Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,68

about you more than words.”

“That makes two of us,” Lee says. “Thank you, Pony and Georgia. This was very brave of you.” Georgia grabs my hand and squeezes. As we walk out, Lee yells, “And you two make a very cute couple.”

GEORGIA, 12:41 P.M.

We sit in the car outside of Thingamabobs and decompress. Pony is looking at the window, thinking. “You did a good thing, Pony.”

“Thanks,” he says, then turns to me. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“I know,” I kid.

He smiles and shakes his head. “We should get back to make it in time for the pep rally?”

“Actually,” I say, “I’m skipping the pep rally. You’re stuck with me until the game.”

“Really?” Pony asks with big happy eyes.

“Yeah, the girls have a prank planned that I disagree with. It’s an over-the-top, jump-the-shark prank. I don’t want to be involved. So I’m not involved.” I cross my arms, so very defiant.

“What is it?” Pony asks.

“Every year, the senior football players do a silly dance at the pep rally. It’s a lot of humping the air and grinding on each other. During the dance, the girls are going to pull their pants down. Or shorts. Or whatever they are wearing.”

“In front of the entire school?”

“Yeah. I hope to God they have underwear on.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got to be honest: the prank thing is weird.”

To an outsider, all the traditions of Hillcrest must seem ridiculous. Especially the prank war between the cheerleaders and the football guys. We run around attempting to humiliate each other on grander scales. But this year, it’s above and beyond.

Pony starts the car and pulls onto the road. I look around, unsure where we are headed. “What’s the next stop on this undate?” I ask. He ignores me and tuns up the music. If circumstances were different, this would be a date. We are doing date things: eating tacos under the stars, reconnecting dying lovers. Ten minutes later, we pull into an empty car lot. I see an old playground.

“Want to swing?” he asks.

“Hell yes,” I say, getting out of the car. Pony runs past me toward the swing set, and I catch up. Weeds wrap around the slide. The swing set is covered in rust. When was my last tetanus shot? Doesn’t matter. I hop into a swing and go. Pony matches my pace, and we sync up our swings, laughing for no reason. I’m getting higher and higher until the metal frame creaks. We dig our feet into the gravel and come to a full stop.

He kicks a little dirt on my boots. “About the pep rally? I get it. After what your ex did to you at the party, you know how it feels to be exposed.”

He knows about that? “Who told you?”

“Jerry and Kenji. At lunch the day that Science Hack Day was announced.” He re-creates Mr. Glover’s beaker dance, and it makes me laugh.

I think back to that day. Pony was finally nice to me. I should have known something was fishy. “Did you feel sorry for me? Is that why we’re friends?”

“What? No. I mean, I did feel bad for you. That must have been awful.”

“I’m sure your bro friends did a great job telling the actual story,” I say.

“Kenji was there,” he reminds me, like I don’t remember.

“That was hard. I trusted Anthony.”

Pony nods. “Maybe you could write about it?”

“Too personal,” I admit. “The three readers of the Hillcrest Reporter would figure out that I am Anonymous.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

“The worst thing,” I say. I get out of my swing and go behind Pony. “But maybe it’s time for an exposé about pranks.”

“Can’t wait to read it,” he says.

I give him a big push, sending him swinging. “You’re like my muse, Pony.” I push harder. With each push, I feel something under his sweater. Like an undershirt but textured and tight. What the frig is this? “Pony, what are you wearing under your sweater? Are you wearing Spanx?”

“No,” he says, catching the ground with his feet. Without looking back at me, he says, “It’s a binder. I wear it to hide my chest.” He doesn’t turn around. Maybe it’s easier to not look at me.

I try to needle my finger in between the binder and his skin but can’t get in. “It feels really tight, Pony.”

“It’s really tight,” he confirms.

“Can you even breathe?”

“Most of the time.”

“What kind of fabric is this? Duct tape?”

“Polyester, mostly.”

“Wait, so all this time I was stuck in my polyester prison