Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,59

Pony says.

I kick his foot under the table. “You kind of inspired me,” I admit.

“I did?”

“You did. But Pony? No one knows it’s me. Can you keep my secret?”

“As well as you have kept mine,” he says.

I check my phone. It’s past nine. “It’s getting late.”

“I should go,” he says, grabbing his bag. “Or I could spend the night?”

“You wish.”

“Georgia, friends spend the night all the time. I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

“Get out of here before I release the hounds,” I say, then watch as he gathers his things. I secretly wish we could hang out longer. Before he heads out, I stop him. “Pony?”

He turns around, and I get to my feet. “Friends do hug, though,” I say, then throw my arms around his him. He smells nice, like soap and Old Spice.

IPHONES, 10:01 P.M.

PONY: I made it home safe. In case you were worried . . .

GEORGIA: I was not

PONY: We forgot to do something tonight

GEORGIA: What’s that?

PONY: Work on saving the water supply?

PONY: You were very distracting

GEORGIA: And you, sir, used me for my lasagna

PONY: And ice cream

GEORGIA: UGH

PONY: I don’t have plans on Saturday

GEORGIA: I can’t

PONY: Cheerleading thing?

GEORGIA: No

PONY: ??

GEORGIA: I have a date with Jake

GEORGIA: Pony?

GEORGIA: You aren’t allowed to be mad at that!

PONY: I was brushing my teeth

GEORGIA: For seventeen minutes???

PONY: I have a lot of teeth

GEORGIA: Lol. Stop bragging.

PONY: Just trying to impress you

PONY: Friend.

GEORGIA: Consider me wildly impressed

GEORGIA: Friend.

TWELVE

Saturday, October 5

PONY, 5:59 P.M.

I tape up a box and label it CLOTHING—GOLF PANTS. How can one man have so many golf pants? I jump into a reclining chair and pop up the footrest. Time for a break. I shut my eyes.

Georgia has her date tonight. Not that it matters. We are just friends. But it’s taking all my energy to not think about her. She must be getting ready right now. Jake will be over to pick her up soon. It’s probably going to be romantic and perfect. This hurts more than I thought it would. I’m trying to keep busy—working late—hoping the distraction will relieve the pressure in my heart and mild panic attack.

The Science Hack Day has been a great excuse to text Georgia, to talk with her, to hang out and procrastinate together. But I want to be more than friends and can’t make myself want less. I try to not forget the warning from the tarot card with the heart stabbed by three swords. Even made it my lock-screen image on my phone. Nothing works. Whatever this is between me and Georgia . . . it will end badly. I will get hurt again. I know that. Yet here I am.

Ted London gets sicker every day. His breathing is more forced, movements more painful. But he stays upbeat. Ordering Victor around and dragging an oxygen tank behind him.

I haven’t been here all week. Ted had an infection, and the doctor didn’t want anyone in the house. When I arrived this afternoon, Victor looked like he’d lost five pounds and hadn’t slept in days. That guy was already small—a hundred pounds soaking wet. I haven’t seen Ted yet, but Victor assured me he is on the up-and-up.

On the chance that I might be carrying around germs, I have been banished to sorting belongings in the pool house. I asked for $500, and Victor was too tired to negotiate. After the pool house, I’ll have close to $3,000 saved up for my new chest.

I get back up to start sorting a pile of clothes on the bed. It’s clear that no one has hung out in this pool house for years. There’s a thick coat of dust everywhere, furniture covered in sheets, and it reeks of ghosts. This is where Ted kept all his fancy formal wear and crazy costumes. Suits worthy of Mad Men and costumes that could have been in Gladiator. There’s so much to see out here, I’m having fun trying to sort this madness. I have my music up loud in my ears to drown out any thoughts about Georgia and her date.

I pull out a bright yellow women’s one-piece bathing suit. My memories of being forced to wear these bathing suits when I was young come rushing back. I loved the water but hated these form-fitting girl suits. I would always wear a shirt over the suit and wish I could be in swim trunks.

For the past three years, I’ve skipped all pool parties and beach days. There are water binders, but I