheerleader Survival” story had made national news, and Gatorade had donated a thousand bottles of Brittany’s favorite flavor to the school, plus a ton of money to restore the old bridge and build safer rails. It was easier to fix the bridge than to fix the real problem, which was that sexual predators looked the same as everyone else and hid in plain sight.

  Benny and Virginia sat in the front row. Benny was looking at his Gatorade, deciding whether to open it. He disliked commercialism, but a free drink was a free drink. Virginia was already gulping hers down, like someone might steal it if she didn’t drink it immediately. She swallowed loudly and said, “Hey, guess what? I solved the mystery of the ghost.”

  “What ghost?” Benny said.

  “The Boarders ghost. I told you it wasn’t the wind. It’s Zaire Bollo blowing on a Coke bottle. I think she and Gottfried have, like, a sex ritual they do.”

  Benny looked at her. Was the Coke bottle related to the sex ritual, or was she just making a random comment? Virginia knew so much crap about everybody and lacked the ability to discern what was relevant.

  “So the next time I say I have a mystery, will you believe me?”

  “Sure,” Benny said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

  The lights dimmed, and everyone clapped excitedly. Benny’s clapping was spiritless and mechanical. You knew what to expect at these things—a succession of inane skits full of inside jokes that only the cheerleaders and jocks could appreciate or understand. Then, invariably, an act where the football players dressed up like cheerleaders and performed an inept dance routine, which the cheerleaders would find hilarious despite the fact that the guys were making a mockery of their sport.

  “Welcome to this year’s spirit show!” the principal boomed into the microphone. “We need spirit now more than ever. So without further ado, let’s get started with a Wildcat roar!”

  The crowd erupted in a mighty roar that filled the hall and made Benny want to cover his ears. School spirit was a mystery to him. The idea was that because they had all been randomly born, and then, due to circumstances beyond their control, happened to attend a particular school, they were better than everyone else?

  “Our first act has requested the presence of our cheer captains, Angie and Corny, and of course our favorite Wildcat, Brittany!” The principal gestured to three chairs that had been arranged on the otherwise empty stage. The crowd murmured as Angie, Corny, and Brittany stood up and alighted upon the stage, looking at one another with smiles and shrugs, pretending to be surprised. Who, us?

  Then the lights dimmed even further. There was a crackle as the sound system turned on. Then, way too loud:

  “NOW I’VE . . . HAD . . . THE TIME OF MY LIIIIIIFE . . .”

  Everyone was groaning and covering their ears, even Corny, Brittany, and Angie.

  A black-clad figure leaped passionately onto the stage. He landed in front of the girls with a graceless thump.

  “Oh my God,” Virginia yelled over the song.
“Is that Gerard?”

  “Turn it down!” someone was screaming. “Turn it down!”

  The song abruptly stopped. Gerard whirled around, looking confused. The girls looked at one another, obviously trying not to laugh.

  “Now I’ve . . . had . . . the time of my liiiiiife . . .” The song began again, this time at a normal volume. Gerard raced backstage and then leaped out again, trying to re-create his entrance.

  Virginia covered her face with her hands. She was laughing hysterically. Benny wished he could laugh, but all he could do was sit there grimacing as Gerard danced earnestly across the stage. His moves weren’t even bad—they were obviously carefully choreographed and executed with an impressive degree of coordination. But the whole thing was just . . . painful.

  Corny, Brittany, and Angie were avoiding one another’s eyes, obviously afraid they’d burst out laughing if they looked at one another. There seemed to be an understanding among the cheerleaders, Benny had long observed, that Gerard was to be patiently humored and never made to feel bad about himself for being a dopey water boy and not a football star. But this was beyond dopey. This was beyond Gerard embarrassing himself; he was embarrassing the girls now too. Benny could see it in their strained, frozen smiles. Occasionally Gerard would dance at them, making intense eye contact and gesturing wildly.

  Some people love watching other people make fools of themselves. Virginia was like that. She was having the time of her life watching Gerard leap about like an idiot in front of the whole school. But Benny couldn’t bear it—he lacked the ability to separate himself from the embarrassment of others. He was embarrassed for Gerard, and he felt it as acutely as if it were happening to himself.

  “I’ve . . . had . . . the time of my liiiiiife!” It felt like the song would never end.

  Then there was a small commotion, and someone tumbled onto the stage. It was Trevor Cheek, half-dressed. His pants were falling off, and he was waving his tie over his head like a lasso. Before anyone knew what was happening, he had plunked himself down on Brittany’s lap.

  Gerard was so engrossed in his choreography, he didn’t even notice. He continued snapping his fingers and doing spins, while behind him Trevor Cheek began giving Brittany a full-on lap dance. Trevor was wiggling his butt in her face and rubbing his rock-hard abs and smooth pectoral muscles. Angie and Corny looked at Brittany, as if for a cue. Was this funny, or appalling?

  Finally Brittany burst out laughing, like she couldn’t contain it another second. Angie and Corny copied her, and the crowd copied them, and soon the whole assembly hall was laughing uproariously. A grin spread across Gerard’s face. He began dancing with even more intensity, clearly thinking the laughs were for him and that his audience was captivated.

  Behind him, Trevor got up and removed his pants. He was now wearing nothing but tighty-whities, and from his seat in the front row Benny could make out the entire shape of his genitalia. Trevor switched from Brittany to Corny, who covered her eyes in mock horror as Trevor gyrated his crotch in her face.

  Then, midspin, Gerard realized what was happening. In about a millisecond his expression went from buoyant to confused to utterly furious. Benny had never seen someone’s face contort so dramatically so quickly. His cheeks turned instantly red, and the veins of his throat bulged.

  “Get off! GET OFF!” he screamed at Trevor over the music.

  Trevor wagged his crotch even faster and shouted back, “I’m trying, dude! I’m trying!”

  Angie and Brittany were laughing so hard tears were streaming down their cheeks. Corny was leaning her face away from Trevor’s crotch, laughing and giving the audience a look like, Is this guy crazy or what?

  “I’ve . . . had . . . the time of my liiiiiife!”

  Finally the principal climbed onto the stage and shooed Trevor away, throwing his pants after him. Everyone cheered, though whether it was for the principal or for Trevor was unclear.

  “I’ve . . . had . . . the time of my li—” The music cut off abruptly, and then it was the principal, three hysterical cheerleaders, and a furious Gerard left onstage. Gerard threw Brittany the most woeful, bitter look Benny had ever seen. He almost expected to hear Gerard shout, You betrayed me! But instead Gerard just stomped from the stage.

  “Aw, Gerard, we’re sorry!” Corny called after him. But then she looked at Brittany and Angie, and all three dissolved into giggles again.

  “All right, all right, let’s get back to the program,” the principal said. “I’ll see you in my office, Trevor.”

  Everyone cheered loudly again. Even Virginia was cheering. Benny looked at her, feeling annoyed but also slightly envious. In a way, it must be nice to get swept up in things, to take a break from observing and assessing and actually participate in the moment. It was the difference between Being There and really just being there.

  12:35 p.m.

  It was about twenty minutes and three skits later before everyone fully calmed down. And occasionally someone would start giggling again, and you’d know they were thinking about Gerard’s impotent rage and Trevor thrusting his tighty-whities in Corny’s face, which would set off another round of snickering all around. Virginia had to take deep breaths continuously to keep from laughing every five seconds. Trevor was a disgusting idiot, of course, but it was still the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of high school.

  “Our next act will also require some cheerleader volunteers,” the principal was saying into the microphone. “About ten, you say?”

  Zaire Bollo appeared onstage next to him.

  “Let’s get the whole squad up here,” she said. “I promise I won’t give you a lap dance! Unless it’s a special request.”

  People barely laughed. Zaire could be clever, but she didn’t have a reputation for being a jokester. She wasn’t like Penelope Blailock, who could say the dumbest thing, and people would laugh hysterically because she was the established class clown since sixth grade. Reputations were carved in stone—Virginia knew this better than anyone. And Zaire’s reputation wasn’t for being funny; it was for being stuck-up and snotty and caring too much about grades. Zaire could say the funniest joke in the world, and people would just stare at her like she wasn’t speaking English.

  The cheerleaders filed onto the stage, smiling and giving one another little shrugs like, Go with the flow, I guess. Zaire wasn’t one of “their” people. In fact, she was probably the last person you’d expect to find doing a skit for the spirit show, except for maybe Benny or that little goth ninth grader everyone made fun of.

  Benny gave Virginia a look, like, What’s Zaire up to? The look gave Virginia an unexpected feeling of pride. Benny was usually so closed-off and never said what he was thinking unless she specifically asked him. And here he was, giving her looks! Communicating with her, totally unbidden!

  “Let’s do a little experiment,” Zaire was saying softly into the microphone. “Let’s channel our Wildcat energy. Let’s bring all our Wildcat energy together into a ball as big and bright as the sun. Bring your energy together. Relax and let your energy out. . . . Breath in, and out. In . . . and out . . .”

  The cheerleaders looked at one another, as if consulting their hive mind to determine whether they were going to do this or not.

  “Breathe with me,” Zaire said firmly but gently. “Brittany, close your eyes and breathe. In . . . out . . .”

  Everyone looked at Brittany to see if she would do it. Brittany narrowed her bright eyes at Zaire with a hint of suspicion, then she closed them. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed in and out. Within seconds all the other girls had followed. The audience was silent. There was a chill in the air, Virginia felt. And an itchiness on the part of the football players to go save their women from whatever creepy New Age thing Zaire was doing to them.

  “Feel that energy seeping out of you, that Wildcat energy. Breathe in and out. . . . You’re so relaxed. All that Wildcat energy is in a ball above our heads, and you’re safe and relaxed and you want to go to sl
eep.”

  Virginia watched as some of the cheerleaders started swaying a bit, their heads lolling.

  “When I count to five, go ahead and lie down. Lie down and take a nap. Don’t worry if you touch someone. Just go to sleep like a heap of kittens. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.”

  Instantly the entire squad dropped to the floor in a pile of blue-and-white skirts and flowing hair. In the audience, everyone started murmuring.

  “Are they faking?” Virginia whispered to Benny. But Benny didn’t answer. He was staring at Zaire, looking completely rapt.

  “Sshhhhh . . . ,” Zaire whispered into the microphone. “They’re sleeping.”

  Something about Zaire’s voice made Virginia shiver. She felt goose bumps go down her arms.

  “Now, when you wake up, you won’t be cheerleaders anymore. You’ll be witches. You’ll be evil witches from hell. When I count to five, you’ll wake up and stand up, and you won’t be cheerleaders anymore. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.”

  Instantly all the girls opened their eyes and got to their feet. Virginia searched their faces. They looked strange. None of them were smiling.

  “Can I talk to you, Angie?” Zaire asked, beckoning her with a finger. “I want to ask you a question.”

  Angie came forward. Her face was mean and blank.

  “Angie, what’s your favorite after-school activity?” Zaire asked.

  “Eating rats,” Angie said. It might have been funny, but her voice was so cold and rough. Nobody laughed.

  “Interesting,” Zaire said. “And if someone makes you mad, what do you do about it?”

  “I put a curse on them until they die.”

  Someone behind Virginia whispered, “She’s faking. She’s so faking.”

  Zaire said into the microphone, “Thanks, Angie. Can I talk to Brittany now?”