This was the question that I really ached to ask: “But why did he act that way?”
“I won’t make excuses for him,” Jordan said after a pause. “I don’t know where his head was at. Well, maybe I do, a little, but it’s not my job to try to make it up to you.”
I stared into the freezer case. My own reflection stared back, and behind that, several brands of frozen pizza. “Make what up?”
“Come on now. I know about after the game.”
Busted. “Ezra told you?”
“Ezra hasn’t said much of anything to anybody since that night. But your cousin sang like a bird at practice.”
I gave a breath of laughter. Somehow that didn’t surprise me.
“He thought Foster missed that kick on purpose,” I said. “I know Foster would never do that.”
“I bet Ezra does, too.”
I didn’t speak.
“Hey, you know what?”
“What?”
“One of these days we’re going to sit down and have a nice conversation that has nothing to do with Ezra. We’ll talk about movies or politics or some shit like that, and lemme tell you, Champ, it will be delightful.”
I smiled.
“Come on, let’s check out.”
He put an arm around me, and we strolled to the checkout counter.
29
Homecoming week in Temple Sterling was much like you would imagine—a dash of small-town America (the Homecoming game) mixed with a good dose of the twenty-first century (cue the R-rated hip-hop music and X-rated hip-hop dance moves in the school gym).
We played the Homecoming game the afternoon of the dance. We typically played Priory High School, a long-standing rival. The varsity team beat Priory this year, as it had last year, and this set a nice tone for the rest of the evening. I know Foster was psyched about the whole thing. I wasn’t particularly psyched to be his chauffeur, but that was what my Homecoming evening had seemingly been reduced to.
I pulled my dress out of the closet that evening and laid it on my bed. I even took the ballet flats I had gotten (60 percent off!) out of the box and put them on the floor under the dress.
“You’re still coming, right?”
I turned. Foster stood in the doorway.
“I’ll take you and Gwin. But no … I don’t really feel like it.”
“Are you going to put on the dress to drive me and Gwin?”
“No.” I scooped it up, put it back in my closet, and shut the door definitively. “No, I’m not.”
“Come on.” Foster stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of my bed, picking up the ballet flats. “It’ll be fun. And it’s your last Homecoming. You don’t want to miss your last Homecoming, do you?”
I didn’t. Did I? I can’t say I had any grand feelings about Homecoming in previous years. The shoes were generally uncomfortable and the music too loud, but it was an opportunity to slow dance with Cas and make fun of everyone else’s idea of formal wear.
Suddenly I was flooded with desire to be there. Why should I be cheated out of a dance just because I didn’t have a date? Why shouldn’t I go, just because Ezra and I weren’t going together? I could have a good time alone.
Foster left to change, I donned the dress, and we left together to pick up Gwin.
The gym was decked out in its usual Homecoming garb; this consisted of twinkly lights, folding chairs, and a big plastic tarp they put over the hardwood to keep it from getting scratched. Inevitably the tarp would get twisted up during an overzealous conga line, and more than a few people would trip over it.
The place was packed. Foster and Gwin departed in the direction of some underclassmen, and I was left to scan the crowd for a familiar face.
Rachel Woodson appeared as if out of nowhere with a giant camera in her hands. She was impeccably dressed—not a hair out of place—and she shoved the camera in my face.
“Picture for the yearbook?”
“Uh…” I’d rather not.
“Come on.” She poised the camera to shoot. “Smile.”
I forced a smile. The flashbulb lit up the place and left stars in my eyes.