Finding Cassidy by Laura Langston Page B

business anyway.” And you know who did it and you won’t tell me. Oh God, oh God, I was going to cry.
    Jason’s anger dissolved. He pulled me into the room, kicked the door shut with the toe of his boot and hugged me. We stood there for, like, forever, or at least until way after the bell rang and the banging on the door got too loud to ignore. When Jason finally let me go, there was a huge lineup of people waiting, including Mrs. Sutter, who looked angry until she saw who it was. Then she gave me a nervous, twitchy little smile and moved aside so I could pass.
    Clearly, she knew, too.
    I had law class first block; Prissy wasn’t in my class. I couldn’t find her afterward, either, and believe me, I tried. Bolting through the door of my English class, I headed for my usual spot beside Jasmine. Her head was bowed over her textbook; she didn’t look up. Jasmine was quiet. Her family life centred heavily on her church; she rarely went to parties. But she was still one of the gang. She’d know who’d thrown that rock.
    I tried to catch her eye. Deeply enthralled in the day’s sonnet, she didn’t look up. When we broke into groups, she joined with two others before I could join her. At the end of the class, she jumped out of her chair almost before the bell stopped ringing. I managed to grab her as she went through the door.
    “Hey, Jas, what’s up?”
    She shook my hand off her arm. “I have to go.” She tossed her long, black hair over her shoulder and started walking.
    I followed her. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.” She wouldn’t look at me.
    “I guess you heard.”
    She didn’t answer. Instead she picked up her pace. The halls were packed. People slammed books into lockers, made plans for lunch. I wove through the crowd, practically running to keep up with her.
    “Jasmine, wait! What’s going on?”
    She stopped so fast I almost smashed into her back. Then she turned, eyed me with disgust and said, “Some man masturbated into a paper cup just so you’d be born. That goes against scripture. Your real father could be a gas-station attendant somewhere. How am I supposed to make sense of that? ”
    I stared after her with my mouth hanging open. That was Jasmine? Jasmine of the everyone-has-value-in-the-Lord’s-eyesschool of thought? Apparently that didn’t include guys who masturbated into paper cups or worked at gas stations.
    I stormed around the halls, glaring at anyone who dared catch my eye. I couldn’t find Prissy, or anyone else who mattered. On a hunch, I headed for the local McDonald’s. When I saw Prissy’s car in the lot, I knew I was right.
    We always ate in the lower kids’ play area. As long as we ordered food and kept our swearing under control, we could get away with being loud and obnoxious. I grabbed food and headed downstairs.
    The windowless room smelled like grease, apple juice and sneakers. Prissy and Yvonne sat in the corner, talking and laughing with a gang of kids. My heart sank. I hadn’t expected such a big crowd.
    Holding my tray high, I sidestepped around a weary young mother in grey sweats trying to convince a little girl with a big pout that it was better to eat her chicken McNuggets off the table than off the floor.
    “It’s sperm child,” someone said.
    Prissy and Yvonne snickered.
    “Don’t be an asshole.” I slammed the tray on the table. Brynna jumped.
    “Hey, you said it first.” Max mimicked my high-pitched voice. “Sperm child, just dancing to the music.”
    Laughter and grins all around. I sat down and buried my flaming face inside the french-fry container. As soon as I found out who had thrown the turkey baster through the window, I’d leave.
    “Her daddy’s sick to death.” This from Tom. “Sick to death ‘cause he couldn’t get it up.” Snorts of masculine laughter ripped through the air.
    Yvonne giggled, but Prissy glared at Tom. “That’s not funny,” she said.
    “Yeah, leave her dad out of this.” Brynna gave me a sympathetic