“What about Senior Cut Day,” he continues, “when you fell in and she just stood there watching? You could have hit your head on a rock.”
I roll my eyes. “Cass isn’t much of an athlete.” What do you mean, doggie paddling isn’t a stroke? she’d asked our swim instructor when we were eight.
“She knew I’d be fine.”
“She’s no good for you.”
“Excuse me?”
He looks taken aback by the strength of my voice. That’s right, Marcos–you can’t go around acting like the authority on my friendship with Cassie.
“You were so good at gymnastics,” he says. “Then, poof, you’re done with it.”
“You don’t know anything about my gymnastics,” I say heatedly. “You saw me do one skill, one time. Guess what? Five-year-olds can do the same thing. Nothing special.”
“Andreas found your YouTube channel.”
Goddammit, is anything sacred? Yes, my YouTube channel, made for college coaches to see my routines and skill upgrades, is publicly available. It’s fair game for anyone to view, although I never imagined people from school would watch it recreationally. I need to take it down ASAP.
“You were amazing,” he insists. “You were wearing all sorts of braces, so you’ve obviously been injured before.”
“That was the problem.”
“Yeah?” he says. “I don’t think you’re really afraid of getting injured. I think you’re terrified of failing.”
I jump to my feet, the alcohol and the anger pounding through me. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I’m not terrified of failing. You can’t be afraid of something you live and breathe every day.
Up by the smoke, Cassie sips from her drink and listens to whatever Juliana’s saying. Her eyes find me, and her eyebrows quirk. Everything okay?
Marcos rises, blocking my view. “I think you’re smart.” I can hardly hear him through the rushing in my ears. “I think that you’re a hard worker and really disciplined to get as far as you have in gymnastics. And I don’t think Cassie has your best interests in mind.”
I’ve heard enough of this bullshit. I step around him, one foot slipping into the water. He reaches out to help me. I wave him off. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my best friend.”
Marcos doesn’t know anything. He wasn’t there in the days after my surgery, when everything I ate made me nauseous and walking to the bathroom felt like a marathon. Cassie brought magazines, crackers, ginger ale. She stuck around despite the painkillers making me nod off mid-conversation. I woke up and she was on the bed next to me, knees holding her magazine in place. “Just in time, Savs. I’ve learned who my celebrity boyfriend is thanks to this super-scientific quiz. Ready? Question one.”
Over the laughter from the fire, I hear him say, “Okay.” Fleetingly, I think of turning around.
Instead, I let the moment wash away.
CHAPTER NINE
CASSIE HAS THE distinction of being the first announcement on Monday morning. “Cascade Hopeswell, please report to the main office.”
Everything cool? I text her.
No answer.
Are you here? I try again.
Nothing.
I slip into the bathroom before gym and call her. When she picks up the phone, she doesn’t say anything. She just waits.
“They’re calling you to the office. Where are you?” Ah, a new message on the door today: FUQ CALC. Right to the heart of the matter.
“Failing gym.” The words lack her usual certainty. They wobble.
“Do you want me to come get you?” I say, which is so stupid because what am I going to do, hotwire Dad’s car and make a run for it?
“I gotta go.” There’s so much silence from her end that it’s hard to believe she’s in any hurry. “I’ll text you later.”
I squint as though I can see across the miles and into Cassie’s home. “Are you sitting there alone?”
“Dad’s at a conference in Georgia, Mom’s at yoga, and sitting isn’t the right verb. I’m lying down.” Blankets rustle in the background.
I lean against FUQ CALC. “So come here.”
“I just can’t, Savs.” A long pause. “It’s like…you know how a squirrel ran in front of your car during one of your road tests and you couldn’t move?”
Don’t remind me.
“That’s how I feel about everything right now.”
I’m going to be late to gym. My fingers trace the penmanship of DIEGO <3. Cass always fights back, whether it’s to catch up or to say screw off. When she misses class, it’s for something that she finds more important–taking pictures, holing up in the art room, driving off-campus for burritos. This–the lying down, the lack of conviction in her voice–is unfamiliar. It worries me.
I’m reminded again of how I’d wake up in the mornings after surgery and already know it’d be a shit day ahead. I know that feeling of heavy limbs and a resigned heart before the day is even underway. “Maybe you’re getting sick? I’ll get the homework for you.”
She snorts. “Right, that’s exactly what I want.” The faintest bite in her voice.
“Well, what do you want?”
“Can you stop with the questions? God.”
My fingers halt on the O in DIEGO.
It’s like the look she gave me when I asked Juliana if she was dating Andreas. It’s the shutting of a door that says you don’t get it. How am I supposed to get whatever’s going on if she won’t tell me?
Another silence, long enough that I wonder if she fell asleep or has put me on hold and walked away. I don’t hang up, although now my irritation matches my worry and the bell for first period has long since rung. Tell me, Cass.
“Sorry,” she says so softly that I nearly miss it. “Come over later, okay?”