“You’re beautiful,” Foster said, and I couldn’t believe my ears. Was this my cousin? Was this Foster flirting? As in, flirting?
She eyed him for a moment and then, as she tossed the book on the floor, said, “I’m not having sex with you.”
“I don’t want to.” Foster looked taken aback. “I mean, I want to … eventually … with somebody. And it could be you, if you wanted. But not right now. Or even, you know, like, a while from now.”
Marabelle smiled. “Just checking.”
Silence.
“You want to play a game?” Foster said, finally.
“What kind of game?”
“Zip Lip. You zip your lips up. First person to talk loses.”
“What do we do while we’re sitting here not talking?”
“Whatever we want.”
Marabelle’s eyes shone. “Okay.”
Foster zipped his lips shut. Marabelle did the same. They looked at each other for a moment. And then they kissed.
I stepped away from the door. It was a private moment, but it was also a shock to me. I had never thought of Foster as having … well, sexuality. He talked about liking Marabelle, and there was the girlfriend he said he “made out and everything” with back home, but talk was one thing. He just seemed so young, I had never thought of him as wanting to kiss someone or wanting to be with someone.
“Just to be clear,” Foster said when they broke apart, “that’s not how Zip Lip is usually played.”
Marabelle grinned. “I win.”
18
You’d think I’d be happy that night at the party because Lindsay never showed up, and Cas got stuck talking to Gracie Holtzer and her entourage for the duration. I should’ve been happy because the party was a big success. But instead, something in me felt like a slightly flattened football in the bottom of the bag at gym class. A little forlorn. A little dejected.
It may have had something to do with the fact that Foster kissed someone at that party, whereas I—three years older and I’d like to think a little more socially adept—had never kissed anyone. Ever. I hadn’t even been on a date since Kyle Morris and I went to the movies in eighth grade. And as scandalous as holding hands during a PG-13 movie felt at the time, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count as a real date if your mom has to drop you off at the food court.
But the party was really the last hurdle before the Reeding trip, and that was enough to pull me out of any little, temporary gloom. We were supposed to meet at school bright and early on Thursday morning that next week, overnight bags packed, ready to pile into Mrs. Wentworth’s nine-seater van.
I wouldn’t say I got stuck sitting in the front with Mrs. Wentworth for the drive. But I got stuck sitting in the front with Mrs. Wentworth for the drive. Figures. I guess I was the only one actually interested in Reeding anyway.
Except for Lindsay, it seemed. She sat right behind us, between Ezra and Cas, and kept poking her head into the front seat with little tidbits of information, such as South Carolina’s state flower or the percentage of students at Reeding who go on to grad school.
When Lindsay wasn’t acting as a veritable Reeding guidebook, she was talking to Cas. Although it might be classified as masochistic, I couldn’t help but watch them out of the corner of my eye.
Ezra was listening to music, but every so often Lindsay would pull one of his earbuds out and include him in the conversation. He’d respond to her in a friendly enough fashion, but whenever Cas jumped back in, the faintest flicker of something distinctly resembling dislike would flash across his face.