Dianne H Difrisco

Rafe, The Boy Who Cried Wolf Dianne H Difrisco

There's something that happens to cheerleaders as they advance in their careers. They begin to walk at right angles and clap at random. They slap their thighs with flat hands and break into a cheer on any occasion, stopping only to load their phones with selfies and videos. It didn't take long for Magda to fall in; she cartwheeled in even the tiniest spaces, like a small porch or a piece of sidewalk for instance. As Magda drifted away from my non-cheerleader world, her brother Rafe and I became friends. Our inadvertent adventure, of murder, headlines, and attraction, delivered more "fired up" excitement then any cheer by the same name could produce.