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“A teacher asked me to.”
Resisting a crack about being a teacher’s pet is difficult, but I manage. “Maggie asked me to.”
“And you care that much about her feelings?”
There’s accusation layered in the question, along with something worse—hurt.
“Don’t think much of me anymore, do you?”
“Which should impress me more, Holden? The fact you don’t bother to do your work to the point of almost failing? Or the way you come home in the middle of the night on the weekends, drunk and bruised?”
My jaw flexes and works. Before I can decide how to respond, a waitress appears. She beams at us, failing to sense the tension sparking between us like a live wire in a lightning storm.
“What can I get you guys?” she asks, flipping open her little notebook and looking at us expectantly, pen poised.
I look at Cassia. She glances away, pointedly.
“I’ll take a double bacon cheeseburger with an extra side of fries. And a Coke.”
The waitress nods, scribbling. “And you?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Cassia replies, folding her arms across her chest. All it does is draw my attention to her tits. But the ice between us is so thin I can hear it cracking, so I avert my gaze and don’t say a word.
We sit in silence. For long enough, I lose track of the seconds—the minutes. The only interruption is when my food is delivered. When I sneak a glance at Cassia, she’s already looking at me. She flushes, then glances at the row of stools where Ben and Maggie are sitting.
“I should go over there.”
I roll my eyes and take a bite of burger. Swallow and sip some soda. “They’re fine.”
“Wouldn’t you worry if Sydney was out with some random guy?”
“That would require Sydney going out, which seems unlikely to happen. She spends her weekends hanging out with you.”
Cassia huffs an exhale, her irritation obvious even before she speaks. “Is that supposed to be a dig at me? Should I be out drinking and fighting and doing whatever else you spend your weekends doing instead?”
I suck in a deep lungful of grease-saturated air. “It wasn’t a dig, just an observation.”
Cassia snorts, glancing over at Ben and Maggie again. Her fingers shred a napkin in quick, efficient strokes.
“What do you think is going to happen, Cassia? They’re just talking. We’re sitting right here. What are you worried about?”
“I’m worried—” She shoves the pile of white ribbons to the side and starts playing with the straw in her water glass instead. “I’m worried he’s going to turn into a player and break her heart.”
Her gaze meets mine, hazel slamming into me with an intensity I wasn’t expecting.
I know she’s not talking about Ben.
She’s talking about me.
I swallow. “That’s not something you can protect her from.”
Cassia scoffs. “Yeah. I know.”
I wipe my mouth and ball the napkin up in my fist. I’m squeezing it so tightly I know an imprint of my fingers will be left behind. “Excited for the senior trip?” I ask. It’s the only thing I can think to ask about and it’s probably the lamest I’ve ever felt. I sound like a teacher or a parent.
Everyone I know is excited for the senior trip. It’s an annual tradition that’s one of the highlights of being at the top of the high school hierarchy. Two nights of limited supervision in New York City. The weekend is legendary.
Cassia makes a face. “Not really.”
