“I didn’t realize you’d been friends for such a long time.”
“Since kindergarten,” I said. “Alphabetical order. We had to share a cubby and everything.”
A couple of guys from school interrupted us then, to say hi. We stopped to chat about which movie we’d seen—it turned out to be the same one—and how it had sucked.
By the time we got away, we passed half of the girls’ water polo team, hanging out by one of the fountains. They waved, and I nodded back.
I didn’t really have a big romantic evening planned, but neither of us wanted to head home, so I offered to show her the castle park. It’s this great old playground with a huge concrete fortress built way back in the eighties, where I used to play when I was little.
On the drive over, Cassidy discovered that I’d never tried a Toblerone bar, which she deemed totally unacceptable, so we stopped off at the grocery store to buy some. While we were waiting to pay, what might possibly have been the entire varsity football team crowded into the checkout line behind us. They were buying two dozen cans of nonstick cooking spray.
It was so entirely magnificent that I was too stunned to laugh. Cassidy nudged me, grinning.
“Hey,” I said, turning around.
Connor, the quarterback, seemed surprised to see me—although not as surprised as I was to see the entire starting lineup dropping what had to be a cool fifty on cooking spray.
“Faulkner,” he acknowledged, and then nodded at Cassidy. “Lady friend.”
Connor was plastered, the stench of liquor radiating off him in waves. I hoped someone else was the designated driver.
“They make different flavors,” Cassidy said politely, nodding toward the cooking spray. “I don’t know if you’re aware.”
I stifled a laugh. It was all too bizarre. And the worst of it was that the cashier was some kid from school, possibly a junior. He looked terrified at the prospect of ringing up the football team’s purchase, and I didn’t blame him.
“Got it, thanks,” Connor said sheepishly, as though we’d caught him buying a bulk pack of tiny condoms. Honestly? That would have been less surprising.
I paid quickly and ushered Cassidy into the parking lot, where we laughed our faces off.
“What was that?” Cassidy asked, gasping.
“I’m not certain,” I said, “but I believe it may have been the starting lineup of our school’s football team purchasing twenty-four cans of PAM.”
“Oh my God,” Cassidy spluttered. “I’m dying.”
We were still laughing when I pulled into the empty lot in the castle park.
“Maybe it’s some sort of ritual,” Cassidy said, speculating. “Like, they have to cover themselves with PAM and play tackle football.”
“Believe me, if that was going on, I’d know about it. The tennis guys would give football so much crap.” As if we didn’t already. We played a country-club sport; they put on protective padding and slammed into each other.
“Maybe they’re pranking someone.”
“It’s probably a drinking game. PAM shots with beer.”
We stared up at the enormous concrete castle, this bizarre combination sandbox and jungle gym with a tire swing I used to love as a kid. Cassidy held the candy and drinks we’d bought from the market, the plastic bag knotted around her wrist like a corsage.
“So we just climb up?” she asked doubtfully, taking hold of the rock wall that led up the side of the fortress.
I winced, realizing her doubt was focused in my direction.
“Well, there are stairs.” I disappeared around the other side of the castle, trying to make a joke of it, of how I couldn’t even handle a freaking jungle gym.
We claimed the castle’s lookout tower, the highest point of the playground, and it was sad how triumphant I felt at getting up there. A little plastic steering wheel was bolted to the balcony, which made Cassidy laugh.
“It’s like that castle from Monty Python!” she said, taking the helm. “Let’s take it out for a spin.”
“I thought you didn’t have a license,” I teased, sitting down on the rubberized floor of our little fort.
A full moon was shining high and white over the skeletons of the birch trees, and I could hear someone still on the tennis courts beyond the cookout area, even though it was nearly curfew. I wondered if it was anyone I knew.
Cassidy sat down next to me, her dress teasing me as it fluttered in the breeze. She broke the chocolate bar in half and waited for me to taste it with this I-told-you-so grin.
We finished the candy in an embarrassingly short time, and I watched as she absently licked the chocolate off her fingers. She blushed when she noticed my reaction.
“I bet you taste like chocolate,” Cassidy said.
“I bet you’re right,” I told her, and then we were very busy in our private little turret, Cassidy sitting on my lap in her little dress, driving me crazy with her bare legs against my jeans. I was kissing her neck, and her hands were under my shirt, and I didn’t know how far I was getting, but I didn’t care, because the magnificent possibility of kissing Cassidy Thorpe had turned into an indisputable fact of my daily existence, and I could hardly believe my good fortune.
I ran my hand up her thigh, half expecting her to push it away, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat up as though we’d been caught by her dear, sweet grandmother, and for all I knew, we had.
“Someone’s here,” Cassidy said, smoothing her hair. She scooted over to the edge of the lookout and peered through the crenellations. I hoped desperately that she’d imagined it, but then I heard laughter. Laughter and aerosol cans being shaken.