“Grab the filters,” he told me.
“Remind me why I just spent five bucks on coffee filters?”
“Because you have five bucks and I don’t?” Toby grinned. “Naw, it’s just part of what we do. I mean, we don’t want to be caught—we want to be noticed. So we watched Dead Poets Society in Mr. Moreno’s room and left behind a ton of whiteboard markers. We watched the Princess Bride in the library and donated a box of books. And tonight, we’re screening Rushmore in the teachers’ lounge. Hence the coffee filters.”
Toby stopped walking, waiting for the sheer awesomeness of the Floating Movie Theater to wash over me.
Instead, this is what I said: “We’re breaking into the teachers’ lounge?”
“More like ‘letting ourselves in,’” Toby assured me. “Come on.”
I planted my feet firmly at the edge of the parking lot.
“You better be damned sure we won’t get caught,” I warned. “Because I can’t exactly run if the cops show up.”
Toby started laughing. “Funny story,” he said. “Max Sheppard? Why, just the other week, he let me off on a warning for my busted taillight. Now let’s go.”
THE MOVIE HAD just started. Toby and I grabbed seats on the side, and I tried to follow along, but mostly, what I wound up following was Cassidy’s expression.
I suppose she didn’t think anyone was looking and had let her guard down, the way you do in an empty room. The way I did when I closed the blinds and stared up at the ceiling fan above my bed, equally fascinated and horrified by the thoughts racing through my brain.
She seemed so sad, even though the movie was a comedy and everyone else was laughing, as though she wasn’t paying attention to the film at all, but was haunted by images of something else. I’d never seen her like that, and it made me wonder about what Toby had said, how she’d disappeared without warning, and how no one had known what to make of it.
A couple of people stood up when the movie ended, but Luke insisted that we had to watch the credits. Surprisingly, they sat back down, looking thoroughly chastised; I hadn’t realized Luke carried that sort of power, but it made an odd sort of sense. I’d heard him referred to as the “king of the nerds,” and I had never understood why, but I could see it easily then.
“So what did you think?” Toby asked as we deposited our coffee filters on a table with everyone else’s loot.
“About the movie?”
“Obviously the movie is a classic and Napoleon Dynamite is a pale imitation of this far superior film,” Toby said wryly, “but no. About this: secret screenings, coded invitations, positive vandalism.”
“It’s awesome,” I said. And I meant it. I hadn’t known that people did things like this, especially in Eastwood. It was strange, realizing that these sorts of clandestine activities happened at a school I used to think I ran, that there were other things going on besides my old friends’ parties. “Why don’t more people know about it?”
“Because Evan McMillan would turn this into some obnoxious drinking game,” Luke said, joining us.
“Yeah, probably,” I admitted. “Beer funneling through coffee filters.”
We stood there in silence for a bit, Luke with this knowing look on his face, as though he was glad I’d finally seen what he could do.
“So Luke,” I said, breaking the silence, “how about screening One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in the nurse’s office? I know it’d be a tight fit, but it would be sort of perfect.”
“Dude,” Toby said. “That would be epic.”
“I didn’t ask for your ideas, Faulkner,” Luke said coldly, drifting over to play host to a nearby group of juniors.
“He really doesn’t like me,” I noted.
“Nah, ’course he does,” Toby said unconvincingly. “You’re pals.”
I gave him a look.
“His girlfriend used to have the world’s biggest crush on you,” Toby admitted. “Probably still does.”
“Phoebe?”
“‘Oh Ezra, you’re like some sexy vampire,’” Toby mocked.
I winced, but I had to admit, he had a point.
“Hey there, sexy vampire,” someone said, tapping me on the shoulder.
Cassidy tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled as though that afternoon—and the past few hours—had never happened.
“Hi?” I said cautiously.
“How much do you love Bill Murray?” she asked, rambling about the movie we’d just sat through. “I adore him. If he popped the question, I’d Bill Murray him in a second.”
“Um,” I said, confused. Had I missed something? Last time I’d checked, Cassidy hated my guts, and I’d gotten the impression that we weren’t speaking to each other any time in the foreseeable future.
“Listen,” Cassidy said. “I could use a protégé, so tag, you’re it. I’m going to teach you everything I know about debate, and you’re going to win first place at the San Diego tournament.”
“I am?”
“Yes! And the heavenly cherubs will play tiny ukuleles of joy and you will lay incense and coniferous fruits at my altar.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said dryly. “Coniferous fruits and goddess worship. Check.”
“That’s more like it!” Cassidy grinned.
“Oh, look over there,” Toby deadpanned, shooting me a sly glance. “It’s someone I suddenly feel the need to go bother.”
“I thought you were mad,” I said after Toby left.
“Like Hamlet, my madness is fleeting,” Cassidy in-formed me.
“No, I thought you were mad at me,” I clarified.
“Ezra, you’re being ridiculous. I’m over it. That’s what girls do; they get angry, and then they get over it. Haven’t you ever been friends with a girl before?”
Of course I hadn’t; I’d dated my fair share of them, but I’d never wanted to be friends with any of the girls in my old crowd. What would have been the point?
Maybe Cassidy was right—maybe it was only girlfriends who stayed mad at you. Still, there was something in her smile that I didn’t quite believe. But I accepted my good fortune, knowing better than to question it.
12
ONCE EACH SEPTEMBER, the teachers had a training day, and we got the day off. Junior year, Evan and Jimmy and I went down to Balboa, ate cheeseburgers on the boardwalk, and watched some terrible 3-D movie. But that year, I had totally forgotten about Teacher Development Day until the day before.
Unsurprisingly, Toby and the debate crew had a grand adventure planned; they’d purchased tickets to a show in LA called Spring Awakening, and Toby was trying without success to convince everyone to dress up as turn-of-the-century schoolboys.
“Really, you guys should come with us,” Phoebe said, when everyone sheepishly realized that Cassidy and I hadn’t been included in the original plan. “We bought our tickets over the summer, but you could still come even if you got seats in a different section.”
“That’s all right,” Cassidy said casually. “Ezra and I already have plans.”
This was news to me. Toby gave me a significant look, and I shrugged, having no idea what Cassidy was talking about.
“Yeah? You two going gleaning?” Sam asked, which made everyone except Cassidy crack up.
I should explain—“gleaning” is when you pick rotting and bruised crops, the stuff migrant workers leave behind in the fields because it’s not good enough to sell as produce. It’s actually a required field trip for eighth graders. They bus us over to the old ranch lands for the day, complete with a yearbook photographer, and it’s just as terrible as it sounds.
Toby quickly filled Cassidy in on what we were laughing about.
“You’re not serious,” Cassidy said. “Y’all had a field trip to pick rotting tomatoes? What about going to museums?”
“Yeah,” Toby said dryly. “Not so much. Welcome to Eastwood.”
On the way to third period, I asked Cassidy what she meant about our having plans. She was wearing a white lace dress with straps that wouldn’t stay put, and I couldn’t help but imagine running my hands over her shoulders, slipping the straps down.
“Oh that.” Cassidy shrugged. “I figure it’s the perfect time to start your training. You’re going to be my protégé, remember?”