The Beginning of Everything(55)

“For what?” I asked, figuring he couldn’t really mean that they were inviting me—and my date—to get plastered with them at the Four Seasons.

“A couple hundred bucks. Maybe more if we get a Hummer limo.”

Evidently, he really did mean it. Evan actually thought I wanted to pay for the prestige of co-hosting what would no doubt be a hot-tub mess of a party.

Somehow, I managed to make my excuses and extract myself from their lunch table.

“Hey,” I said sheepishly when I sat back down with my friends.

“What did they want?” Luke asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing. Limo share.”

But I could tell that he didn’t believe me.



I ASKED CASSIDY to the dance while we were studying with Toby in the Barnes and Noble café the next afternoon. I had the barista write it on her coffee.

When Cassidy saw it, she grinned.

“Why, deary me,” she drawled in an overwrought southern accent, “a gentleman caller wantin’ to escort me to the dance.”

“We’ll have dinner at Fiesta Palace,” I promised. “You can order chips in a sombrero and there’s a guy who comes around and makes balloon hats with the mariachi band.”

“Why, Mr. Faulkner,” she said, still using that ridiculous accent, “that sounds positively delightful.”

And then Toby acted disgusted when we kissed.

Cassidy’s phone rang with some secretary confirming an appointment (“The dentist’s office,” she whispered, making a face), and when she went outside to deal with it, I asked Toby whom he was taking to the dance.

“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.