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only Celeste had not said of course !
    It was that of course that was the knife in the back.
    A light turned yellow, and in her present mood she wanted to slam down the accelerator, roar through the intersection, leave a patch on the pavement, and fill the faces of bystanders with foul exhaust.
    But she drove carefully, as she had been taught. Then, like lightning filling the sky with sheets of silver, she remembered something: Celeste was too young to drive. But Althea was not.
    I have a license. And a car. Why, I’d be happy to drive Celeste home. Or to a party. Or anywhere else that Celeste might choose. Briefly, anyway. Until …
    … well …
    And of course, after that, Celeste would be too tired. It wouldn’t matter anyhow.
    You have cheerleading practice, of course, thought Althea. Celeste, my friend, I have a car, of course. And a Shuttered Room, of course. And a vampire.
    Althea turned left. Then right. She gripped the steering wheel like the compass of life. Three miles and she was back in the school parking lot.
    Beyond the buildings and the tennis courts; the football team was practicing. Boys were lined up on each side of the field, hurling themselves at one another. From that distance it was impossible to tell which heavily padded body was which.
    The school had many ells and additions. Althea circled the building, looking for cheerleading practice.
    The grass had just been mowed, and the air smelled wonderful, like hay and countryside.
    She remembered the vampire’s smell. When he did whatever he did, would Celeste notice the smell first, or would she—?
    Stop! thought Althea. Don’t think about the details.
    Around the next brick wall was a small paved courtyard, and there they were, all twelve of them.
    Mrs. Roundman, their coach, was not pleased. “Not even half trying!” she was shouting. “Not one of you! You are all so lazy! What is cheerleading—an activity for melted marshmallows? You act as if you’d run out of energy spreading peanut butter on bread! Call yourselves cheerleaders? Ha!”
    Several girls were close to tears. Several seemed merely irritated, as if they had better things to do than stand around while Mrs. Roundman had a temper tantrum. And one was amused.
    Mrs. Roundman did not miss this. “Celeste?” she bellowed. “You think this is a joke, perhaps?”
    “No,” said Celeste, trying to smother her laugh. “Of course not, Mrs. Roundman.”
    Althea caught Celeste’s eye and giggled.
    Celeste giggled back like a coconspirator.
    Or a friend.
    I should give her another chance, Althea thought. We could be good friends, I know we could, I can tell by the way she’s sharing that giggle with me.
    “One more chance,” said Mrs. Roundman grimly to her squad. “I said every leg is to reach the same height on the kick, and that’s what I meant.”
    Quite a few other people were watching practice. Two squad members’ boyfriends were leaning against a brick wall, playing cards. A boy Althea did not know was doing his chemistry. His glasses had slid down his nose, and he looked sweet and childish. Three ninth-grade girls looked at their favorite cheerleaders with open adoration. A little knot of kids was sharing a single soda and monitoring one another’s swallows.
    She would have liked to join the card game. Help with the chemistry. Sip the soda. Even join the ninth-graders.
    But after the first brief glance her way, nobody looked at Althea again.
    The cheerleaders worked hard. Kimmie-Jo had the most style, and Celeste was the most beautiful, but Becky gave off an air of joyful celebration. While the other girls were breathless from exertion, Becky seemed breathless from love of cheerleading.
    Finally Mrs. Roundman ended practice and stalked off. Althea did not know what she could be grumpy about. In Althea’s eyes, the squad was perfect.
    Celeste, out of breath and pink-cheeked, dropped to the ground next to Althea. “She’s a bear,” confided Celeste.
    This is what