Finally satisfied that I look good, but not like I’m trying too hard, I lock up our room and make my way to Cass’s. The door is open, so I knock lightly and move inside. Her back is to me, and she doesn’t see me at first. Before I can warn her that I’m coming, she runs her arm along her face and eyes.
Shit! She’s crying.
I freeze, then back pedal as quietly as I can, knocking at the door again, this time a little more loudly, and coughing on my entry just to be safe. She stands quickly, and she smiles. I know that move. I’ve fucking patented that move. And I can just tell her world isn’t right. Her eyes are still puffy for Christ’s sake. But she’s pretending. Fronting—yeah, I’ve done fronting.
“Baby,” I say, setting the bag down on her bed and moving closer so I can hug her waist and pull her close.
“Don’t call me baby,” she half giggles and half cries, pulling the end of her sleeve into her palm and wiping tears away before they have a chance to fall. She can’t keep up the façade—it must be bad, whatever it is.
“Wanna tell me about it?” I want her to tell me about it, so when she says it’s nothing at first, I’m actually sad. A girl is crying, and I want to help. I suck at this too, just like I suck at big romantic gestures—but I want to try.
“I’m good at listening,” I say, stopping short of begging her to open up about whatever made her upset.
“My parents,” she pauses, her lip slipping from its grip between her teeth and her breath heavy as she fights to stop her tears. “I’m sorry. I hate crying. It makes me mad. Makes me feel weak.”
“You’re not weak,” I say, pulling her hand away from her face to kiss it. “I cry.”
“You cry?” she asks.
“Well, no…not really…I mean, hello? Pathetic with a capital P!” She laughs, which was really my only goal.
“My parents…they don’t think I should play. Don’t think it’s good for me,” she says, and I can tell she’s heartbroken.
“Did you tell them to fuck off?” I’m only half kidding, but I let her laugh and think I’m joking.
“No,” she says. “I can’t do that. My dad…he’s more okay with it than my mom. And I can usually get my way if I win him over and get him on my side. But this time...my mom won.”
“Does she have some dirt on your dad or something?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood because I can tell Cass is lost in these sad thoughts. She flashes a short smile at my joke, but it fades quickly.
“Something like that,” she says, taking one more deep breath and slipping from my hold to stand in front of me. “Okay, enough of that. Enough of them. What’s the plan for tonight? What’s this big idea you said you had?”
“Well,” I start, unzipping my duffel and pulling out the desktop disco lamp, which is met with a praising nod and laugh. I follow it with a few cheesy decorations and some pink balloons that honestly look like condoms when I blow them up. Cass helps me toss them around the room, kicking them and volleying them in the air for a few minutes. It’s such a simple game—we’re like children playing, but whatever had her heartsick is gone now, so we keep batting the condom balloons around until she collapses on the bed and sighs, her mouth still stretched in a smile as she watches a balloon float down to her face.
“We’re having a party?” she finally asks, smacking the balloon into my face.
“Sort of,” I say, pulling out the cheap CD player last. “I didn’t think it was fair that Rowe got a prom tonight and you didn’t. So….”
I finally get the CD player plugged in and start the first song, which is mostly incredibly cheesy saxophone music. When I turn back to Cass, she’s shading her face like she’s embarrassed.
“Oh. My. God. This is…like…the corniest thing ever,” she says, and as if on cue, I tap the button on the light and the room illuminates with disco crystals. I move to the light switch, flip it off, and the effect is just as roller-rink-style as I thought it would be. I’m pretty pleased.
“No. No, wait. I lied. Now this is the corniest thing ever,” she giggles. There’s no trace of her frown left, no hint of a tear, and as ridiculous as this all is—she’s looking at me like I just gave her a dozen roses. Yeah, I did good.
“Shut up, beautiful, and get over here and dance,” I say, reaching for her hand while some song that I think was maybe from the movie Footloose starts.