But if it’s not Jason at the end of Quigley’s fist, I ask myself, where is he? There’s Alisa in her dangerous red sweater, and there’s Derrick trying to pull Quigley back and Marcus wedging himself between Quigley and the poor dude from another school. And all around there’s kids laughing or gasping or yelling encouragement, but no Jason. And no Aimee.
Cassidy yells, “Marcus, look out,” as Quigley breaks away from Derrick’s grip. But it’s too late—he slings a punch that misses its target and smacks Marcus square in the ear.
Cassidy goes, “Pull him back, Derrick, pull him back,” and takes off running through the crowd. It’s okay now, though—Derrick and Marcus both have a hold on Quigley, and the other kid’s buddies are pulling him away. Cassidy’s right behind Marcus now, touching his back gently, I guess just to let him know she’s there to support him.
This is a development I didn’t foresee. I mean, a punch in the ear while performing an act of heroism is bound to draw Cassidy’s attention away from fun with me for at least thirty minutes. Talk about a plan backfiring.
Then, suddenly there’s a voice in my ear. “Guess you were wrong about Jason Doyle.” It’s Shannon, standing next to me. “Looks like he found someone else to flirt with.”
I’m like, “Where?” and she points to a dark corner of the clearing, far away from the fight. There’s Jason standing under a big oak, whispering something, his lips not even an inch from Aimee Finecky’s ear.
Chapter 32
Okay, so maybe what I have to go break up isn’t as perilous as Marcus wading into the middle of a Denver Quigley beating, but does that mean it’s any less noble? I don’t think so. The stakes are probably even higher. I know what Jason has in mind. He’s thinking, I’m getting ready to peel me a giant grape and taste some sweet, sweet nerd nectar. It’s just too bad that Cassidy doesn’t know what I’m up against here.
“So, where’s Cody?” I say just as Jason leans his head over Aimee’s, sniffing her hair.
“Oh, he left.” Jason holds his ground. “Guess he couldn’t take the competition.”
Aimee has a look on her face like she just stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl and is about to puke.
“What happened?” I ask her. “Did you drink some more beer or something?”
Before she can answer, Jason goes, “I may have got her a cup.” He grins slyly. “She just needed to loosen up some. Socially, I mean.”
I touch my fingertips to her chin to get her to look at me. “Are you all right?”
She tries a weak smile. “Yeah,” she says in that two-syllable no/yes way of hers. “I’m just really not used to drinking.”
“You were wrong about Alisa and Quigley,” Jason says. “They’re not broken up after all. I guess some poor dude over there found that out.” He’s sneering now. I’m sure he suspects I played him.
So I’m like, “That’s why I came over here. That fight’s over. But Quigley’s not satisfied. He’s asking who all was talking to Alisa before he got here. He’s taking names, dude.”
The sneer evaporates from Jason’s mouth. “Wait a minute. All I did was ask her if it was true that they were broken up. When she said no, I was outta there.”
“That’s cool,” I say, all sympathetic. “I’m sure Quigley’ll understand. You know how he is.”
Now, it’s Jason that’s looking a little sick. “Yeah, I know how he is. Shit.” He glances at Aimee, the little pale face, the lipstick, the giant purple coat. “You know what? I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you at school.”
“Hey, Jason,” I call as he starts away. “You might oughta take the long way around to your car.”
He waves me off, but you can be sure he puts plenty of distance between himself and Denver Quigley.
Aimee tries an awkward version of the old now-it’s-just-you-and-me smile, but to tell the truth, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with her. I’ve saved her from Jason Doyle’s sex-maniac clutches, and Cody Dennis was a washout—what’s left?
The rest of the party has returned to normal after the Quigley dustup, and there’s Cassidy across the way, standing apart from a group of jocks. She’s looking right at me. What’s going on in that female mind of hers, I can’t tell, but when Marcus walks over and wraps his arm around her waist, she returns the favor. Still, she’s staring straight at me, so I do the only thing I can think of at the moment—squeeze my arm around Aimee’s puffy purple shoulder.
“Let’s take a walk down by the lake,” I say, still gazing at Cassidy. “This party’s getting lame.”
“Really? Are the other parties usually different?”
“No, they’re all the same.”
There’s a dirt road that runs along the side of the lake, and on the way over I bum a strawberry wine cooler from Shawnie, not for me, of course, but for Aimee. She looks like she could use it.
“Oh, I like this,” she says after a sip. She takes a bigger drink. “This is good.”
As we walk along under a big, fat, almost-full moon, we talk some more about Commander Amanda Gallico and Zoster, the underland of Marmoth, and Adininda, the beautiful Siren of the second moon of the planet Kosh. I’m starting to think I’d actually like to read some of those books. I mean, I am a big reader, but mostly just stuff on the Internet, blogs, MySpace, zines, all sorts of crazy things.