I was also not yet desperate enough to call my parents. I knew they were sitting at home watching reruns of bad sitcoms and eating unbuttered, unsalted popcorn, and would have gladly picked me up and taken me to the party. But the only thing more degrading than being chucked into the road by Natalie would have been showing up at Cassie’s party in the mom-mobile.
The option wasn’t off the table, but I’d probably crawl ten miles with two broken legs and a stomach covered in road rash before I’d give it serious consideration.
I started walking north toward Cassie’s house. It was only a few miles, and I figured that if I didn’t stop for any mope breaks, I could make it before the party ended. I envisioned arriving at Cassie’s door, finding Ben and Coop partied out and wondering where I’d gotten to. They’d be racked with guilt, apologetic that they’d convinced me to talk to another girl. Cassie would be waiting on a chaise lounge, exhausted from fending off other boys all night. I’d attach myself to her lips like one of Ripley’s aliens and never, ever let go.
Or, you know, I’d show up and the keg would be dry, and I’d spend the remainder of my night listening to everyone tell me how great the party was because my best friends were too busy to pick up their goddamn phones.
I checked again to see if Coop had called back, but he hadn’t. It felt like I’d been walking for hours, but it hadn’t even been fifteen minutes. I kept hoping Natalie would realize that I wasn’t a complete dick and that leaving me on the side of the road had been a terrible mistake. But I knew that would never happen. I was about to give up and call my dad when a white car with a rusted hood and one dead headlight skidded to a stop, nearly mowing me down.
The driver’s-side door opened. “Falcor, wait!” A whitish dog the size of a football darted out and ran straight into the base of a palm tree. The dog stood, stunned for a second, and then lifted his leg and peed on it.
“Show that tree who’s boss,” I mumbled.
“Can you grab him?” a voice called from inside the car. I couldn’t see a face because of the cyclopean headlight that was trained on me like a laser.
“Sure,” I said. “I hope he’s got all his shots.”
“I hope you’ve got all yours,” said the voice, which sounded distinctly feminine.
I approached the dog slowly. “Nice doggie.” If the dog noticed me, he gave zero indication. After finishing his pee, he began running in tight circles, barking with wild abandon. I picked him up and he seemed startled. He gave a little growl and licked my hand.
Falcor was maybe the ugliest dog I’d ever seen. His freakish underbite and smooshed nose made me think he definitely had some shih tzu in him, but he was misshapen, like someone had put him together wrong. And his eyes were all pupil, black. Creepy.
“Here,” I said, walking up to the open car door.
“I seem to be having a seat belt malfunction.” The girl inside the car was struggling with the locking mechanism, pulling it and beating at it with a pair of shiny handcuffs that I thought better of asking about.
I crouched down so that I was eye level with her. Falcor wiggle-wormed in my arms, but I held him tightly. “Want some help?”
The girl looked at me. Her eyes were big and brown and I don’t think I saw her blink once. There was something about her. Like the dog, she seemed off, the way a movie and the sound are sometimes slightly out of sync.
“I can get it,” the girl said. “Are you a rapist?”
“What?”
“A sexual predator. You’re not going to kidnap me and take me to an abandoned house and have your fiendish way with me, are you?”
“Jesus Christ! Of course not!”
“Oh.” The girl eyed me up and down like maybe she wasn’t sure she believed me. “I guess you’re okay, then.”
I shoved the dog at her and said, “Here’s your dog.” Then I stood up to leave, hiking my backpack up on my shoulder.
“Hold your horses, bucko.” The girl gave the seat belt a series of taps, and it released her. “I’m Stella.” She climbed out of the car, her movements oddly insectlike, and when she stood up straight she was so short that I could have rested my chin on the top of her head.
I briefly entertained the idea of giving Stella a fake name in case she turned out to be an escapee from an asylum for the criminally insane or something, but I couldn’t choose between Alejandro Von Tittlesworth or Roger, so I told her the name I’d been saddled with at birth.
Stella cocked her head to the side. “You look familiar. Are you an actor?”
“No,” I said, unsure what to say next. Stella was equal parts confusing and exciting.
“Hm. You look like that guy in the gonorrhea PSAs.” Stella lowered her voice and put on a grim expression. “I may look like a nice guy, but I’ve been in more dark holes than a professional spelunker. And that was just last week!”
“Gonorrhea free,” I said. “In fact, the closest I’ve ever come to catching an STD was the time I accidentally used the same spoon as Foster Jefferies at lunch. He has chronic cold sores.”
“So, if you’re not out here collecting sexually transmitted diseases, what are you doing?” Stella kicked at the sidewalk with the toe of her lime-green sneaker. She was a kaleidoscope of colors, from her red hair to her yellow tank to her limey shoes. It looked like she’d been dressed by a color-blind kindergartner.
The thought of concocting a lie occurred to me. It more than occurred. I thought lying might offer me the only opportunity to escape with my dignity more or less intact. But in the end I told Stella what had actually happened. There was some kind of gravity in her smile, in her eyes, that sucked the whole stupid truth, in all its excruciating glory, right out of me.
“You’re a dick,” Stella said when I’d finished.
“I just have dick tendencies,” I said. “I’m actually pretty nice.”
Stella seemed to consider this. “You did save my dog from that vicious tree.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Blind,” she said. “He was born that way.”
“He’s fugly.”
“You’re not so great yourself.” Her smile revealed her lie, and I couldn’t help but grin back.
“I should get going,” Stella said.
“Yeah, okay. I should call the Taxi de la Parents, anyway. Get them to come pick me up.”
Stella leaned against her car and pursed her lips at me. They were nice lips, not too thin, but not overly full, either. Stella was different. Not Cassie, for sure, but not like any other girl I knew either. Other girls worked tirelessly to keep up with every ridiculous fad so that they could cling to popularity. But Stella wasn’t trying to be anyone other than herself. And that gave me a boner.
“You’re not so bad for a dick,” she said. “Wanna ride?”
“Dick tendencies,” I corrected. “To the party?”
“It’s on my way?”
“Really?”
Stella shook her head. “Not really, but I was about to spend my entire night listening to ABBA and putting makeup on dead people.”
“Ew,” I said reflexively.
“I know. My mom’s a funeral director, and she always ropes me into helping her with the bodies. She claims I have a natural talent for making the best of a dead situation, but I think she’s just too cheap to hire an assistant.”
“I was talking about ABBA,” I said. “But the corpses are freaky too.”
Stella slapped me on the arm. It stung, but I refused to flinch. “ABBA is only the best pop band of the last fifty forever.”
“You have a sickness,” I said. “My dad listens to them nonstop during tax season. He works out of the house, and for three agonizing months we all become dancing queens. It’s a serious disease.”
“I think I love your dad.” Stella pulled her keys from her jeans pocket and jingled them. “You want a ride or not?”
I accepted without hesitation.
The Castillo house is a startling departure from the norm in the
garden of McMansions that line Windsong Lane. Mr. Castillo had not been content to build a house that looked like everyone else’s. The Castillo house stands out with its clay roof tiles and bright Spanish flair.
The front lawn, which had been meticulously manicured the last time I’d been there, was scarred by tire tracks and littered with cars of every make and model.
Stella pulled to a stop in front of Cassie’s house. Falcor was sitting quietly in her lap, resting his head on the e-break.
I toyed with the zipper on my backpack, opening it and closing it. I knew this was the part where I was supposed to get out and go into the party. But I didn’t want to. I wanted Stella to put her foot on the gas and take us anywhere else. Some of that was because I was having fun talking with her, but most of it was because I knew that if I went into that party, I’d see Cassie, and I’d want Cassie, and I’d spend the entire night mired in the soupy pit of despair. Which was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid when I’d nutted up at Gobbler’s and talked to Natalie.
“Come to the party with me,” I blurted. And even though I knew I’d said it, I wasn’t sure that I’d meant to. I was glad that I had, though, if that makes sense on any planet other than the one I inhabit.
“I have Falcor,” Stella said. Falcor’s ears perked up at his name.
“There are bound to be crazier things inside than a blind dog. It’s a barter party.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “I’m not dressed to party. I don’t even have my saddle.”
“You look fine.”
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
“I only meant—”
“No, Simon, stick to your guns. I look fine.” Stella dragged out that last word and then licked her pale peach lips in a mockery of sexy that drew reluctant laughter out of me.
“There’ll be booze and dancing and bartering,” I said, managing to make what Cassie had declared would be the greatest party of our high school lives sound überlame.
I unzipped my backpack and dug around until I found the small velvet bag I’d been looking for. I pulled open the drawstrings and emptied a pair of dice into my palm. “My mom got me these from Vegas. They were used at a real craps table. Mom said she saw someone win ten grand with these babies.” I held the dice closer to her face, trying to make them seem as enticing as possible. “For the superlow price of spending one hour at this party with moi, these dice can be all yours.”
Stella frowned at the dice and then took them from me. She shook them in her closed fist, listening to the sharp clack they made. “I’ll stay twenty minutes,” she said. “And no dancing.”
“Deal.”
Stella pocketed the dice and looked for a place to park.
We found a spot on the side of the road and walked up the driveway. Music pounded at the windows and the doors and even the roof, straining the joints and leaking out of every crack it could find. It was the kind of music Coop abhors, the kind that thumps out of control, with lyrics that dig into your ears and squat there for days.
“Did she hire a DJ?” Stella asked.
“That’s DJ Leo,” I said. “He wants to be the next Daft Punk or something. No one really invites him, he just shows up.”
Stella turned her ear to the house. “He’s brilliant.”
I took Stella’s free hand and led her to the doorstep. As I reached for the doorknob, I was momentarily stunned by the memories of the last time I’d stood in that same spot. I half expected Mr. Castillo to be waiting behind the door, holding a Louisville Slugger in one hand and a fat cigar in the other.
But he wasn’t. When I opened the door, the party rushed out like the leading edge of a tsunami. The sounds and smells and music and laughter carried on a wave of entropy that would eventually dissolve into utter chaos.
And then there was Cassie.
She stood in the space between the door and the jamb, leaning with one arm up and one arm hidden behind her back. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her curves and left very little to my overheated imagination. She smiled at first with her honey-colored eyes, and then with her lips, revealing that little gap that I’d been in love with for years. Even Cassie’s imperfections were perfect.
“Simon! And other girl!”
The smell of tequila wafted from Cassie like a heavy fog, and I wondered how much she’d had to drink. It was barely ten.
“Heya, Cass.” I coughed and said it again, unsure of my voice.
“Welcome to my barter party,” Cassie said.
“Thanks,” I said.
Stella whistled a tune, and I admit that I’d momentarily forgotten about her.
I was about to introduce Stella when Cassie said, “There’s a price for admission.” She had a devious look in her eyes. “And I think I’ll take a kiss.” I forgot about Stella all over again.
Everything was moving so quickly, and I couldn’t get a grip. I hadn’t even gotten through the front door and Cassie wanted me to kiss her? My lips and her lips. I’d resigned myself to forgetting about Cassie, and now she was inviting me to kiss her. It was maddening and terrifying and other words that I was sure I’d missed on my SATs.
“Really?” I asked.
“Nothing in life is free, Simon Cross,” Cassie said. “Pay up, unless you want to spend your night on the front lawn.”
Ben and Coop had been so wrong. They’d said it was impossible. They’d said it was never going to happen. But here I was, about to make my dreams come true.
Except Stella, with her stupid dog, pushed past me, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Cassie right on the mouth. Cassie didn’t even seem surprised. The girl I’d brought to the party was making out with the girl I loved. There was full tongue involvement. Okay, maybe there wasn’t, but in the days that followed, when I remembered it, there would be.
People on both sides of the door catcalled and whistled. And I could only stand there and watch, embarrassed to the tips of my toes. Not only had I failed to kiss Cassie—again—but someone else had done it in my place.
What. The. Fuck.
Stella winked when she was done. “I’m Stella Nash,” she said to Cassie. “Nice to meet you.” Then she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, pushed her way into the bowels of the party, and disappeared, taking with her any chance I’d had of kissing Cassie.
Living the Dream
Cassie had chucked Eli Horowitz like an ugly sweater, and the douche was still managing to cock block me. He hadn’t needed to say a word; he’d simply walked into the party and stood there being all Horowitzy while I asked Cassie the price for a kiss. And it wasn’t like she’d said no to the kiss. That, I could have handled. I could have scooped the battered remains of my ego off the kitchen floor and retreated to a dark corner, maybe chatted up Natalie or resorted to making out with Aja Bourne. But Cassie hadn’t even heard me. She’d blown me off without taking one serious second to consider my proposal. Like I meant nothing to her. Less than nothing. I might as well have been DJ Leo, except he, at least, had some skills, whereas I had dice.
I stood in the kitchen, replaying the way Cassie had looked when she’d seen Eli standing by the French doors in the family room. Eli Fucking Horowitz. Seriously, if I had a time machine, I wouldn’t waste my effort righting the wrongs of the world’s ridiculous history, I’d travel back and wipe out Eli. I’d punch through the time-space continuum and take a chainsaw to the whole Horowitz family tree.
I might have wasted my entire night coming up with progressively more violent ways to delete Eli from my life if a girl in a bikini, chasing a guy wearing nothing but a towel, hadn’t run through the kitchen and bumped into me, spilling something red and sticky onto my jeans.
“Thanks,” I called after them, as if they could actually hear me. I groaned and snatched a napkin from the counter to dab at the slowly spreading stain, but the napkin was useless. As useless as I felt.
It was all too much. Cassie and Eli and the party and the people and the music pounding at my ears. I
needed a break before I broke someone’s jaw. Before I had the kind of meltdown that would cost my parents a fortune in therapy bills and antidepressants.
God, I was being so melodramatic. And I melodramatically stormed through the family room and opened the first door I found. Which happened to be Mr. and Mrs. Castillo’s bedroom. I turned to leave—aware that Mr. Castillo would likely flay me alive if he found out I’d been in his bedroom—when I caught sight of Eli again. He was standing against the far wall with his arms crossed over his ridiculous chest. I followed his gaze to where Cassie had stopped to have an animated conversation with some girl I didn’t really know. The fact that Eli was watching her pissed me off. There were only two logical reasons that explained why he’d decided to show up. He was either trying to make Cassie jealous or trying to get her back.
If he’d been trying to make her jealous, he would have shown up with another girl on his arm. Someone like Lacy McDougal, a.k.a. Cassiebot 2000. Which would have made Cassie go ballistic.
That meant that Eli was definitely trying to get back together with Cassie.
I watched Eli watching Cassie for another minute before ducking into the bedroom—Mr. Castillo be damned. I needed a moment to calm down, clear my head, and clean the stain off my jeans, and this was the perfect place to do it.
The room was bigger than my living room, dining room, and kitchen combined, and that wasn’t counting their bathroom, which was divided by a luxurious, sloping tub. A king-size bed dominated the room, and it looked so soft that all I could think about doing was jumping on it. Seriously, it called out to me. Begged me to hop up and defy some gravity. The lure was so great that I momentarily forgot how angry I was at Eli and his stupid, cock-blocking ways.
“What are you doing in here?” Cassie walked up behind me. She didn’t look angry, but it was clear that she didn’t approve of my choice of hiding spots.
I tried to tell her that I’d come to clean my stained jeans, but I sputtered and stalled. I was too overwhelmed by my feelings for Cassie. It was all I could do not to admit right then and there that I’d been in love with her since the very first moment I’d seen her. I wanted Cassie to feel the same way about me that I felt about her. I wanted her to know. But how could I tell her that when I couldn’t even tell her about the stupid stain?
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