First & Then(56)

“She actually … she really wants to go to Ezra’s party. After the dance?”

I had forgotten. Once again, the pathetically egocentric part of me had thought maybe he wouldn’t want to have a party anymore. “And?”

“And … I think I should take her.”

“You mean you think I should take you both.”

“You could come to the party, too. We could all go together.”

“Why would I want to go to a dickhead’s party?”

For once, Foster didn’t contest it. There was a conflicted look on his face; he didn’t have to say anything for me to know.

I sighed heavily. “It’s cool if you want to go to a dickhead’s party.”

“Dev—”

I stood up. “I’m heading back in. You should come, too. I’m sure all the girls from gym will be clamoring for a dance.”

They were. I kept an eye on Foster in the hours to come. He hardly sat down once. I also kept an eye out for Lindsay and Ezra, so I could avoid them if necessary. But I didn’t see them again.

I did see Cas, though. Blue suit, shiny shoes, and a great big grin aimed right at me. There was no avoiding him.

“Dev! Wow, you look great!” he said as he crossed the floor toward me.

It didn’t even cross my mind until this moment; if Lindsay was with Ezra, then, “Who are you here with?”

Someone turned. A glittery pink production number.

Gracie Holtzer.

Cas snaked his arm around her waist and beamed at me.

“Devon, hey!” Gracie gushed. “Oh my god, you look so cute!”

“Thanks.” I was numb. “You, too.”

“Where did you get your dress?”

I mumbled the name of the store, but I had already lost her attention. She was looking at some point in the crowd, and all at once broke apart from Cas and ran to some other PT out there, presumably to gush about how cute they both looked.

I looked back at Cas. He was still grinning.

I pulled him out into the hallway before I could muster any words to convey my disbelief, and even then, all I got out was, “Gracie Holtzer?”

“Yeah. She’s cute, right?”

“Gracie Holtzer?”

“Yes. Can we go back in? This is a good song.”

“Do you realize you’re here with the little sister of the girl that Foster’s here with?”

Cas just stared.

“It’s f*cking illegal, Cas. She’s only fourteen!”

“Chill out. We’re just having fun.”

I wanted to cry. I punched his arm instead. “Why do you have to go and act like such an idiot? Why couldn’t you have just gone with Lindsay?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to go with Lindsay.”

“I never said that! In fact, I told you to go with her! And even if I hadn’t, why would you let what I think stop you?”

“I don’t know … it wasn’t all you … because then Gracie asked me, and I just figured that way everyone would be happy.”

“Except for Lindsay!”

“But you don’t like Lindsay.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you from going out with somebody?”

Cas looked uncomfortable. “It’s different with her.”

“How?”

“I like her. A lot.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I don’t know.” Cas’s eyes raked the bank of lockers next to us as he fumbled with the carnation attached to his jacket.

And all at once I knew he felt that same thing I had felt at Frank Ferris’ party. It had to be. It was knowing that he would be in love one day. Knowing that someone else would be dry-dry.

He looked at me. “Can’t you just say it?”

“Say what?”

“Say that you like me more than just friends.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, sudden and powerful. “Why would I say that?”

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?”

“You’re not being fair,” I said.

“Why? You like me, don’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

“Dude, everyone knows it.” He looked at me like it was all so obvious. “We’re friends,” he said. “We always have been. And I want … I don’t know. To f*cking … protect your feelings, or whatever. Because I know you have them. I do. And so does everyone else, so just … why can’t you just say it?”

All of a sudden, like an out-of-body experience, I saw myself saving tables for us in the cafeteria. Grabbing an extra side of something I knew he liked as I went through the lunch line. Calling him before bed—it really was always me that called him, wasn’t it?—making him mixed CDs for Valentine’s Day and pretending I didn’t care that he never gave me anything back. All those times I sat in the bleachers at practice: faithful, hopeful, deluded. Cas was a lot of things to me, and maybe I was a lot of things to Cas, too, but he didn’t love me. All at once, I realized that truth that my mom, chocolate milk in hand, was trying to get me to see in eighth grade. I couldn’t change myself to get Cas to like me. I couldn’t change Cas, either. And even if I could—would I want to? Would I want someone that I had to make love me?