As I removed food from the paper bag Father packed, Cass slid her lunch tray onto the table next to me.
Her curls were pulled into a ponytail, and she wore a pair of retro glasses. Her polka-dot dress looked like it was straight from the 1950s. Cass was of the opinion that costumes were more entertaining than regular clothes, so therefore her clothes should be as costume-like as possible.
“You know women were oppressed in the fifties,” I said as she plopped into her chair.
“And as a black woman, I wouldn’t even be allowed to sit at this table with you. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the fashion.” She gave me an expectant look. “But don’t we have something much more important to discuss right now?”
“Such as?” I asked, playing dumb.
“Um, how about your house getting blown to smithereens?”
Cass gazed at me eagerly. I was 67 percent sure she’d be disappointed when she found out the truth wasn’t as cinematic as she’d hoped.
“You must realize that’s an exaggeration.”
“But was there really a meteor?”
“Technically it would’ve been a meteoroid.”
“Whatever. Was there one?”
I glanced around to see if anyone was within hearing range.
“Of course not.”
Cass sighed dramatically. “Hells bells, Gideon Hofstadt! How dare you taunt me with the possibility of something exciting finally happening, only to cruelly dash my hopes?”
I couldn’t help but smile.
My friendship with Cass was a mystery to most people. Honestly, I didn’t know what made it work. Cass had other friends and was popular within her theater crowd. And I had other…well, maybe not friends, but acquaintances. People I attended Science Club with, anyway.
But despite our different interests and social groups, Cass was one of the few people who understood me. And in turn, she was one of the few people I understood. Friendships had been built on less.
Knowing it would thrill her, I said, “But there was an explosion.”
“Go on,” she said, sitting up straighter.
“It was my experiment. Remember the seismograph? I set off explosives to test it.”
“Got a little overzealous, huh?”
“No,” I replied as Cass began eating a slice of pizza, with no regard to how messy it was. I envied her. “Ishmael got overzealous.”
“Well, praise Zeus for the Ishmaels of the world. Life would be so boring without them.” (Zeus: Greek god of the sky and ruler of Mount Olympus. Why Cass chose to praise him over Earth’s other deities, I didn’t know.)
“Boring, maybe,” I said. “But less stressful too.”
I told Cass about the nonexistent meteor, Kaufman’s investigation, and the trouble I’d be in if the truth came out.
“Maybe the truth won’t come out,” Cass said. “Maybe Lansburg will become a famous meteor crash site, and the Discovery Channel will make a show about it, and of course I’ll have to give them an exclusive interview.”
“See, Cass, that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t want to imagine that.”
“You didn’t even hear the part where I’m discovered and get offered a movie role and become the third-youngest person to ever win an Oscar.”
“I’ve always admired your logical thought processes.”
Cass threw back her head and laughed with the kind of abandon I’d never have.
“The worst part,” I continued, once she’d calmed down, “is I never even got to check my reading to—”
I stopped talking abruptly when Arden appeared at the table and pulled out a chair. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Arden. Not exactly. But we’d only met midway through the previous year. That wasn’t enough time to really get a read on a person.
For me, anyway.
Admittedly, I’ve been accused of having “trust issues.”
“Gideon, are you okay?” Arden asked, twisting a rope of her long, pale hair like she always did when she worried. “I heard what happened.”
“I’m fine,” I assured her.
“A meteor really crashed into your yard?”
I only hesitated for a moment. “Meteoroid. And yes, it seems that way.”
“How horrible.”
I felt a pang of guilt. Arden was already scared of half the things outside her front door. Now I’d given her something else to fear: objects falling from the sky.
“It wasn’t so bad,” I said. “It was over in a second.”
Despite my assurances, Arden shivered and wrapped her cardigan more tightly around her shoulders. Even in summer, Arden often wore a sweater.
“How did you hear about the meteor, anyway?” I asked.
“I think you mean meteoroid,” Cass said with a sly grin.
Arden shrugged. “Everyone’s heard about it.”
Well, wasn’t that wonderful.
“Owen asked about it in third period,” Cass broke in.
I was struck with the perplexing feeling I often got when Owen’s name was mentioned. I both wanted to act as if I couldn’t care less, and eagerly ask to hear everything he’d said and the exact tone in which he said it.
“Oh,” I replied, deciding that was safe middle ground.
“He wanted to make sure you were all fine and dandy.”
He already knew I was fine. He’d texted me himself, probably right after he’d heard about the explosion. But he checked with Cass to doubly make sure.
“That was nice,” I said evenly.
“It was nice,” Cass agreed. “Even if I’m still annoyed at him.”
Cass had yet to forgive Owen for getting the lead role in the fall play—a role she desperately wanted. Never mind that it was a male role. Cass had been cast as leads, male and female, since freshman year. Her portrayal of Ichabod Crane in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow had been particularly epic.
“Owen likes you so much,” Arden said dreamily, the meteor apparently forgotten.
“Well,” I mumbled, “I…I have a lot of respect for Owen.”
“Why don’t you like him?” she asked for the hundredth time. “He’s gorgeous.”
I felt my face getting red. Cass smiled and raised an eyebrow at me, a look that clearly meant, Are you ever gonna tell Arden about you and Owen?