Pretend She's Here(44)

“It’s a Dobro,” Casey said. “You’ll hear when we play—it makes the sound resonate, kind of sizzle.”

Then he joined the rest of the band, and they played, and I did hear the Dobro’s crisp tones as Mark played—a metal tube on his little finger sliding up and down the strings. I listened to Angelique’s heart-tugging fiddle, Hideki’s rich bluegrass tone, and Casey’s blazing brilliance on mandolin. The way he sang and coaxed joy from the strings filled me with yearning.

Hey, Emily,

You talked to me,

And now you’ve walked away.

Hey, Emily,

Come back to me

And sit again someday.



People applauded when they finished. I beamed with secret pride and tingled at the fact Casey was staring straight at me as he sang.

“It’s not exactly a holiday song, though,” Roberta said. “Shouldn’t we be thinking Christmasy for the ball?”

“It’s a love song,” Carole said, gazing at Mark. “And that’s the whole point of the holidays.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘love,’” Angelique said, laughing. “After all, in the song, Little Miss Emily walks away. Right, Casey?”

He didn’t answer. She leaned into him, and their shoulders bumped. I saw her brush his cheek with hers, and then give him a light kiss on the lips. “But I will say this,” she added, leaning her forehead against his. “You do know how to put a serious soul spin on a person’s heart.”

“Man, come on,” Mark said. “Roberta, you want Christmas songs, you got ’em. Hit it, Donoghue.”

“One, two, three,” Casey said, and then they broke into “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” Part of me was glad the Emily section of their program was over. And the rest of me longed, with everything I had, to have it never stop.

When the music was done and everyone was putting their instruments away, I stepped into the hall and bumped straight into Mrs. Porter.

“Well, hello, Lizzie,” she said.

“Mrs.—Mom,” I said, turning bright red. “What are you doing here?”

“Volunteering at the nurse’s office,” she said, brightly. “I signed up for two afternoons a week.”

“Did you hear the music?” I asked, my voice shaking, praying she hadn’t heard the lyrics about Emily.

“No, how disappointing. But I’ll look forward to another time. Now, how about a ride home?”

“Carole said Casey’s dad could give us a ride.”

“Weren’t you going to ask me for permission?”

“Can I?”

She laughed. “I’m here now, sweetie. Let’s go.”





I went to the second meeting of the Snow Globe Ball committee, too. That first day, when Mrs. Porter had driven me back, she’d been furious that I’d have driven with Casey’s dad without asking her first. But then she said that the more she thought of it, she realized it would be more normal for Lizzie to do regular high-school-type things, like helping to plan a school event, like getting rides home with friends’ parents.

So after the second committee meeting, as Carole had promised, Casey’s father was waiting outside. He had a rusty black SUV with three rows of seats. The middle seat was patched together with silver duct tape. His smile was kind and welcoming, and he spoke with an Irish accent. He was tall, but about an inch shorter than Casey, and his style reminded me of Casey’s, too: His straight brown hair fell below his shoulders, and he wore leather bracelets on his wrists and a big silver wolf ring on his middle finger.

A bunch of us piled into the SUV. I sat right behind Mr. Donoghue, next to Casey. Our thighs brushed. It made me shiver, and I glanced at him to see if it had been on purpose. Angelique was in the seat behind, and she kept sighing as we drove along, every time Mr. Donoghue took a turn.

“The motion bothers me,” she said. “I really need to be next to a window.”

“Uh-oh, Ange is gonna barf,” Mark said. It reminded me of throwing up in the car the day I was kidnapped, and I almost gagged so hard I had to clap a hand over my mouth.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Donoghue asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. For a second, I thought he was talking to me, but his eyes were on Angelique.

“Not really,” Angelique said. “I get motion sick and do better with a window.”

“Switch with me,” Hideki said. He was sitting beside her.

“Being this far back in the SUV makes it really bad for me,” she said. “I feel it swaying.”

“You can have my seat,” I said, trying to be noble.

That was what she’d wanted all along. She didn’t even demur. Mr. Donoghue pulled over, and Angelique, without a word or even a thank-you, passed me to sit beside Casey. As soon as she got there, she put her head on his shoulder. I climbed into the last row, sitting beside Hideki. In the cargo space were three Gibson guitar cases and a slightly battered amp.

“Are these yours?” I asked Hideki. The rumble of the tires on the rutted country road drowned out the conversation from the front.

“No way,” Hideki said. “I only wish I could own guitars like these. They’re Casey’s dad’s.”

“That’s right; he plays music,” I said, thinking of what Casey had told me.