Success meant the heady exhilaration of cheering on the polished gym floor, the yells seeming to swing the bright hot gym up and out into the night. And so her want was intensified.
When you write a novel about cheerleaders, even a dark crime novel, two things happen: People ask you if you were ever a cheerleader (I was not) and they confide strong feelings about cheerleaders, whether it’s their own experience of failing to make the high school squad, or the ponytailed captain who broke their heart a decade ago or more. And sometimes they give you books.
Such was how I discovered Ruth Doan MacDougall’s 1973 [...]