Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,13

to the Piggly Wiggly. Once out of sight of the Sonic, Mia drops the bag between trucks.

Lauren and Kelly find our hiding spot, and we circle up around the bag of tricks. For no reason at all, we’re giggling our heads off.

“OK, deep breath. Shhh. Shhh.” Mia is trying to send us into battle, but we can’t keep it together. “Be fast and effective, and then scatter when the enemy comes running.”

“And if you’re caught, take your cyanide pill,” Kelly says.

“NOW! GO NOW!” Mia screams, and we start running around like crazy.

“I didn’t get the cyanide pill!” Lauren yells.

Mia helps me wrap the cars. And by helps, I mean she holds the end of the roll as I run around and around, until the truck looks like leftovers in the freezer. Every few seconds, an egg cracks against a truck. I smell the shoe polish and hear Kelly laughing at her artistry. After the third wrap job, Mia and I stop and snap a selfie with the trucks in the background. We are doing some serious damage.

“HEY! OUR TRUCKS,” some dude screams from the Sonic picnic tables.

And that’s our cue. Time to get the hell out. I drop the evidence and take off, headed to the 7-Eleven on the corner. I look back and see that Kelly has shoe-polished cartoon penises all over the windows of the trucks. Classic.

Lauren’s boyfriend has already caught her. He’s picked her up, spinning her around as she’s laughing and pretending to escape. God, they are the worst. I spot a guy throwing his Sonic cup on the ground, pissed, sending ice everywhere. Some people take the prank game more seriously than others. The guys huddle up to form a plan, and I pick up my pace.

I hit the gas station parking lot and see a familiar face pumping gas. I head over and lean on his car—all chill like—even though I’m out of breath and there are ten jocks on my tail.

“Of all the 7-Elevens in all of Addison,” I say with a smile, “you end up at this one.”

Pony takes off his sunglasses. “Isn’t this the only 7-Eleven in this town?”

“Shhh,” I say.

“It must be fate, then,” he says, and smiles.

I nod toward his Volvo station wagon. “Get all the ladies with this ride?” I ask.

“Why do you think I had to move?” he asks.

“Weird question, but want to harbor a fugitive for a few minutes?”

Pony returns the gas nozzle to the pump. “I knew you’d ruin me,” he says. “Get in.”

I duck around to the passenger side of his obvious parental hand-me-down and hop inside. From this spot, we have a great view of the skyline. He starts up the engine, and some indie rock-country band blares from the speakers. He yells over the music, “Rainbow Kitten Surprise!”

“Cool,” I say.

He turns down the volume. “Do I want to know what’s going on?”

“Definitely not. Let’s keep this on a need-to-know basis.”

“Will do,” he says, then grabs a package of pretzel M&M’s from his shirt pocket.

We sit in silence. The sun is setting, staining the sky an unreal watercolor pink. I look over at him. “Pony, if we’re going to be friends, I can’t have you talking this much. Seriously, it’s on and on with you. Story after story. When will it end?”

He laughs. Oh no. He’s really freaking cute when he laughs.

“You got me.”

“Do I?”

“You wish,” he says.

“You wish,” I repeat.

He ignores me. “I can be quiet, especially at first.”

“OK, then, talk! Tell me something,” I say.

“Well . . .” He thinks for a second. “I was just at my first job interview.”

“Fancy businessman,” I say. “Did you get the job?”

“I did.”

“No shit? Congrats, Pony!”

“Thanks,” he says shyly.

I’m about to ask more about this job but get distracted by a couple football guys running into the 7-Eleven. I slump down in my seat. Pony looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Your turn,” he says. “Tell me something about you. We could start with why you are on the run . . .”

He wants an explanation. That’s fair.

“I know we just met, Pony, but I feel like I can tell you this. I’m a spy from Russia.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” I ask innocently.

“That,” he says.

I know what he’s talking about. My stories. I’ve always told them, probably since I could form sentences. The stories became more frequent after my mom moved out. And even more frequent after what happened this summer. I turn to Pony, unsure how to answer.

Sounds crazy, but I