The look she gives me suggests the combination of my words and expression are every bit as predictable (with the same edge of disappointment) to her as her room initially was to me. “You know we have the exact same weight-training class as you, right? Same frequency, too?”

I didn’t actually know that, but I’ve definitely noticed the cheerleaders are in killer shape. “Amber, you lift humans and throw them in the air. And nobody watches you more closely when you do it than I do. I promise, I know you’re not just a girl jumping around in a short skirt. Although I do very much like the short skirt.”

When her eyes narrow, I wish I could take back the joke at the end, erase any doubt that I see her as first and foremost a peppy pair of legs. “I love cheerleading,” she says evenly. “My entire family is basically my mom, who works nights half the time, and still, I’m never lonely because I have an entire squad full of sisters. I practically lived at Cara’s growing up. Ella and Virany’s family took me on vacation with them to Disney when we were kids and I was the only kid on the squad who’d never been. And I get to be athletic and make people happy and have fun with my friends and show off amazing skills, and I’m good at it. Cheerleading was my choice. It will always be my choice.”

Then she presses her lips shut, and I know there’s more she’s not saying. “What?” I nudge, trying to keep my voice gentle.

She huffs out a breath. “Cheerleading is also something I need. I need something that makes me stand out. I need something that makes people give a shit about me, because let’s face it, half my DNA-givers sure don’t. And I need something to put on my college applications so I can get the hell out of here. It’s so much pressure, and I’m not sure you get how hard it is for me and what it means that I’m risking it on you.”