“How many?” Maritza asks.
“Just two.”
“I will speak to your father and then we will see.”
“We can make brownies.” Leelu perks up even more. “Or brownie sundaes.”
I scrape another curl of yogurt with the edge of my spoon, warming up to the idea of kicking off Memorial Day weekend with ice cream, games, movies, and whatever else my friends might want to do, cheering up Leelu and myself at the same time.
But I’ve never had my chorus girlfriends over for a spend-the-night, because usually if anyone was coming over before, it’d be Cassie. Thinking of not seeing her through the whole long weekend drives me to take out my phone, see if she’s sent me a message, but the screen is blank. It makes me even more desperate to hear from her, but right now I don’t know what to say. If it’s true that Kendra read some of the bad things I wrote about her group, maybe she also read how I felt about Cassie liking them.
A cold feeling crawls over me that has nothing to do with the frozen yogurt. I’d deserve it if Cassie was mad at me for that. Probably a long weekend apart will help us both get over it and make up, but in the meantime I think I could use whatever support I can get.
Chapter Five
Though Dad says okay to the slumber party, and Mom says, during our quick before-bed call, that she’s glad I’m branching out to some new friends, I still can’t get Cassie, my diary, or all the possible hideous scenarios I’m imagining out of my head. Living Cassie-free the next morning isn’t so easy, either. During breakfast while I check my feed, there’s a photo Cassie’s posted of her smiling big with Cheyenne and Neftali. My first impulse is to block her, so I don’t have to see anything else, until I remember my earlier thought that this could all be some double cross on Cassie’s part. Maybe through these photos she’ll send me a signal. I try to cling to it as I get ready to leave, even though the possibility of that feels less likely with every hour I don’t hear from her.
Looking at the picture another five times on the bus only makes me know for sure I’m lying to myself that Cassie’s doing this for my benefit. She’s probably in pig heaven. And since Cassie’s so tight with Kendra now, they probably showed her my entire diary. Which means even if Kendra didn’t read anything negative about Cassie on the bus before, by now she will have seen every mean sentence I ever wrote, without a chance to explain. Probably she’s helping them come up with an even better way to make my life miserable. I spend the rest of the bus ride combing Cassie’s feed, plus Kendra’s (and then Izzy’s), searching for the tiniest hint that they’ve posted any quotes from my diary, or are concocting some terrible plan. Though most of their messages are full of hearts and emojis and exclamation points, they could still all be texting passages to everyone they know. Today could be even worse than yesterday, and I still don’t have my diary to write things out.
Which means I just have to think of a way to get it, and my best friend, back.
When I step off the bus, I know better than to wait for Cassie to arrive, but I’m not sure where to go, either. Presumably Kendra will whisk her off to the courtyards, but should I walk our regular route, just in case? Or try to find Evie and Aja?
I trudge to my locker, to at least get a glimpse of Tyrick and see if, after yesterday, he suspects anything about my crush. Maybe I’ll spot Cassie, too.
But after six minutes of cleaning old crumpled papers out of my locker, and rearranging things inside (plus sixty-five different furtive glances down in Tyrick’s direction, even though I can’t fully see him), I know I’m looking foolish. It isn’t helping me get my diary back, either. I shut the door with a hard slam, not sure where to go next. The library? To keep spying on Lagoon? Will Cassie miss that, or have her new pals already given her eighty-two tips for stealing his heart? Is a group date being coordinated for all of them to go for sushi, or fondue? Will Cassie start crushing on Gates now? I move down the hall lost in these miserable thoughts, though I can’t help looking up as I near Tyrick’s locker. He’s watching me with a funny, quizzical look on his face that makes me want to immediately turn around and walk the other way. Or better, evaporate.
“Is your friend okay?” he calls out.
I’m so surprised he’s saying something nice, a lie springs out: “Oh, she has some extra credit to do for science.”
“Got it,” he says, like everything about all this is totally natural.
So that I don’t ruin the moment by saying anything dumb (or give anyone else a chance to suspect Tyrick might be Pencil), I tell him I’ll see him in class, and keep going.
He says, “Sounds good,” and I just try not to have heart palpitations over the fact that this is the second time he’s made a comment that proves he’s been watching me in the mornings too. It pretty much means he must like me back, right?
Too bad the one person I could ask isn’t around. And, worse, that I still miss her terribly, even though she’s done something this awful.
I aim for the girls’ room, where I can hide in a stall until the homeroom bell rings, so that nobody will hand me a pencil and ruin that one, tiny good moment with Tyrick I have to hold on to. As I’m about to duck in, though, someone grabs my shoulder. Someone with a grip so strong and bony it feels like she’s wearing a chain-mail glove with metal tips on the fingers.
“I’ve got something for you,” Izzy Gathing says behind me.
I turn around, hoping I don’t appear the melted pudding-pop I’ve suddenly become inside. In her skinny, glittery, dark-purple-polished fingers, Izzy’s clutching my diary. I want to snatch it from her and rub it down with Clorox wipes to get her nasty energy off it, even though I think that would ruin the marbled Italian paper of its cover.
“Of course,” she adds, lifting one eyebrow in scorn, “from what we saw, you might want to just go on in there and flush it.”
I reach out, not positive that she won’t throw it over my head to a waiting member of her gang somewhere behind me, but she lets it go without hesitation. Relief surges through my whole body so fast I feel faint.
“Thank you,” I say, unable to halt the manners Mom’s drilled into Leelu and me. Not even to Izzy.
“Eh, don’t worry.” She shrugs, already half turned away. “We didn’t read much, really. Too boring.” Before she slinks into the flow of kids streaming past me at the sound of the homeroom bell, she gives me a wink and a little finger-diddle wave.
Watching after her, one hand still on the bathroom door, I know there are probably entire dictionaries dedicated to bad words for people like Izzy Gathing, but I’m too stunned and relieved to think of a single one.
Having my diary back is the biggest blessing in the world, but it’s also a curse. I’m desperate to spend every second I get before and during classes flipping through the pages to guess what passages Kendra might’ve read, or see if they wrote anything awful in the margins. But I’m also terrified to take it out of my backpack, and have it snatched from me again. By lunch, however, all the hideous hypotheses in my head make it impossible not to look. So instead of sitting in my usual chair, I take a seat only a couple away from Yel and the basketball girls. They could all care less about Kendra, or me, or pretty much anything other than the women’s NBA team, and they’re all so gregarious I doubt anyone will notice I’m even there. I unpack my lunch and tuck my diary inside the covers of Little Women, hunching over nearly double, so that no one can see. It’s nerve-rackingly risky, but I just can’t bear the uncertainty anymore.
I flip fast through the earliest pages about the Divorce, hardly caring anymore if anyone saw that stuff. There is a play I forgot I wrote, recording the conversation Mom and I had about why she wasn’t more upset with Dad when he left us, and, curious, I take a second to read it:
Mom: Just because I’m not hurting in front of you and your sister, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.
Me: But you never say anything bad about Daddy. Aren’t you mad?
Mom: Sometimes, but what’s happening between you
r father and me is between us. I don’t need to drag you two into it. I need to take care of my own feelings, so that I can better help you take care of yours.
I pause. I still haven’t told Mom about what’s happened, partly because it’s harder to tell her things in ten-minute phone updates when we’re at Dad’s, but also because I don’t know how to explain—or even what to. Reading this almost feels like permission to keep the problem I’m having just between me and Cassie for a little while. At least until I’m sure.
One thing that is for sure, without a whole lot more reading, is that Cassie must’ve heard some of these bad things I wrote. Of course there are lots of good entries about her: earlier pages describing our various games, and a slew of poems about how silly she is. How much I love her, and love spending the night at her house instead of Dad’s new house or Mom’s condo. But those entries don’t stand out nearly as much as the ones against Cassie do. I know her obsession with Kendra had been grating, but reading so many mean passages makes me feel terrible in a whole new way.
I really don’t understand why Cassie admires Kendra so much, I wrote, not even two weeks ago. She’s not that special. We both know those kids have money and looks and nothing else. Sometimes, in Gates’s case, not even looks. But maybe Cassie doesn’t care any longer about being something more. Even with Lagoon she’s more worried lately about does he think she’s pretty, or that the “wrong” people will find out she likes him. Honestly, I worry she’s getting a little bit shallow.
And then another:
Things I Would Rather Tell Cassie Than How Much I Like Her New Red Plaid Flats (For the Sixtieth Time):
You should be more confident about who you are, not what you wear.
You sent me a photo the second you bought them—do you need me to show you my response again?
Please stop watching so many runway shows, because you’re forgetting that school is not supposed to be one of them.
There’s more, but I can’t keep reading. I put my diary safely back in my backpack and zip the pocket shut, not wanting to look at it for a while. Kendra must have broadcast one of these entries on the bus, which means Cassie heard these not-so-great thoughts of her own best friend from someone who was laughing about them. While it doesn’t excuse the utter betrayal of ditching me for Kendra, it does explain why she’s not talking to me. She must have felt terrible. Maybe she still does. Maybe she’s waiting for me to come to her. If I truly apologized, she might—
A sharp shriek of laughter rings over the general buzz of the cafeteria, and around me people stretch up in their chairs to see. There are more squeals, more giggles, and a boy’s voice saying “No way” floating from the hubbub. At Kendra’s table.
If Cassie weren’t sitting there, maybe I wouldn’t care, but now I can’t keep my eyes away. From four tables over it’s a little hard to see without rising high out of my chair, until Billy Keegan stands up, dramatically lifting a milk-shake cup as though giving a toast, before chugging it down. I see Kendra and Neftali covering their faces in pretend horror. And then I hear Cassie’s hysterical little giggle.
Yel looks over at me. “Gross.”
“What are they doing?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Smashing things together in Billy’s milk shake and daring him to drink it, from the looks of it.”
“That’s stupid,” I say. Although Cassie doesn’t seem to think so.
The overhead lights glint in Yel’s goggle-style glasses when she nods. “Sure is.”
I feel the tiniest bit vindicated, but when I glance down at my still-untouched sandwich, I’m not certain I can eat anymore. It’s not just because of what Billy might be digesting—it’s the delighted way Cassie is laughing about it.
People are starting to get up and clear their trays anyway, so I start packing things up to eat later. Just as I’m putting my lunch sack into my backpack, I hear over me, “Hey, Fiona.”
Azay Crowder is standing there, still holding his lunch tray. Two of his friends hover behind him. Azay is in my homeroom, and has never said a word to me before.
“Yes?”
“Saw you were doing a little reading.” He nods toward my backpack, clearly knowing what’s inside. “Wondered if I could borrow your book. I heard there was some pretty outrageous stuff in there.”
Shame immediately burns my cheeks. I pull my backpack closer, afraid Azay might try and grab it, but he just laughs and walks away with his friends shuffling and guffawing behind him.
I know I wrote unkind things about Cassie, and I probably need to apologize, but none of that was as bad as her making me endure all of this.
Chapter Six
Everyone’s hyper about the three-day weekend, but when Evie, Aja, and I load their overnight bags in the back of Maritza’s Suburban, I don’t think anyone feels quite as jubilant to have made it to Friday as I do.
“This is Maritza,” I tell them, deciding at the last second not to refer to her as our sitter. “And that’s my sister, Leelu.”
“What a cute name!” Evie exclaims.
“It’s after a Hawaiian princess,” Leelu tells them proudly.
“Well, sort of,” I correct. I love that Leelu thinks of herself as a princess, but it feels awkward in front of new friends, especially since it’s not wholly true.
“Yeah-huh,” she insists.
“Our parents thought the real name was a little too long,” I explain, “so they created something of their own based on it.”
“That’s adorable,” Evie coos.
“No wonder you’re so creative,” Aja says to me. “My mom got my name from some cheesy rock-star cartoon. Yours is from Shakespeare, right?”
I tell her it is, surprised to hear Aja being down on a name that to me seems mysterious and exotic. Still, it’s nice she thinks I’m creative.
“We are waiting for Cassie?” Maritza asks.
Aja makes a choking sound in her throat.
“Um, Cassie has other plans this weekend,” I say. Aja nudges me with her elbow and we trade sneaky looks. It doesn’t exactly feel good, but it’s better than most of what I’ve felt this week.
“Do you want to do a quiz?” Leelu holds up her Sleepover Secrets Handbook, which she must have had at school all day, just for this. Most people would be annoyed to have their little sister horning in on their sleepover, but Leelu’s games and ideas are another thing that got us both through the Divorce. Having a best friend who got my attachment to my sister without me having to explain it was part of what made Cassie so great, too. She automatically understood that when there’s a nine-year-old around, you don’t have to feel too old to be silly and free. So I’m relieved when right away Evie says she’d love to. Aja looks a little skeptical, but she’s at least willing.
And of course within three minutes, Leelu wins them both over.
“Your sister is priceless,” Aja tells me when we get to Room for Dessert to pick out treats for later. “You’re so lucky to have such a cutie around who idolizes you. My sisters all can’t wait until I’m grown-up and going to college or being boring having babies like them.”
“I know,” Evie adds. “I have a little sister too—well, stepsister—and she’s nothing but annoying. Aja’s lucky at least two of hers don’t live in the same house.”
Leelu is so much more than adorable or annoying to me, but I’m curious about what it would be like having an older sister. I want to know more about Evie’s home life, too. Asking the two of them questions about their families also helps distract me from the sudden surprising alarm I feel, being at Cassie’s and my favorite dessert place for the first time without her.
When Aja and Evie start debating between lemon or turtle bars (I’m on Evie’s side about turtle, but don’t want to get between them), I move over to Leelu. Together we peer into the case at our old favorites and the new additions this month.
“Cookie-dough brownie,” Leelu points, looking at me expectantly.
“Maybe we should try something differ
ent this time.” The cookie-dough brownie is what Cassie and I always share. “What do you think?”
Leelu stares hard into the case. Finally she points, smiling. Fruity Rice Krispies treats won’t have quite the same decadence, but at least they’re bright and colorful like my sister.
When we make it home through the holiday weekend traffic, Leelu and I give my friends a tour of the house. Evie oohs in almost every room, which is funny, because while Dad’s new house is nice, it’s not as nice as Cassie’s, and definitely not as nice as our old house. Even I can admit that the big entertainment room is a bonus, though, and when Aja asks if we can search for some music video she wants to show us, I tell her to be my guest.
“‘Try the gray stuff; it’s delicious!’” she sings, doing a jaunty little dance step.
“I love that movie!” Leelu cheers. “Except Frozen is better.”
I’m still shocked Aja knows Beauty and the Beast at all, or would admit she did in such a cheesy way. “I didn’t think anyone else liked vintage Disney except—” I stop myself from saying “Cassie” in time. “Except me and, um, Leelu.”
Evie and Aja look at each other, trading excited grins. “Are you kidding?” Aja says. “Evie, show them that Fantasia mash-up we found.”
As we huddle around the screen of Aja’s phone, the back of my head relaxes. Cassie always insisted we keep our Disney obsession between us and Leelu. Suddenly not being self-conscious about it, and realizing I might be able to find other friends who like the same things my sister and I do, feels really good. I help Evie call up the internet on our giant screen with the remote, and we spend the rest of the time before Dad gets home going from watching cool Disney-inspired clips to eventually bobbing around to a bunch of performances by this neat musician Aja really likes—a girl with a super-sultry voice but who always wears a suit and tie.
It’s already been a great afternoon, and Dad’s treat to drive us to Carmel-by-the-Sea for dinner only makes it better. There, we’ll get to enjoy our gourmet pizza place, Allegro, but the cute little cottages (Leelu calls them fairy hobbit apartments) and stunning blue water are also always so relaxing.
This Is All Your Fault, Cassie Parker Page 4