When I finished, Cassidy didn’t say anything for a long time. And then she closed the short distance between us and brushed her lips against my cheek.
They were cold from her diet soda, and it was over in an instant. But she didn’t move away. Instead, she sat down with her jeans touching mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. I could feel the flutter of her eyelashes against my neck with every blink, and we sat there for a while, breathing quietly together, listening to the thrum of traffic on University Drive and the gurgle of the creek.
“There’s this poem,” Cassidy finally said, “by Mary Oliver. And I used to write a line from it in all of my school notebooks to remind myself that I didn’t have to be embarrassed of the past and afraid of the future. And it helped. So I’m giving it to you. The line is, ‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do/With your one wild and precious life?’”
We stared out at the creek, watching the couple across from us gather their things and head back to the path.
“Well,” I said. “What are my options?”
“Let me consult the oracle,” Cassidy mused, leaning forward to pull up a blade of grass. She examined it in her palm as though she was reading my fortune. “You can sound your barbaric yawp over the rooftops . . . or suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune . . . or seize the day . . . or sail away from the safe harbor . . . or seek a newer world . . . or rage against the dying of the light, although that one doesn’t start with s, so it sort of ruins the poetry of it all, don’t you think?”
“And here I thought you were going to say doctor, lawyer, or business executive.” I laughed.
“Honestly, Ezra.” Cassidy stood up, brushing the grass off her jeans. “You’ll never escape the panopticon thinking like that.”
13
THAT NIGHT, I took Cooper out to the end of our cul-de-sac and tossed a ball for him. It wasn’t the same as taking him for our run down the hiking trails, but he seemed to enjoy it all the same. He even found a wild rabbit to chase, although I don’t think the rabbit particularly appreciated the game, or being hunted as game.
When I brought Cooper back to the house, my mom was at the kitchen table with a mug of tea at her elbow, flipping through the TV Guide even though we have On Demand and streaming.
“Where’d you go?” she asked.
“End of the block,” I said, pouring fresh water into Cooper’s bowl. “Tossed around a ball.”
“Off the leash?” She looked horrified. “Ezra, it’s dark outside! He could’ve been hit by a car!”
“It’s a cul-de-sac, so I highly doubt it.”
“Tone, young man.”
“Sorry.” I took a pack of cookies out of the pantry and opened them. “Want one?”
“Not this late,” she said. “Bring those to the table and tell me about school.”
I suddenly regretted my foray into the pantry.
“School’s fine,” I said through a mouthful of cookie. “Although these are terrible. I thought they were chocolate chip.”
“Carob chip. It’s healthier. How are your classes?”
“Good. I need you to sign a permission form for debate. There’s an overnight tournament in San Diego next weekend.”
“An overnight field trip?” She shook her head. “Honey, I don’t know. Don’t you have physical therapy on Saturdays?”
“I can call Dr. Levine and reschedule,” I said impatiently. “And it’s not a field trip, it’s a tournament. I joined the debate team.”
Cooper whined for a cookie, and I shot him a look that said Trust me, you don’t want to try these.
“Is that what your friends from student government are doing this year?” Mom asked cheerily. “The debate team?”
“Not exactly.” I tried not to grin at the thought of Jimmy Fuller, our sports team liaison, or Tiffany Wells, our social events chair, hanging out with my new lunch crowd. “Toby Ellicott asked me to join. He’s captain this year.”
“Oh, Toby! I haven’t seen that boy in ages.” Mom closed the TV Guide and leaned across the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Tell me, did he turn out to be g*y?”
I choked on the carob cookie.
“Mom!”
“What? I’m just curious, honey.”
I stared at her, appalled. It was one of those questions you don’t go around asking about people.
“Are you going to sign the permission form or should I ask Dad?” I pressed.
“Leave it on the counter for me in the morning. I can take you to Nordstrom after school.”
I’d just gotten up from the table, and when she mentioned shopping, I froze.
“Well, you’re going to need a suit for debate, aren’t you?” Mom went on, warming to the idea. “And we can get you some new clothes as well. Your jeans are a bit baggy now, and I don’t want you tripping over the hems.”
She was smiling as though the men’s department of Nordstrom was a perfect opportunity for us to spend some quality time together. And then I came up with an idea.
“Actually,” I said, “I’ll go with Toby. He’ll know what I’ll need for the tournament.”
“That’s a great idea.” Mom beamed. “Just use your father’s credit card. Gay boys have such wonderful taste in clothes!”
“YOU CAN’T JUST buy a suit off the rack.” Cassidy gawked at me, horrified.
That same Vampire Weekend song from the Back to School Pep Rally seeped through invisible speakers, permeating the men’s department of Nordstrom. I sighed, overwhelmed by the endless stretch of clothing racks.