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1)
“I’m sorry,” Izzie says, “about everything,” and Casey wants to believe her. But there have been too many people in her life recently who have let her down, too many people dropping the ball when it counts, for her to trust again so easily. First her mom, for cheating on her dad because she’s going through some sort of selfish, late-in-life crisis; then Nate, for also trying to be a cheating dirtbag; Izzie, for believing her boyfriend over her best friend for no reason other than fear and half-baked, misguided loyalty. It’s like the only person who really has her back these days is Sam.
Is that ironic? It feels ironic.
“I got jealous,” Izzie says, when Casey doesn’t respond, “and I was… afraid of losing someone that I love.” Which is dumb. That’s dumb.
“I would never come between you and Nate.” Because she wouldn’t. She knows what cheating does to a relationship, to a family; she’s seen it first-hand. She isn’t that kind of person. She would never be that kind of person. And this whole situation sucks like… way more, because the fact that Izzie thinks she would, that that’s the kind of thing she would do, hurts worse than anything. It hurts like a red hot fire poker to the stomach, like… like maybe they actually aren’t that close. Like maybe she’s misjudged the whole course of their relationship, because if this is the kind of person Izzie thinks she is, maybe she really doesn’t know her. Has Casey been wrong about everything? Has she really been such a bad judge of character?
(Besides, she thinks to herself, after somewhat of a delay, I have Evan, and I love him. What would I want Nate for? She doesn’t need to steal someone else’s boyfriend; not when she has her own.)
But Izzie just shakes her head. “Screw him,” she shoots back. “No, I was—afraid of losing you.”
And: Oh. That… that does something unexpected to her, pokes at some feeling Casey can’t identify. There’s something that feels like a string, tugging between her heart and her stomach; a rubber band stretching tight. She takes a breath, feels hot behind her ears and behind her eyes. “Oh,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else.
“It just… before you got to Clayton, I… felt so out of place. Like I couldn’t be myself.”
Out of place. Casey’s felt out of place her whole life. With her family, with boys, at school. Weird, intense, too focused on sports, too crass when she eats and speaks and curses, hair too short, body too boyish, the girl with the autistic brother.
Izzie’s still talking. “And with Nate… our lives are just so different.”
“Yeah, like he’s a huge douche and you’re not?” Casey grumbles.
Izzie looks her in the eye, dead serious. “Yes.”
Casey bites her lower lip, trying to control her smile. It doesn’t work, of course, but she still lowers her head, her cheeks pinking.
“And then you and I got into that big fight—” Izzie says quietly. Casey feels the smile slowly slip from her mouth. She breathes evenly, but doesn’t look at her. Not yet— “and we stopped talking. And… I missed you.”
There it is again: that rubber band stretching tight.
Talking with Izzie has always been so easy. That’s partly why they got so close so quickly: even when they hated each other, even when they were fighting and shooting nasty, ugly barbs towards each other (or, more accurately: when Izzie was shooting nasty, ugly barbs towards Casey), the conversation never lagged.
And now, they’re best friends. Even after their fight, even with their almost-fallout… Casey can’t deny that. Maybe she doesn’t trust Izzie fully right now; maybe she won’t for a while. But the girl’s good at apologies, and with only a few sentences they’re laughing together like everything is normal. Maybe it isn’t, not perfectly, not yet; but maybe it can be.
When Izzie says “Let’s forehead promise to never leave each other again,” Casey has no idea what she’s talking about — it sounds like another crazy idea, like building a tent out of a couch and some blankets in her family room. But that had turned out well, and if Izzie wants them to promise they’ll always be friends, Casey is going to promise. She’s never really had a friend like Izzie, before. Now that she has one, she doesn’t want to lose her.
Pressing their foreheads together feels weird, and Casey can’t help but giggle. She doesn’t have much experience being this close to someone who isn’t related to her or that she isn’t trying to make out with, so it feels more than a little ridiculous to be doing it with Izzie, of all people.
Izzie laughs too as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. Her bracelet clicks against her earring. “Is it obvious that I just made this up?” Izzie's cheeks are pink and her laughter embarrassed.
Casey smiles, close-lipped, her eyes crinkling shut. They look at each other like that, smiling for a few moments. But then a few moments turn into a few seconds, and a few seconds turn into a few more, and they still haven’t moved. They’re still on Casey’s bed, foreheads pressed together, hands and knees brushing on Casey’s duvet. Their smiles fade into something softer, and then into nothing.
The rubber band stretches and stretches until it catches, lodged somewhere in her throat. Casey swallows, feels like she can’t breathe. There’s nothing but breath between them. Their noses brush, and Casey’s eyes drop down to Izzie’s lips like there’s some magnetic force pulling them there. There’s a tremble to Izzie’s lower lip as she exhales shakily. Casey can’t stop staring. Izzie’s lips are pink, shining with gloss. She can’t help but wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind behind the roaring rush of her own blood in her ears that’s drowning out just about every sound but her own breathing, whether or not they might taste faintly of candy.
Who leans in first? She can’t say for certain. But one moment Casey is staring at Izzie’s lips, and the next Izzie is actually biting them, and then Casey’s eyes are drifting shut, and she’s not sure what makes her do it, but she lifts her chin and feels Izzie shift to meet her—
Maybe it’s for the best that her mom barges in. Besides the absolute humiliation of being caught almost kissing her best friend on her bed by her mother, obviously. But though her cheeks burn and her eyes feel wet with embarrassment, and though she feels this sick twisting in her stomach that might be guilt or might be shame or might be fear or might be understanding, and though she can’t quite look Izzie in the eye, she’s a little grateful.
She almost did something she’s sure she would have regretted.
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2)
To her extraordinary relief, they come to the mutual (yet unacknowledged) understanding that whatever weird thing is going on between them, those weird emotions that made them maybe-almost-but-not-quite kiss in her bedroom on her birthday? They’re not going to talk about it. Not over text, not in-person… Casey almost can’t believe her luck. She had had absolutely no idea how she was going to play this off — their guilty, jump-away-from-each-other reactions had made the whole situation feel too real to be a joke, but the fact that it hadn’t actually happened (that they hadn’t actually kissed) means that they don’t necessarily, specifically, technically have to address it.
After a weird two days where Casey pretty blatantly ignores her, Izzie texts her an old selfie she found of the two of them. Casey opens it and maybe it’s the fact that she’s in a great mood, or maybe it’s because Sam is graduating, or maybe it’s because she had sex again last night with Evan, but she looks down at the picture and she smiles. Hang out later? she asks.
Sure! Izzie shoots back a moment later. What did you have in mind?
Casey stops and thinks for a moment. Slurpees?
.
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“I can’t believe we drove four towns away just to find a 7-Eleven that serves cotton candy Slurpees.”
Casey laughs. It’s not a complaint, more an expression of I-can’t-believe-we-actually-came-up-with-this-idea. “I have no regrets.” She pauses, toying with her straw. She chews on her lip as the silence grows between them. It’s not uncomfortable, not really, but it’s something like pre-uncomfortable, and Casey feels the need to talk, the need to spill (the need to brag) bubbling up within her. “So guess what?” she says with a coy smile, eyes on her drink. She answers herself before Izzie gets the chance to. “I had sex again,” she says quickly, her coy smile growing into more of a pleased grin. She feels like a teenage boy, bragging about his sexcapades with his buddies to prove he’s better, smarter, more mature. Then again, teenage girls really aren’t so different from teenage boys, and sexual posturing isn’t exactly unheard of for girls like her. She hears it all the time in locker rooms, at lunch, from people on her various track teams.
(Izzie has never spoken about her sex life with Nate, though Casey knows they must have one.)
“With Evan?” Izzie asks, and it sounds teasing, but also maybe not? Like there’s an edge to her voice Casey can hear but can’t place.
She goes with ‘teasing’ back. “No, with myself,” she says, deadpan. “Still counts though, right?”
Izzie laughs and glances at her through her eyelashes, a move that makes Casey forget, momentarily, what it is they’re talking about. “Shut up.” She scrunches her face up and brings her drink to her lips.
Casey isn’t looking directly at her, so she can’t exactly see the smile slip from her lips, but she can feel it, because hers does, too. The car feels different, markedly different, in the span of only a few seconds. She says, quieter, finally in response: “Yeah, with Evan.” Another pause as she looks up straight ahead of her and sets her mouth. “I really love him,” she says, nodding a few times for emphasis (what is she trying to emphasize? what is she trying to prove? and who is she trying to prove it to?).
They’re both staring straight out ahead, not looking at each other. “I know you do,” Izzie responds, just as softly.
“It’s just, sometimes a thing feels… so right, y’know?” And she doesn’t know who she’s talking about, anymore. In her mind she’s picturing Evan, or at least she’s trying to, but she can’t stop her brain from flipping back to other moments. You know you are not what I expected — Nate’s awesome, but sometimes it feels not quite right with him — I knew you two would fall in love — We can stay in here forever if you want — This might sound lame, but you’re like my new favorite person — I was afraid of losing you — I missed you — Is it obvious that I just made this up?
She doesn’t know what she’s thinking, anymore. This whole thing is too confusing, and she feels like she’s twisted up inside, like a pile of necklaces someone’s just pulled out of an old shoebox that after 40 years going untouched now has to be untangled.
Izzie doesn’t answer. Casey can feel an electric current running between them. They aren’t touching but the air inside Casey’s car feels super-charged. Like one spark and the whole thing might go up in flames.
Izzie still hasn’t said anything. Casey, strangely, is beyond expecting her to. The silence feels like more of an answer than words ever could. Without saying a word, the entire atmosphere of the car, of this hang, of this night has changed. Where before it was easy, natural, normal, now it suddenly isn’t again. It’s like they’re back in Casey’s bedroom, foreheads pressed together, some spell cast over them that makes it feel like they’re having entire conversations just with the placement of their bodies, their eye contact, the spaces left between their words.
Casey doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t think she can. But she knows what Izzie is about to do a second before it happens. Izzie’s pinky finger reaches out, brushes against the back of her hand. Casey’s fingers twitch, but she slides her hand slowly, softly, just far enough so that their pinkies can hook together in between their seats.
They still aren’t looking at each other. They can’t. If they look at each other the spell will be broken, this moment will end, and whatever liminal space they’ve entered will shatter and they’ll be forced back into reality. Casey doesn’t want that to happen. She can’t let it happen. There are infinite futures spooling out from this one; she thinks she could trace their trails, like following a line of string through a maze, if only she had enough time to parse through them all. She can see where this might be going and it terrifies her, freezes her still, but she can’t quite make herself pull away from it, yet. She’s had a taste and she’s so curious… she wants so much but could never say…
It might be Casey or it might be Izzie or it might be both of them working in tandem (or it might be neither of them; some greater force, some higher power acting upon them and nudging them in the right direction), but their hands come together, their fingers come together, and Casey’s hand is palm up and it fits so perfectly with Izzie’s, so natural, so easy.
Casey can’t remember if they’ve held hands before. She thinks they probably have. They’re teenage girls — what teenage girls haven’t held their best friends’ hands?
But it’s never felt like this, before. So noticeable. So present. So obvious, conspicuous. She feels the anxious urge to glance around, to make sure they aren’t being seen, to make sure that no one is walking near her car, to make sure that there’s no one around who might know them, who might find this behavior strange, who might report back to the others at school (no one around here could possibly know them; they’re four towns and nearly an hour away from home. But still, she worries).
Casey’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out with one hand, trying not to jostle the precarious position they’ve found themselves in.
Evan Tuba her phone screen reads. She swallows down the rise of hot panic that threatens to overtake her throat, her mouth, her head, and silences her phone.
She doesn’t look anywhere but straight in front of her. To look anywhere else would be tantamount to betrayal, or maybe admittance (or maybe acceptance).
“Newton?” Izzie ventures quietly, and Casey almost jumps at the sound.
She swallows. Slowly turns to face her.
Izzie is staring at her. It’s a little disconcerting, but more than that it’s almost invasive. She feels like Izzie is looking straight into her soul, like she’s reading every thought, every excuse, every explanation on Casey’s face.
“Clayton,” Casey says back, reaching desperately for a joke.
Izzie doesn’t laugh. She’s still holding Casey’s hand, her fingers holding tight to Casey’s. And oh, the feeling is so much stronger now that they’re looking at each other. Casey’s standing on a precipice; one wrong move, one strong gust of wind and she’s bound to go toppling over the side.
Izzie licks her lips, and Casey’s eyes are drawn to them almost unbidden. She feels her own mouth go dry, but ignores the urge to wet her lips (licking lips is a clear sign a girl wants to kiss you; Sam told her that once, and she thought it was ridiculous at the time, but now she can’t stop thinking about it).
Izzie gets so close. A foot away, maybe less. Her eyes are already closed, her head cocked to the side just-so.
Casey is half a second away from closing her eyes and meeting her in the middle, over the center console (she can’t stop thinking about Izzie’s lip gloss; she never did get to find out if it tasted like candy), when—
Her phone buzzes again, and Casey pulls away from her as if burned. She drops Izzie’s hand and clears her throat loudly. “It’s late,” she says, also loudly (too loud for the impossible stillness in the car). It’s only 9:30, well before her curfew, but sitting in a parked car with a girl as pretty as Izzie is dangerous; it feels dangerous, like inviting disaster. “I should take you home.”
Izzie, to her credit, returns to her seat and doesn’t speak for the rest of the ride home. Casey doesn’t think about what she might be feeling — if she’s disappointed or humiliated or ashamed or scorned or sad or angry or heartbroken or regretful or concerned. She doesn’t want to know the answer.
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3)
Madison Walcott’s 18th birthday party features a lot more booze than Casey thought it would. (Then again, Madison is rich, crazy rich, and her parents basically gifted her their house for the weekend so she and her friends could throw a rager — what kind of parents do that for their underage kid? — so really, the only thing that should surprise Casey is that there isn’t a catered, open bar.)
“Casey!” Madison yells as she throws the door open. Casey smiles, hopes it doesn’t look too pained. Madison has a bottle of beer between her fingers and she’s already a little unsteady, her face flushed and hair mussed. “I’m so glad you came! You guys, Newton’s here!”
There’s a chorus of shouts from inside the house. Casey glances over her shoulder. Her mom is still idling on the curb. She looks at Casey seriously, head lowered and peering through the front windshield of the family minivan, like maybe she’s thinking about getting out and coming up to the house to examine this clearly-parentless situation for herself. Casey gives her a wave and follows Madison inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
She’s surprised when she gets inside and sees only the majority of the Clayton track team sprawled across couches, in various states of dress, from skirts and croptops and heels to pajamas and socks. She chances a glance down at her own outfit — oversized yellow sweater, black jeans, Doc Martens — and breathes a sigh of relief. She’s not underdressed, not overdressed; she’ll blend right into the crowd.
Still, the lack of men present is surprising. She doesn’t know Madison very well, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who would pass up an opportunity to get drunk with a bunch of teenage boys. Not to slut-shame, or anything, just... just a comment.
Guilty about the thought, Casey looks around again, and asks, “Is anyone else coming?” Izzie waves at her from the couch, her smile wide and her eyes a little cloudy; she looks like she’s already had a couple drinks. Casey bites her lip and waves back at her. She’s not shy. She’s not. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
Madison knocks her shoulder. “Thought you had a boyfriend, Casey,” she teases. “You want some guys to distract you for the night?” A few of the other girls laugh. Casey tucks her hair behind her ears and looks down at her feet.
“Oh, leave her alone.” Izzie’s next to her in a moment, slipping her arm through Casey’s. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, so only Casey can see. “Ignore them. You’re new to the tradition, it’s not your fault you don’t know.”
“Tradition?”
Madison calls, from somewhere in the kitchen (Casey hadn’t even noticed her leave), “Friday night is girls’ night! The party with the boys always happens Saturday, but Friday is just for the ladies. Isn’t that right, ladies?” There’s a cheer from the main room. Girls raise their solo cups of cheap liquor, their bottles of light beer. They laugh as they clink them together.
“Girls rule, boys drool!” someone shouts. Casey can’t see who. More cheers, more clinking of glasses and bottles.
“C’mon,” Izzie says, pulling her towards the kitchen, “let’s get you something to drink.”
“Are Madison’s parties always like this?” Casey whispers, her eyes glancing about nervously. There are no parents around, no authority figures to bust them for underage drinking. But still, she’s never done something like this. She isn’t the kind of girl who goes to high school parties, who gets drunk on a Friday night just because she has nothing better to do. It’s intimidating. A little exciting, too, but she can’t help but feel like she’s someone’s younger sister who's been dragged along to a party she wasn't invited to; a movie character, smuggled into a scene where she doesn’t belong.
Izzie laughs. “You should have seen last year’s. You’re lucky you missed the morning after. Madison banned whiskey from all future gatherings because of it.”
Casey winces. “Yikes.”
“Yikes is right.” Izzie holds her arms out, presenting the drinks in front of her. “What are you feeling? Vodka soda, rum and coke, wine, beer?”
“Umm…” Casey swallows, staring at the collection of alcohol. God, she doesn’t know. She’s never done this, before. She’s had some wine at Christmas dinner, stolen swigs of vodka with Izzie when they were locked in together that day after school, but she certainly doesn’t know enough about alcohol to know what she likes.
Izzie can apparently see the panic on her face. She pats Casey’s elbow. “Don’t worry, Newton. I’ll make you something you’ll like.”
Casey breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I’m… pretty out of my element, here.”
“You know you don’t have to drink, if you don’t want to. No one’s going to be a dick about it if you’d rather stick to soda.”
But Casey shakes her head. “No, I… I want to. I do. I’m not some prude.”
Izzie rolls her eyes. “Not drinking doesn’t make you a prude, Newton. But okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am. I want to have a good time, tonight.”
Izzie’s returning smile is nearly wicked. It hints at something more, something unknown. Casey feels a jolt of fear that quickly turns into exhilaration. “Oh,” Izzie says with a slow, lazy wink, “I think we can make that happen.”
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She trips on the carpet in the foyer. The toe of her shoe gets caught under the lip and she nearly goes sprawling. “Casey!” Izzie whisper-laughs, grabbing at her elbow and yanking her back up. Izzie’s hand on her arm is the only thing that stops her from crashing to the ground and probably breaking her nose. But Casey’s stumbling makes Izzie break out into a fresh bout of giggles, loud, snorting sounds that echo across the wooden floors, off the walls and ceiling. Casey shushes her immediately, glancing up at the dark upper landing towards her parents’ room. The last thing she wants is to wake up her mom, while she’s drunk, at 11:45 pm on a Friday night.
Izzie can’t stop laughing. “Izzie!” Casey warns, and Izzie slaps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes are wide and rapidly filling with tears. Casey looks at her and feels her own laughter bubble up in her chest. She coughs, trying to cover it. “Be quiet,” Casey hisses, smiling wide, “we don’t want—”
“Casey?” Casey jolts, turning around at once. She spins on her heel and almost topples over again, but Izzie’s hand on her lower back stops her (the second time that night Izzie has stopped her from falling). Her mom is standing at the top of the stairs, gazing down at the pair of them.
Casey immediately straightens. Izzie tucks her face behind Casey’s shoulder. Casey can feel her shaking against her, trying to hide her laughter. “Oh, h—hi Mom. What’s up?”
Her mom’s eyes narrow. “Who drove you home?”
“Uber.”
“Hmm,” she hums, looking them up-and-down again. Casey wills herself not to sway. Izzie’s fingers are fisted in the fabric of her shirt, which is decidedly not helpful. “Are you two drunk?”
Casey shakes her head vehemently. “No,” she says, shaking her head some more for emphasis.
“No,” Izzie parrots, finally lifting her head from Casey’s shoulder. Her face is red and she’s still shaking, still trying to swallow her laughter. “No, Mrs. Newton, definitely not.” Casey tries to elbow her in the ribs. She misses.
Her mom sighs. “Well, you’re back before curfew and you didn’t drive. We’ll talk about this in the morning, Casey. Get some sleep, girls.”
“Yep, we’re right on that.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Newton.”
“Izzie!”
Izzie sputter-laughs. “Thank you, Mrs. Gardner,” she corrects. Casey’s face is flaming red, embarrassed. She grabs Izzie’s hand and pulls her up the stairs, her eyes down as she avoids looking at her mother.
They stumble into Casey’s bedroom, the door slamming behind them a little louder than they maybe intended. As soon as it’s shut Izzie collapses. Her knees give out and she slumps against the door. She’s grinning like the cat that got the canary, and Casey can’t help but roll her eyes at her (but she’s smiling, too, too pleased with herself to really articulate). “That went well,” Izzie teases.
Casey punches her lightly on the shoulder. “And whose fault was that! I was cool out there.”
“Cool as a cucumber.”
Casey laughs. “You’re the one who couldn’t hold it together in front of my mom.”
“Your mom loves me.”
“Yeah, you got her daughter drunk.” Casey digs around in her dresser, looking for an extra pair of sweatpants. Why is this so difficult? It’s not usually this hard for her to find items of clothing. “See how much she likes you in the morning.”
Izzie scoffs. “Sorry, who was handing out tequila shots tonight? Was it me?”
“Yeah, well who challenged me to ‘Text or Shot’ thirty minutes before we had to leave?” Casey shoots back.
Izzie shrugs. “Not my fault you wouldn’t let me send those texts. Send the text or drink, Newton; those are the rules. You chose to keep drinking.”
Casey turns around and throws a pair of sweatpants at her head. Izzie lets them hit her face, a lazy smile on her lips. Her arms reach up to grab at the fabric a half-second too late. Her reflexes are jank right now. “You tried to sext my boyfriend from my phone,” Casey says, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s maybe supposed to be accusatory, but it doesn’t really come out that way.
Izzie just laughs. She kicks off her jeans, only stumbling a little. Casey keeps her eyes firmly on her face and tries not to think about the way the back of her neck flushes at the glimpse she gets of Izzie’s toned thighs. “I was trying to spice up your sex life,” Izzie says as she yanks Casey’s sweatpants up her hips. They’re too big for her — the hems drag along the floor, even with the waistband rolled once. Casey thinks she’ll need to cuff them, if she doesn’t want to trip every time she has to walk. “Really, you should be thanking me. I saw some of the texts you guys send each other. Gag.”
Casey turns and grabs a pair of pajamas for herself. “Evan and I have a great relationship, thanks.” And if it tastes like a lie coming out of her mouth, well… that’s probably just the tequila talking.
Izzie doesn’t respond. Casey clears her throat, making herself busy so she doesn’t have to think about why that makes her uncomfortable. “Did you bring a toothbrush?” she asks, purposefully casual, glancing over her shoulder in Izzie’s direction.
Izzie hums and shakes her head. Her eyes are drooping now. Casey knows she only has a few minutes to get her into bed before she passes out where she stands. She nudges her with her foot. “Izzie,” she prods, and Izzie hums again. “C’mon. Gotta brush your teeth.”
Izzie groans, and turns her pouty lips up in Casey’s direction. “Carry me?” she asks, eyes wide and pleading.
“Your legs work just fine.” Izzie whines again and Casey rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she sighs, turning her back on Izzie. She bends her knees a little to brace. “Get up.”
Izzie squeals and must mine some deep energy reserves, because she leaps onto Casey’s back with more force than Casey thought capable for a girl who weighs barely 125. Casey grunts as she catches her, her hands cupping the backs of Izzie’s knees, and she stumbles forward a little as Izzie laughs. This would be a lot easier if she hadn’t been drinking.
She manages to make it down the hallway without either of them toppling over, which she’ll happily call a win. The only time she’s really at risk is when Izzie lowers her head, her nose brushing behind Casey’s ear. Her hair falls over Casey’s shoulder and it smells like lavender shampoo. Her breath tickles the back of Casey’s neck, whooshes past her ear and makes goosebumps erupt up and down the right side of her body. Izzie’s breath smells like tequila and juice — not the best combination in the world — but as her nose brushes the shell of Casey’s ear she forgets all about that. Casey flushes bright red (she can’t stop blushing tonight) and her knees wobble, unsteady for a moment, before she grits her teeth and barrels on.
She ends up dumping Izzie, a little unceremoniously, onto the bathroom tile. Izzie’s feet are bare and she shivers as they touch cold linoleum.
“I think we have extra toothbrushes in here somewhere,” Casey says, dropping to her knees and digging around in the cabinet under the sink. “My mom always buys in bulk, because Sam only uses one brand and he’s crazy vigilant about switching to a new one every month. He thinks it’s disgusting if you don’t.” She roots around under the sink for a few more moments before emerging, triumphant, with a brand new toothbrush still encased in plastic. “Aha!” she says, rising so quickly her knees crack. She holds it out in Izzie’s direction with a grin. “You can’t tell him you used one of his toothbrushes, but there you go. Brand new.”
Izzie doesn’t take the toothbrush from her. She’s just standing there, blinking in the bright lights of Casey’s bathroom. There’s a strange expression on her face. Casey can’t place it, not really, but it makes her throat run dry. The smile wavers on her lips and she drops her hand. The rubber band is back, pulling tight on her chest, making her stomach flutter. “Izzie?” she asks, and she’s surprised to realize how breathless she sounds. “You okay?”
She’s not sure quite how it happens. It’s like there are a few frames missing from her memory. Like a picture book with a couple pages torn out. One moment Izzie is standing in front of her, looking at her with her lips half-parted, and the next…
Izzie’s lips are soft. It’s the first thing she notices. Her lips are soft, and her breath is hot on Casey’s face, and her hair is fanning out and it’s built a cocoon of lavender around them, and oh, there’s that feeling again, stronger again, and oh, Izzie’s turning her head, her lips are moving against Casey’s, her mouth is opening and there’s a little shudder of breath, a shiver that travels down her body, and she feels… she feels…
Casey reels back. Her hips slams into the bathroom counter and she winces, the area already smarting, already blossoming with burst blood vessels and the precursor to a hefty bruise. But she can hardly feel it. Her lips are tingling, her heart is hammering in her chest. Her eyes are wide, and there are fingers on her lips — her own, she realizes belatedly, brushing against the thrilled skin, feather-light and barely-there.
Izzie’s eyes are just as wide as hers. Casey thinks, if she were to look in the mirror behind her, her face would be as flushed as Izzie’s. It certainly feels that way. Red and splotchy and over-heated, and not just from the alcohol.
Izzie stares at her, eyes wide and open. She looks more sober than she has all night. Casey doesn’t know why that’s so disconcerting. She reaches out, her hand moving towards Casey’s waist, but Casey blinks, flinches away from her, and turns her head to the side.
Izzie’s hand drops to her side and it’s like her whole body crumbles. The room is quiet. It’s so quiet. Casey can hear everything, every movement, every hitch in Izzie’s breath…
“Casey,” she starts to say, and Casey just screws her eyes shut tighter and doesn’t look at her, “I’m so—”
“Don’t.” Casey is staring down at her shoes. Tears prick behind her eyes. She thinks she might be sick. She feels dizzy and queasy and off-balance. Her hands grip the countertop behind her as she tries to steady herself.
“I’m sorry,” Izzie says again, but Casey can’t even look at her. “I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry.”
“I think you should sleep downstairs.”
“Casey.”
“Please.”
She doesn’t look as Izzie leaves, but she hears the door close, hears her footsteps trudge dejectedly away, hears the way the stairs creak as she shuffles her way down them. She should have given her a blanket, or a pillow, at least. The couch downstairs isn’t terrible but it isn’t comfortable, exactly, and now Casey’s relegated her to a night of cold tossing and turning, and she didn’t even think to have the decency to get her a blanket or something. God, she’s a bad person. A miserable, stinking retch of a human being. Her eyes water, brimming with harsh, angry tears. She wipes them away furiously and yanks the bathroom door open.
She doesn’t go back to her bedroom, and she doesn’t follow Izzie downstairs (to apologize, to forgive, to ask for forgiveness, to fight, to yell, to kiss her again…). Instead, she stumbles towards Sam’s room on unsteady feet. Her head hurts. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink tonight.
“Hello,” Sam says to her when she pushes open his door, which is a little surprising, because he doesn’t like her in his room any more than she likes him in hers. But his eyes are fixed to his penguin live stream, so maybe he’s just too distracted to fight her on it. “Why are you here? Where’s Izzie?”
“Izzie’s sleeping downstairs.”
“Oh, okay. Does she want to go home? Did she get sick? Sleepovers make my stomach hurt most of the time, I don’t like being away from Edison for so long.”
She’s not sure what does it. He hasn’t said anything to upset her. But Casey can’t help it. She bursts into tears.
Sam sits up a little, startled. “Why are you crying? What’s happening?”
Casey rubs roughly at her eyes, frustrated with herself for falling apart so easily. She isn’t like this. She doesn’t do this. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink tonight. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. Can I sleep in here, tonight?”
“What’s wrong with your room?”
“Please, Sam.” She doesn’t like asking him for things; she doesn’t like asking anyone for things. And yeah, he may be her older brother, but she’s looked out for him her entire life. It feels strange to be here, needing him like this. But she does.
He’s her brother; they’re supposed to protect each other.
Her admission, when she finally says it quietly, sounds like: “I don’t want to be alone.”
Sam looks at her and frowns. “Fine. You can sleep on the floor but not in my bed.”
She laughs at that, a watery cough of tears. “Okay. Can I at least have a pillow?”
“No, get your own.”
.
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4)
“Izzie kissed me.”
Evan looks up from his phone, confused. There’s still a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, which doesn’t make her feel any better. “Huh?” he asks, like he hasn’t heard her.
Casey takes a steadying breath. “Izzie and I kissed.”
“Wait, what?” He blinks, looking lost. “I mean… what? When?”
“Saturday. After Madison’s party. I didn’t want to tell you until I could see you in person, I didn’t want to tell you over text.”
“Wait, wait slow down a second.” He shakes his head and sits up a little straighter. Casey tries very hard to control her breathing. “You and Izzie kissed? Why would you… what happened?”
She’s been planning this for days, now. For days she’s known she’s going to have to tell him what happened between them. She had a whole speech blocked out, explanations and pleas and bargaining and groveling and apologies. But when the time comes, she can’t remember any of it; none of the sentences she practiced in the mirror with sweating palms and evasive eyes.
The words fall from her mouth, come tumbling out in a mild panic. “Well we were pretty drunk after the party,” she starts, all in a rush, “and she was supposed to be staying at my house, and things had gotten pretty rowdy at Madison’s, so after we got dropped off we were pretty tired. And then somehow it was just the two of us and we were laughing and joking around and then we were in my bathroom and suddenly she kissed me and I was like woah and then—”
“Wait…” Evan shakes his head, frowning. He doesn’t really look angry, yet. Is that a good thing?— “she kissed you? Even though she knows you have a boyfriend? That’s messed up.”
“No, I know. It is really messed up.”
Evan takes her hands, his expression serious. “Are you okay?"
"Wh—what do you mean?"
"I mean I know you guys just had that argument about her boyfriend doing the same thing. She should know better.” She's not sure what's happening right now. This is not going the way she thought it would. "I think you should have a talk with her. If you feel up to it. Your friends aren’t supposed to make you uncomfortable like that.” God, he isn’t— he isn’t even angry with her. He’s being all noble-protective-not-jealous-boyfriend about it. Why can’t he just be petty? Why can’t he be angry, rage, throw a fit and make this whole thing a lot easier on her? Why can't he understand what she's trying to tell him? “Like, non-consensual kissing… big no-no."
God, Casey is a bad person. She is such a miserable, horrible person. “Right, well…” She clears her throat, retracts her hands. “I mean, I did kiss her back.”
Evan stops moving. He suddenly looks a little pale, though maybe that’s how he always looks. Is she just protecting? Seeing fear and recognition and understanding dawn over him because she feels it herself? “Wh—” and the conversation, suddenly, has taken a turn. She can tell. Evan, it seems, can tell, too. “For… You kissed her back? For how long? Like was it just a peck, like a peck between friends, or—?”
“For like…” Casey swallows— “it was a solid amount of time. Um. More than a peck. I think. Um… yeah.” Evan’s just kind of… looking at her. Blank eyes, blank stare. Mouth slightly-parted. (She thinks, unbidden, of Izzie’s lips slightly-parted, of her eyes shining in the bathroom, of the way she looked, haloed and back-lit against the mirror, the way she felt with her lips and her skin and the soft press of her body against Casey’s—)
She shakes herself. How long has it been silent between them? How long has it been since someone last spoke? Why isn’t Evan saying anything? “So…” she starts rather slowly— “that’s… do you understand? I can explain better if—”
“I just…” Evan cuts her off, holding up a hand to silence her. “I need a few seconds, Case, okay? Just… give me a few seconds.” He swallows. Rubs his hand over his face, from his forehead to his chin. “Are you, like… were you just drunk? Or did you want to—”
“I wanted to.” Casey flushes. Tucks her hair behind her ears. Her stomach is sick and roiling, and she knows the conversation isn’t going to get any easier. “I mean… I mean I didn’t, not really, because I ha—have a boyfriend and I’m not a cheater, y’know, like I would never cheat on you.”
“Okay, but you kissed someone else. How is that not cheating?”
“Well, it’s just I don’t think I would have done it if we hadn’t been drinking? Like before when we almost kissed, I didn’t—”
“Wait, before?” He’s staring at her again, but less confused-wounded-boyfriend and more disbelieving. “You… You’ve kissed before?”
She shakes her head. “No, we’ve never kissed before. It’s just… like it almost happened a couple times before.” Is she sharing too much? Is she telling him things that aren’t hers to tell, revealing things she hadn’t wanted to reveal? But then again, doesn’t he deserve to know? Isn’t it about time she starts trying to be honest with him, with herself?
He looks at her then strangely, somewhere between afraid and sad. “You have feelings for her?”
Casey’s stomach swoops. “I don’t know,” she says quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. “I can’t… it’s all just really confusing, mostly? I don’t know how I feel about her. Sometimes it’s like ‘oh she’s my best friend I love her so much’ and then… and then sometimes, it’s like, ‘woah, I never noticed she had this many freckles before, why am I only seeing them now they’re crazy pretty’.” She looks at Evan nervously. She can’t read the expression on his face. “Does that make sense?”
“You like her,” he says, instead of answering, and Casey licks her lips nervously.
“I don’t know,” she repeats. “But… I think I might.”
Evan nods. She thinks he’s doing a pretty good job processing this, but then again it’s hard to tell; he’s always been quiet, always been thoughtful, always processed things in his own way, and sometimes it’s just impossible to tell what he’s thinking. He keeps a lot of himself to himself. It makes him difficult to read/
“So where does that leave us?” he asks after what might have been half a minute, or maybe much longer; she isn’t doing the best job of keeping track of time right now. Her head hurts a little and her palms are really sweaty and she can’t stop bouncing her leg and it’s easier to focus on all of those things than it is to focus on how quiet Evan is, how serious he’s being, how very unpredictable this situation has become.
“I don’t know.”
“You said you loved me.”
“I… I know I did—”
“Was that all just a lie?”
“No. No, Evan, it… I believed it when I said it.” She snaps her jaw shut and immediately closes her eyes.
Crap. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
His face falls. “You don’t believe it anymore.”
It doesn’t really sound like a question. Casey still feels the need to answer it. She shakes her head. “I’m just confused, is all. I don’t know what I’m feeling, I don’t understand what this all means. But I felt… I had to tell you. It wasn’t fair not to tell you. And I think… I think I need some time. To try and figure things out. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” he looks sad, but also resigned. Casey isn’t sure if that’s a relief or not. “Some time would be good.”
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(+1)
“Evan broke up with me.”
Izzie’s head shoots up. She’s sitting on the steps that lead down to the track. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the weekend before. They hadn’t even run into each other during the school day, and that’s a pretty crazy impossible feat, since Clayton is a very small school and there’s been a week of classes between that fateful Saturday night and now. Casey thinks Izzie’s purposefully avoiding her. She doesn’t exactly blame her, but also that isn’t fair of her to do, because they’re in this together, now, and if they’re gonna deal with this then they’re gonna have to deal with it. Izzie can’t avoid her forever. Casey catches her in the five minutes or so between when school ends and when track practice starts.
“What?” Izzie asks. Her eyes are scanning Casey’s face. Like after a week of not seeing her, she can’t look away.
“Evan broke up with me. Or it was mutual. Because we kissed.”
Izzie swallows, flushes with shame. “Casey, I am so sorry about that—”
“No it—it’s okay. I’m actually kind of glad.”
“Oh. Wait, really?”
“I mean, not really. It kinda sucks.” She toes her shoe against the ground, tugs at the ties of her hoodie. “But I’ve been thinking a lot this week. About what I want.”
Izzie stands slowly. Casey’s still looking down at the ground, her hands fidgety at her chest. She doesn’t notice the way Izzie smiles at her, a slowly stretching thing that sweeps gently over her. “What you want?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper.
Casey looks up. Izzie is close to her — not unreasonably close, not overly-friendly close, but closer than normal. Casey is hyper-aware of her, the way she’s smiling, the way she’s biting at her lip—
Casey swallows. “I didn’t know you were, um… interested in girls.” Her eyes widen, almost comically. She hadn’t… “That’s not what I meant to say.”
“I’m not.” Izzie shrugs, answering her anyway. “Or, well… not historically. I don’t know. I don’t really know how I feel. But I, um…” She swallows, and smiles a little tentatively, and says, a little breathless, “I like you.”
The earth pitches beneath her; it feels like an earthquake, like the earth trembling. Casey smiles, impossibly wide. “I like you, too.”
Izzie releases a breath. “Yeah?”
She nods. “Yeah.” They look at each other for a few more moments, neither saying anything. There’s a pinch of tension, pulling them closer together, pushing them apart. Casey clears her throat. “So should we, um…” she rubs the back of her neck— “like… date?”
The tension melts a little when Izzie laughs. “Maybe we should just go out once and see if it feels right?”
“Oh.” A relieved little puff of air. “Okay, yeah. Yeah that’s better.”
“You free Saturday?”
There’s an eruption in her stomach. Butterflies, maybe; nerves or excitement or worry. Casey nods. “I can be free, yeah.”
“Pick me up at my place?” Izzie grabs one of the ties of Casey’s sweatshirt and twists it around her finger. She tugs, and Casey falls a few steps forward. She’s grinning, smiling so wide that Casey can feel her cheeks ache just looking at her. Or wait, maybe that’s because she can’t stop smiling. And damn, Izzie is good at this. Natural and comfortable and not at all the nervous, sweaty wreck that Casey feels she’s currently emulating.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. 6:30 okay?”
“Perfect.” She winks, teasingly, and backs away.
Casey feels her heart follow after her, several seconds before her feet pick up.
.
.
Casey couldn’t tell you what that movie was about if you paid her. It was so boring that she stopped paying attention 25 minutes in. To be fair, it also didn’t help that Izzie was sitting right next to her, smelling amazing, looking straight at the screen with rapt attention while Casey snuck sidelong glances her way. It didn’t help that Izzie had her hand on the armrest between them, her fingers lazily sliding along the fabric there, like she was daring Casey to take her hand. Casey did, obviously; she knows how to take a hint.
But all of these things combined together to lead to, inevitably, Casey having no fucking clue what it was they just watched. The main character’s name was… Alice? No, Anne? Or was it Emilia…?
God, she really hopes Izzie doesn’t want to talk about it. What is she supposed to do, just stand there and nod like a dummy without contributing? Why couldn’t she just just have paid attention for a shitty hour and forty-five minutes? Why did Izzie have to tickle the back of her hand with her fingers, making it quite impossible for Casey to care what was happening on the screen in front of them? Why—
“So that sucked, right?” Izzie says in that moment, leaning against Casey’s mom’s minivan.
Casey laughs, a burst of relieved energy that actually startles her. “Oh my god, thank god you said that. It totally sucked.”
“I swear Madison said it was good.”
“Well, Madison has terrible taste. We always knew that.”
Izzie grins at her, open and free and unassuming. She pushes herself off of the car and turns until she’s right in front of Casey. Casey, her back to the cool metal, feels her knees quiver under her. She wills them to hold still. “Hi,” Izzie says softly. They’ve been together for almost two hours, but the new greeting still feels appropriate; they’re closer than they’ve stood in a week, since that night in the bathroom, and as the air shifts between them the mood follows, and Casey feels so new, she feels like this is all novel, like she’s a new person with new feelings and emotions because she’s never felt like this, before. She thinks she’s never felt like this before.
“Hey,” Casey says back. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket, trying to furtively wipe her palms against the fabric.
Izzie takes another step forwards. Their thighs brush, but she keeps her torso an almost-respectable several inches away. Testing the waters. “So, what’s the consensus?”
Is she being too obvious, staring at Izzie’s lips like this? She feels like she’s being really obvious. “Um… that the movie sucked?”
“No, I mean…” Izzie slides her hand down Casey’s arm, loosing her hand gently from inside her jacket. Casey watches the movement with rapt attention, the way Izzie’s fingers practically glide over her skin, tan against pale, until their fingers slot together. Her palms don’t feel quite so sweaty anymore, which is a relief, because Izzie’s hand is cool and soft and she smells great and God, Casey might just go crazy with the wanting of her. “I mean does it feel weird, between us?”
“Well, my heart feels like it’s about to explode, but I think that’s just my high blood pressure.”
Izzie laughs. She tips her head up and looks at Casey through her lashes. Is this how girls flirt with each other? She has no idea. It feels foreign and unnatural and exhilarating and right all at once. Izzie swings their joined hands a little, a playful motion. “Do you ever feel that thing?” Izzie asks, and Casey’s so busy staring at her mouth she almost doesn’t recognize the words coming out of it.
She frowns a little, unfocused. “What thing?”
“That thing that feels like a rope pulling your heart and your stomach together?” Casey blinks, her eyes suddenly back on Izzie’s. Izzie bites her lip and smiles a little half-smile. “Do you know what I’m talking about? Or do I sound crazy right now?”
Casey just nods. “Yeah, it… yeah. The rubber band.”
A breath passes between them. Izzie tightens her hold on Casey’s fingers just a little. “Yeah,” she says, and she sounds as breathless as Casey feels, “the rubber band.”
“I feel it right now,” Casey whispers. Is she the kind of girl who whispers, now? “I feel it every time you get close to me.”
Izzie has to stand on her toes to bring her face level with Casey’s. There’s a lurching feeling in Casey’s gut, something that drags her forward, and then their foreheads are pressed together again and Izzie’s nose is tickling hers and her skin smells like coconut and her breath smells a little bit like popcorn and Sour Patch Kids and Casey closes her eyes and hopes that they can stay in this moment forever. “You feel it now?” Izzie mumbles. When her lips move they brush against Casey’s, and Casey shivers.
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”