The Ventriloquist Act
[Part 3/8]

“and the heat is turned all the way full —
so don't pretend that you don't feel the pull.”

—

Ralph is sprawled on the grass in the clothes he was wearing Wednesday. Sam starts running across the field, and Casey runs after him, their palms still pressed together. Grass and mud stick to their shoes, and she’s positive the stains on her knees are going to be impossible to get out as the two of them collapse next to him.

“Ralph,” she says, her and Sam’s fingers linked and pressing gently into the ground, “we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Your parents are really worried, man,” Sam adds. “Maybe you should give them a call.”

Ralph looks up at them and blinks slowly. “Yeah, I guess I should, huh?”

She nods and stretches her legs out in front of her, her sneakers just brushing Ralph’s side. “How long have you been out here?” she asks, as Sam leans back on his elbows and tilts his head towards the sky. There’s dirt under her fingernails, and grass stuck to the back of his hand, but neither one of them let go.

“A few hours.”

“You’re going to get sick, you know.”

“I’d rather get sick than be in my house right now,” he replies honestly. Sam shifts so one of his legs is slung over Ralph’s knees. “Everything makes me think of Derek.”

“I know the feeling,” Sam mutters.

“I live the feeling,” Casey says. “At least you guys don’t have to sleep next to his room. Or see pictures of him everywhere. Or sometime go and knock on his door to call him down for dinner and then remember he isn’t there because he’s so freaking stupid.” She stops and takes a breath. “I’m sorry. I made it sound like you guys don’t miss him. I just. Um.”

“You lived in the same house as him for two years, Case,” Ralph says, folding his hands behind his head. “I think that’s pretty equal to knowing him for like… eight, or something, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam echoes, nudging her with his shoulder. “So welcome to the Derek Venturi Fan Club No One Can Ever Know About. Ever.”

“DVFCNOCEKAE,” Casey deadpans. “It has a nice ring to it.”

They stare at her in disbelief, and then Ralph says, “… that was pretty hot.”

She laughs, something she feels like she hasn’t done in a month – and truthfully, she probably hasn’t – and smiles blindingly bright at them. “It was, wasn’t it?”

They spend the night staring at the stars. Casey falls asleep curled up on her side with Sam’s fingertips touching hers as he lies in front of her, and Ralph’s shoulder cushioning her head.

It’s the start of something, she realizes, as Ralph’s shoulder moves under her cheek and Sam moves his hand a bit higher to grip hers. She just doesn’t know what.

—

Things after that get a bit easier. She talks to Emily and Truman at school, but spends her weekends on the football field with her ex-boyfriend and his best friend. They talk about school and their futures and why some things just don’t work out. Mostly, they talk about Derek, and Casey still hasn’t cried over him yet.

“You loved him, right?” Ralph asks, three months after Derek leaves and a month after he stops calling her. “And not in the warm and fuzzy brother-sister way.”

“… yeah,” she says quietly, eyes closed. “At least, I think I did. I think I always did, which is so weird and I feel like some kind of… I don’t know. But yeah,” her lips quirk sadly, “I loved him. Or was in love with him. Or something.”

“He loved you, too,” Sam tells her. They’re lying in some kind of strange pattern, Ralph and Sam stretched out one way on either side of her, and her laying the opposite direction. Their heads are lined up perfectly, temple to temple. She thinks they’re like some sort of stranger jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t look like it fits together, but manages somehow.

“If he loved me,” she goes, “why did he leave?”

“Because he’s Derek,” Sam replies, almost bitter, and says nothing else.

—

Four months after Derek leaves, it’s the end of November and Marti comes bouncing down the stairs, beaming. “Christmas is coming!” she sings, and Casey smiles from her spot at the dining room table, leftover spaghetti cold on her plate. She doesn’t eat as much as she used to, but more than she did in those first few weeks of Derek being gone. Marti runs over to her. “You know what that means, Casey?”

“What, Marti?”

“It means Smerek’s coming to visit!”

Her fork hits the plate as she stares at Marti with something like absolute terror. “What?” she asks, and then she remembers that first voicemail and all the ones after it. “Oh, God.”

Marti stands next to her, Sir Monks-A-Lot clutched in one hand, and looks up at her with big eyes. “Casey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Marti,” she forces out, already mentally dialling Sam or Ralph’s or both their numbers. “Why don’t you go tell Edwin the great news?”

“Okay!”

Marti bounds up the stairs, yelling and happy and bubbling over with joy as Casey grabs her phone with shaking hands and tells Sam to call Ralph and met her at the field with a tremor in her voice.