“It’s a homecoming thing. We need you.”
I sighed and got up, figuring it was best to get it over with quickly. Luke stood as well, presuming the invitation had included him. Charlotte raised an eyebrow.
“Not you,” she told him, grabbing my arm and steering me away.
Charlotte popped her gum and smirked up at me, stroking my sleeve. She smelled the way she always did—a combination of scented lotion and lip-gloss and fruity gum that gave the overwhelming impression of artificial strawberries.
“Your jacket’s cute,” she said as we walked toward my old lunch table. “I can hardly keep my hands off it.”
“Cassidy picked it out.”
Charlotte abruptly took her hand away.
“You’re taking her to the dance, aren’t you?”
“She’s my girlfriend, Charlotte.”
We arrived at the table then, everyone looking up.
“Dude,” Evan said, grinning. “The badass trio on the homecoming court. We’re f**kin’ kings.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the point of a homecoming court was that there would only be one king. So I smiled and said, “Yeah, totally.”
“Oh my God.” Jill rolled her eyes. “I lol’ed so hard when they called Anamica. And then Luke, what a joke.”
“I know.” Charlotte giggled. “He still has braces.”
I stood there uncomfortably, wondering if anyone would dare to admit that I’d only been nominated out of pity, until Evan pulled me aside and explained that they were all getting a hotel suite after the dance. There would be Beer Pong, and afterward, a party in the hot tub. He wanted to know if I was in.
“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 g*y. 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 na**d 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.