“And then,” Foster said in the car after practice, “we ran the fake-out play. I go in, so the other team thinks, like, we’re going to go for a three-pointer, you know? But then we don’t! Instead of putting it down for me, they pitch it out to Ezra and Ezra runs it and it’s, like, touchdown!”
We had gone to the McDonald’s drive-through and were now parked in the lot of the neighboring combination Taco Bell/Pizza Hut. Parking sort of defeated the purpose of hitting the drive-through, but I wanted one of those vanilla swirl ice-cream cones, and they were hard to eat while driving.
“And what are you supposed to be doing while all that’s going on?” I asked, and then caught a lone dribbler running down the side of my cone.
“Trying not to get crushed. That’s what Ezra said.”
“That’s good advice.”
Foster looked over at me knowingly. “He asked you. To Homecoming.”
“He did.”
“And you said yes.”
“I did.” I smiled a little. “So?”
“So … cool. Right?”
“Right.”
“I got a date, too,” Foster said, and then crammed a handful of fries into his mouth.
“Oh yeah? Who?”
He chewed and then said thickly, “Gwin Holtzer.”
“Gwin Holtzer?” I repeated. “Don’t you mean Gracie?”
“I mean Gwin. Gracie’s older sister.”
“Older sister? How old?”
“She’s a sophomore.”
“Geez, this is a big deal. You skipped a whole class of Holtzer. You must be a hot commodity.”
Foster didn’t speak. When I glanced over at him, his eyes were fixed on the window, his brow furrowed.
“What about Marabelle?” I said after a pause.
“Oh, she’s not going.” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but that made him sound even more … chalant.
“So … Gwin it is.”
“Gwin it is.”
Apparently, Homecoming was on a lot of people’s minds. Cas followed me in the cafeteria line the next day, grabbed a tray and a carton of milk, and said, “So what color’s your dress?”
“I haven’t gotten it yet.”
“Well, let me know when you do. We don’t want to clash.”
It took me a moment. “We?”
“You and me. Who else?” Cas grabbed two side salads and put them on each of our trays. “Move down, you’re holding up the line.”
I slid my tray down toward the entrees. “I … I thought you were going to ask Lindsay.”
“Why would I do that? I always go with you.”
“I know, but—” I had told Lindsay I would sound him out. So I forged ahead. “I was supposed to—she wants to go with you. She told me. And anyway, I sort of…”
“Sort of what?” His smile widened. “Don’t tell me you already have a date.”
It was the way he said that word. Date. The hint of incredulity. Like the idea of me having a date was absurd.
“Yeah, actually. I do.”
“Who?”
“Ezra.”
The smile vanished. “Ezra?”
I had reached the cashier. I handed her a five and avoided Cas’s eyes.
“Uh-huh. He asked me.”
Cas recovered that easy smile, but I could tell he was troubled by the prospect as he paid. “So, what, are you guys, like, dating now or something?”
I shrugged. I didn’t really know if a Homecoming date meant the possibility of another date. But something about that look on Cas’s face, uncertainty tempered by that cocky smugness, made me want to tell all kinds of lies about me and Ezra.
I headed off to a table, and Cas was right on my heels. “When did you even start liking him? You said he was an asshole.”
“I got to know him better.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” I dug into my lunch. “Maybe when you were spending all that time with Lindsay.”
“What does Lindsay even have to do with this?”
“You like her, right?”
Cas looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, I like her.”
“Then what are you doing asking me to Homecoming? If you really like somebody, you don’t go and take somebody else to a dance.”