Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,28
celebrate and cut loose with martinis and dancing. Cherry caught the eye of Wayne Gutter, a wealthy real estate mogul, and sparks flew. After several weeks of sneaking around, Cherry traded in her old life, leaving behind her husband and daughter for a life of leisure.
To give her credit, she did ask me to come live with her and Wayne. Living in a mansion with a pool and staff would be rad, but I would never leave Dad behind like she did. I don’t think he could have handled losing both of us at once. He’s dealt with the divorce with grace—even claims he’s not mad at my mom anymore. Can’t say I feel the same.
A car honks three times outside. Pony is here. I grab my book bag and take one final look in the mirror by the front door. Looking good, feeling . . . nervous. Hello, new crush nerves, haven’t felt you in a minute.
“Nice dress,” Pony says as I climb into the passenger seat.
“Thanks. Nice shades.”
He’s wearing a pair of cool vintage sunglasses and a fitted polo shirt buttoned all the way up. I like a guy who can dress himself.
“Mind if we make a stop on the way?” Pony asks.
“Is this when you take me to the woods and murder me?”
“No, that’s later. Just to Starbucks. My brain doesn’t function until it’s been properly drowned in some iced coffee,” he says.
“Same,” I say. “We are on the same page.”
We cover the polite conversational bases quickly: the weather, the news, the weekend—he saw a movie, I hung with friends. There’s a lull in conversation as he turns from my neighborhood onto Addison’s main road. Strip mall after strip mall, many of the shops out of business or on the way. We pass by all the fast-food joints: Wendy’s, Arby’s, McDonald’s. Sonic, obvs.
I hate silence between two people. It makes me uncomfortable. I typically just start blabbering. “OK, new guy, I’m dying to know what you think of Hillcrest.”
Not my best starter, but it will work. I watch Pony bite his lower lip as he thinks. “It’s cool. My dad, he’s in the army, so I’m used to moving around.”
“A real-life army brat,” I tease.
“Big time brat,” he says, smiling at me. “This is our fifth move.”
“Wow. I’ve lived in the same house all my life. Could you imagine?” I ask.
“No way. Sounds kind of boring.”
Please.
I suppose we were boring until my mom left. “There’s a comfort to living in the same house all your life,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean nothing happens.”
He pulls into the Starbucks drive-through line. We’re about four cars back. Not too bad, considering there’s only one Starbucks in town. Some mornings the line is ten cars deep and backing up the traffic on the street. I notice that we’re sitting in silence again.
“I would hate having to start over every time. I’m exhausted just thinking about making friends and establishing myself at a new school.”
Pony tilts his head. “Establishing yourself?”
“Yeah, making a name for yourself? Building a brand?” I realize how silly it sounds as it leaves my mouth. “Maybe it’s not the same at all schools, but at Hillcrest High—who you are matters.”
“Does it?” Pony questions.
“Yes, sir.”
“To who?”
“Everyone, obviously,” I say, but don’t completely buy what I’m selling.
Pony starts drumming on the bottom of the steering wheel. “It can be tough to make friends, but I’m good at being alone. Starting a new school is like walking on a movie set that’s already been filming a long time—there’s no place for you, and everyone’s story lines are already fully progressed.”
“That’s sad. Thanks for ruining my morning,” I say, but I’m into his honesty. “Well, I’m your friend now.” And maybe more?
“No thanks,” he jokes, then rolls his window down to yell our coffee orders to the speaker box. I try to imagine what it would look like if we were together. What people would think of me dating the new guy? Plot twist.
Once he’s done ordering, I say, “So, let’s find you your spot at Hillcrest. What do you do? Do you play sports or anything?”
“No,” he says. Too bad. Cheerleaders typically date the guys who play football, basketball, or soccer.
“What about theater?” I ask. But honestly, that wouldn’t get him far.
“Nah,” he says.
“Debate club?” I’m almost out of options.
“I don’t really want to be known for one thing,” he says.
“Ouch, says the cheerleader.”
He smiles. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t know, I guess I like movies.”
“What kind?” I