“I thought Phoebe and I might go as friends,” he admitted. “And Austin’s determined to take this girl from his SAT class. He thinks he’s found his soul mate.”
“Oh, so you guys aren’t . . .” I trailed off, embarrassed.
“No, Faulkner, we’re not,” he said drily.
I shrugged, wishing Cassidy would come back and rescue us. But she didn’t.
“Um, that’s cool,” I said. “I mean, either way. If you’re going with Phoebe or if, whatever—”
“This is painful, dude,” Toby informed me. Surprisingly, he looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “I’m not gay. I mean, I think I am, but I’ll figure it out in college. You have to really know to be out in high school. And I’m hopelessly single, never been kissed, no prospects on the horizon, dating my left hand and a stack of hentai DVDs.”
“Hentai?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. “Really?”
“Major nerd points for knowing what that is, but yes.”
“Huh.” I considered this. “Good to know.”
“Well don’t worry, you’re not my type,” Toby said drily.
“I figured, if you’re into hentai.”
“Shut up about the hentai,” he begged. “I never should have mentioned that.”
We laughed, since admitting to enjoying naked Japanese anime was pretty shameful, and we both knew I was going to give him hell about that one until the end of time.
“Listen,” Toby said, taking a sip of his frappuccino, “thanks for being cool. I was a little worried.”
“Seriously?” I wondered for a moment if I gave the impression of being the sort of guy who would disown his best friend over something like that. It wasn’t a nice thought.
“Your old friends would have called me a faggot,” Toby said.
I winced. “They would not!”
“Let me clarify,” Toby said bitterly, “they would have called me a faggot again.”
He shook his head and wouldn’t tell me when it had happened, and I wanted to press him on it, but Cassidy came back from her phone call then, and Toby made her pull up a silly website featuring awkward formal photos, and we laughed so hard that the barista came over and pointedly cleared our table.
24
EVERYONE AGREED THAT dining at Fiesta Palace was a deeply ironic stroke of genius, so I made a reservation for six. Or, I called and attempted to make a reservation, only to be laughed at by the woman who answered the phone.
Austin went on and on about the girl from his SAT class who went to the arts academy and did special-effects makeup, and Phoebe and Cassidy went shopping for dresses three days in a row after school, and the whole thing became such a big production that I couldn’t tell if we were actually taking it seriously.
But then, that’s how we always were. Outwardly mocking, but never quite to the point of not wanting to participate. Of course my mom was ecstatic over my asking Cassidy to the dance. She kept asking what color Cassidy’s dress was (for all I knew, Cassidy was wearing a tuxedo and a top hat), and if we were going to the game (no), and where we were going for dinner (I lied and named the Italian place she and my father liked), and what we were doing afterward (having a Doctor Who marathon at Austin’s).
We had voting for king and queen in homeroom on Monday, Scantron sheets this time. It reminded me of the student government elections, the way you had to bubble in A for this candidate, or B for that one. I passed forward my blank ballot and tried not to think about it, about how I’d been in the hospital during class-president elections last year. Instead, I thought about Cassidy, and how she pronounced “vitamin” the British way and hated when people took too many napkins in restaurants. It was as though I was collecting memories of her; as though I knew, or suspected, what was coming.
There was a huge line at the florist’s the afternoon of the dance, and I tried to entertain myself by watching the kids who’d come with their parents standing around pretending they weren’t embarrassed. But that got boring after a while, so I jokingly texted Cassidy a picture of a hot pink lei along with the message, they said I could have this for the same price as a corsage!
You’re not serious?! she texted back immediately.
I laughed over it and let her wonder while I paid for her wrist corsage.
My phone rang as I was walking back to my car.
“Please tell me you didn’t,” Cassidy said.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Note to self: girlfriend does not want to get leid.”
“Oh, very funny.”
Tony Masters screeched into the parking lot then, the windows of his Blazer rolled down and shedding rap music. He honked his horn at me to say hey, and I only jumped a mile.
“Jesus,” I swore, half panicked even though I was still on the sidewalk.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Just this guy from school being an ass.”
“Okay,” Cassidy said. “Well, try not to die before tonight.”
“If I see a big black SUV that looks like it’s going to blow through a stop sign, I’ll hit reverse,” I promised.
“What?”
“The accident,” I told her. “Last May?”
“You never told me that part. You always just called it the accident.”
“Oh, I thought I had.” I reached into my pocket for my keys. “I was leaving this kid Jonas’s lakehouse party back when I still had my cool car, before I drove Voldemort.”
Silence, and a bit of scuffling on Cassidy’s end.
“Did I tell you I’ve decided to name the Volvo?” I pressed, wondering why she wasn’t laughing. Probably she was just impressed by the amazingly clever name I’d given my car.
“Sorry,” Cassidy said. She sounded distracted, like she was at the salon or something. “I have to go.”
“Yeah, me too. See you tonight.”
I GOT DRESSED slightly early and put some product in my hair that I never bothered with for school and stood there adjusting my tie in the mirror forever.
It wasn’t that I was nervous about taking Cassidy to a dance—I was certain we’d goof around and have a good time with our friends like we always did—but more than anything, the homecoming nomination made me feel as though I was being pushed back into a world I was happy to leave behind.
I didn’t expect to win homecoming king. It would have been flattering, but useless, since it was the kind of thing that was over the moment it began. Still, I set the alarm on my phone for the time Ms. Reed, the student government advisor, had told us nominees to head to the green room. The “green room,” as though it was someplace fancier than the little annex with the unisex handicapped toilet off the back of the gym.
I picked up my copy of The Great Gatsby while I waited for Cassidy to arrive and reread the parts about Gatsby’s parties since they seemed festive enough. I got so engrossed in the book that I failed to realize it was getting late, and it startled me when my mom knocked on the door of my room.
“Maybe you should check with Cassidy, sweetie,” Mom said worriedly. She was carrying this camera my father had bought her for Hanukkah maybe five years ago, bulky and outdated.
“Yeah, I’ll text her,” I promised, pulling out my phone. When she didn’t answer back, I called. It went to voice mail, and I didn’t much see a point in leaving a message.
But when she was a half hour late and still hadn’t returned my call, or either of my texts, I started to get worried. Mom stuck her head back into my bedroom and asked what was going on. She was all false cheer, clutching that sad old camera, and I don’t know what made me do it, but I looked down at my phone and acted like Cassidy had just texted me back.
“She’s running late,” I lied, reaching for my keys. “And it’s easier if I just pick her up. You don’t mind, right?”
The gate guard at Terrace Bluffs was used to me picking up Cassidy; he waved me through without a second glance. Some little kids had done chalk drawings in the street again, of ghosts and pumpkins. A few of the houses on Summit Terrace already had Halloween decorations up, orange lights glowing from the trees and fake cobwebs over their hedges.