The next day, Em asked where Casey had been. She said she was sick.
"What about Derek?"
"Oh," Casey said, forcing an air of neutrality, "He was too sick to bother me. We didn't fight for once. Made up for that today, of course."
She launched into a fabricated tale about how he had left the milk out to go sour intentionally, though Emily privately thought there was more than one possibility for it. Derek always got the blame first. She wondered if it would ever change.
Waving goodbye to her friend, she went to homeroom thankful to not have to listen to the same re-hashed story. It was odd, how similar her complaints had gotten as of late.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
To say Casey didn't still have her anxieties about her relationship was entirely wrong. A week after their reconciliation, she still found herself worried about falling back into the same pattern of fighting like before, and was quick—too quick—to apologize when she and Derek even marginally edged into verbal sparring.
She was oblivious to this, of course, thinking she was simply better at owning up to her mistakes.
"De-rek! You said you were fine with me having the TV at 8 on Tuesdays!"
Derek looked at the girl towering above him, irritation quickly festering into anger.
"Well, yeah, Case, but The Fosters is a lame show. You're lame enough as it is, I think it's a bad influence," he feigned concern, hiding a smirk when he managed to dodge her next futile grab for the remote.
"The point is," she ground out between gritted teeth, ignoring the insult, "we made an agreement, you can't go back on it now."
"This is really for your own good," Derek maintained, nodding very seriously, "Consider it an intervention for whatever latent coolness you may potentially possess. You're just a late bloomer, I'm sure things will come together for you soon."
"Do you have to be such an immature idiot? Marti's more mature than you!" she snapped, lunging at him. Casey wrestled him to the floor, her nearness providing enough of an advantage for him to loosen his grip on the remote. She stood up, smoothed her hair, sneered at his laughing, and took a seat at the couch.
Casey's tone matched the stern one on her face. "I'm sorry Derek, I shouldn't have said those things."
Derek started to laugh again, and she looked at him with a mix of disdain and confusion.
"Did you hit your head during practice?" She asked
He narrowed his eyes at her in confusion, unable to make sense of her demeanor. He whispered, lest a family member heard, "Casey, I was just messing with you, you know. I like getting a rise out of you."
"I just don't want to start fighting again," She whispered back.
Derek leaned toward her, brushing a knuckle across his cheek, "Don't worry about it, Spacey. It's how we've always been."
Casey supposed he was right. She knew when he was really mad and when he was just being Derek. So why couldn't she let it go?
Someone started down the stairs. He drew back sharply, rising to his feet. "Enjoy your lame show."
"Yeah, thanks for making me nearly miss it." She replied, with a sarcastic smile for Lizzie's benefit, who plopped down beside her.
"Stop fighting, the show's starting!" Lizzie told the eldest McDonald, eyes fixed to the screen.
That didn't seem to matter to Casey however, whose thoughts kept returning to the worries she was having. It was time for a visit with Paul.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The following morning, Paul allowed a content sigh to slip past his lips as he took a sip from his coffee mug. Mornings like this were his favorite. There was no one to bother him at this hour, and he could spend a decent hour or some enjoying his coffee and his silence.
He supposed that he could spend time straightening the papers strewn across his desk, or take the trash out (which was already overflowing), or brush up on the case files of the kids he saw tomorrow, or even work ahead in his online psych class (the latter he took for fun; it also gave the school a reason to keep him).
Nah, he thought, smiling, mornings like this are for coffee and silence.
After that thought, his door was opened with such force the frames on his walls shook. Paul sighed. That could only mean one thing.
"Casey, have a seat."
The girl obeyed, sighing. Secretly, she was quite thankful she wouldn't have to be the one to tell Paul the truth she'd been carrying around for a while, since Derek had done it for her. But the nagging fear of things falling apart—well, what did that mean?
"I take it you didn't get back together with Derek?"
Casey seemed startled at the deduction. "What?"
Paul set his mug down. "You haven't come in for a while. I assumed you stuck with your initial decision."
"No, no. We're back together. Things are better, a lot better, really."
The man clasped his hands and sighed. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
"Well, we don't fight like we used to. He's better about not shutting me out." Casey explained, the tinge of uncertainty not gone from her eyes.
"…But?" Paul asked gently.
"I'm worried it's just temporary. That we'll go back to being that way. I apologize when we don't really fight. I think I'd apologize for just breathing wrong. Derek says it's normal for us to argue and that I shouldn't apologize." Casey blurted out.
He'd led Derek to self-awareness he needed, but not Casey.
"You had a rough few months before the break-up, it's going to take some time. You feel vulnerable and that's okay. As long as you're not dealing with it ineffectively by fighting with Derek about it, and talking to him about it, it's okay. It sounds like you did talk to him about it."
Casey looked puzzled.
"You probably know the difference between your usual rapport and actual fighting. A relationship is about taking advice from the other person too," Paul said, "I know you're not used to Derek being right, but it sounds like good advice to me. Give it time, Casey. You doubt yourself too much."
Casey was quiet for a moment. He made a good point. Derek being right was something she never really considered, unfairly so.
She wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable, this attached, to anyone before. She knew Derek. She knew him better than almost anyone.
Yet she doubted herself, like she doubted herself with so many other things, to the point where she was conjuring up potential reasons to give up, false conflicts.
"Thank you, Paul." Casey said, smiling, looking considerably less uncertain, "I think you're right."
She didn't bring up her parents or siblings—those were issues for another time. They were fears she wasn't ready to deal with yet.
Right now she needed to believe things were going to be okay. And they were, the fear that suddenly things would get worse was much less paralyzing; to her, that was what was most important.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Lizzie was irritated. She always watched The Fosters with Casey, it was their thing. It reminded her of the times before the Venturis, when it was just her and Casey most of the time. She missed that occasionally.
Having something to share that was just theirs, even if it was simply a show, meant something to her.
But Casey wasn't here. She'd texted to ask where she was and got some story about going to the mall in response.
It was childish, she supposed, to be so angry. Casey had a right to do whatever she liked. Sure, she knew Liz probably was waiting but things came up, right?
It was odd that an hour long time slot she penciled in specifically around her studying time could be extended without some panic attack about school, but the girl was too upset to really think about that.
It wasn't as though she made friends very easily these days, especially with girls. They whispered behind her back and spread rumors. Ed knew, but she made him promise not to tell anyone.
"They're just jealous, Liz." He'd said in return, forcing a smile. It was the typical canned response to the special kind of bitch treatment preserved within preteen girls on the cusp of high school, the treatment that defined your next four years.
Besides, what did they have to be jealous about? She wasn't terribly pretty, she wasn't particularly gifted at much besides making fundraisers for things they dubbed lame, and apparently her worst flaw was that she wasn't a "proper girl", whatever that meant.
Ed told her time and time again they were just being mean, and she believed him, but the point was, she didn't fit in. She couldn't fit in, she wasn't made for it somehow. Even Casey managed to fit in somewhere.
But not Lizzie.
So now, more than ever, she missed the times when it was just her and Casey. When they were at their other school, and she could walk through a hallway without hearing some lie about what she'd done the night before or had to pretend she didn't hear the insult hurled her way.
That was why Tuesdays at 8 pm were so important.
She felt abandoned. She felt guilty for being so angry. But most of all, she wished she could simply make things okay again.
Nora jolted her out of her thoughts. "Dinner, Liz."
"I'm not hungry, mom. I'll eat later, I promise." She forced a smile.
Her mother regarded her quietly, as though she wanted to ask a million questions, but thought better of it when Lizzie coaxed her out with, "Really, mom. Thanks, though."
Lizzie stayed up for a while, hearing Derek's car arrive. Looking out the window, she saw Casey. She looked happy, smiling, laughing at Derek.
Wrinkling her brows, she found a new source of anger at the sight. Casey picked Derek?
Maybe it's just some Casey operation to get them to stop fighting so much, that's pretty important. Don't you want her to be happy? Liz thought to herself.
Selfishly, her head answered, I need her more than Derek does.
Casey seemed startled when Lizzie greeted her. "Hey, Liz, what's up? Sorry about tonight,"
"It's okay," her sister lied, "What'd you do at the mall?"
There was hesitance in Casey's eyes, as though she wasn't sure what to say. "Derek and Sam went to check out video games, I picked up some books." Her hand rose in the air, pausing her thought, digging into her bag, "Which reminds me, I got you this."
In her hands was the next Hunger Games book. She'd been waiting for it for a while, and there was a waitlist at the library.
A small part of her warmed at the gesture. "Thanks." She said, hugging her sister tightly, sorry she'd thought such mean things.
Casey was bewildered and relieved. She was thankful she'd made Derek stop to let get her this book.
It wasn't like she could tell her sister she'd been on a date, after all.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Nora found the note the next afternoon while putting a basket of clean clothes in her stepson's room.
It read, "Winner makes the loser breakfast. First clue: Ammunition is in the bathroom. P.S.: We have a sick day."
It was in her daughter's handwriting.
She couldn't make sense of the note, but she was able to deduct one thing. Casey was keeping secrets. She never kept secrets from her, she kept secrets from Derek.
Except for this one. Worry began gnawing at her.
Accusing Casey of lying to stay home wouldn't get her anywhere. Derek would likely be just as difficult. So she put the note in her pocket to hide later, pretended she hadn't seen it, and decided to pay closer attention.
She couldn't bring herself to mention it to George. She wasn't sure why. That evening as she stared at the ending credits of a film she had barely followed, it was eating away at her.
George, who had been half-asleep beside her, snapped out of his daze when she said his name
"George," She said, "You don't think the kids will ever…have feelings for each other?"
"Hm?" He asked with a yawn, brows furrowed.
"Romantic feelings?" Nora asked patiently, brushing back his hair.
He wondered why she was bringing this up. The film had been about that dancing penguin, whatever it was called. "Of course not, Nora. Derek and Casey hate each other, and Edwin and Lizzie are best friends. With our luck, they'll start hating each other too."
George fluffed his pillows and slipped back into sleep easily. Nora watched her sleeping husband, jealous of his ability to slip into a delusion so easily. She had a nagging feeling something big was coming. Chances are, she wouldn't like it.
Still, Nora though, scoffing at herself, Derek and Casey? Are you crazy, woman?
Nora pondered over this. it simply wasn't logical.
"I have nothing to worry about," Nora told herself reluctantly, and turned off the TV.
Her worries whispered her into sleep.