Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,78

to New York. There are great girls here that would love to hang out with a guy like you.”

The phone is passed to an older man with thin gray hair and a gray beard wearing a Hawaiian shirt, like gay Santa on vacation. “Hello, Pony. I came from a small town, just like you. It was a battle every day. You keep your chin up. Be brave, my boy.”

“I will,” I say.

The phone is passed to a guy with huge piercings in his ears and a neck tattoo. “Hey, kid, you be you. If they don’t like it, fuck them!” He laughs loudly and chugs his beer.

“Yeah, fuck them,” I echo. Tears build in my eyes. I wipe them away.

A beautiful trans woman comes on the screen. She’s glowing like an angel. “Honey. I wish I could hug you. Life for you and me, it ain’t easy. Lucky for us, we’re built tougher than others, so we can handle all the bullshit. You hang on, fam. And promise me something?”

“Anything,” I say.

“Get the hell out of Bumfuck, Texas!”

I promise her I will, and the phone goes to a 1950s pinup girl. She’s got oil-black hair and bright red lipstick. “Hi, Pony. I’m Zoe.”

“Hi, Zoe,” I say, my voice cracking.

“Your sister is something else.” I can see Rocky sitting very close to her.

“She’s one of a kind,” I confirm. I really hit the sister jackpot.

Zoe lowers her voice. “Is Rocky single?”

“For you, I’m sure,” I say.

“Fantastic. Thanks, sugar.” She winks, blows a kiss, and hands the phone to Rocky.

“Pony, you are not alone. All these people love and support you without even meeting you. This hard time will pass. You just be strong.”

“I will,” I say, fighting the tears back. “I love you, Rocky.”

“Love you, bye, Pony,” she says, then hangs up.

I shut my eyes and say thank you thank you thank you to the universe for giving me a sister like Rocky.

IPHONES, 9:18 P.M.

PONY: Hi Gretchen, it’s Pony. We met at the fundraiser for the Center.

PONY: You read my tarot cards . . .

GRETCHEN: Three of Swords?

PONY: Right in my heart

GRETCHEN: Ouch.

PONY: I survived

GRETCHEN: Good to hear

PONY: Do you have plans tomorrow night?

GRETCHEN: Not yet

PONY: Want to get dinner?

GRETCHEN: Yes, Pony. And I’ll leave my swords at home.

Part Three

Homecoming

EIGHTEEN

Monday, October 21

GEORGIA, 3:59 P.M.

I’m sitting in an empty classroom with the lights off. I got an email from Ms. Randolph around lunch. She wanted to talk to me after school. So here I am. I lay my head down on the desk.

When I close my eyes, I see Pony standing with those poster boards. The hope in his eyes. The smile on his face. A shiver runs up my spine.

Pony wasn’t at school today. I was forced to look at his empty chair in every class. I’m worried about him but can’t reach out. I tried to check his socials for any clues, but he blocked me again. Maybe forever this time.

I pick my head up and check the clock: 4:03. I’m going to be late to cheerleading practice (and get another demerit). What could Ms. Randolph want to talk about? Hopefully my next article. Spoiler alert: I don’t have any ideas. I put my head back down.

Homecoming week is a big deal for Hillcrest. One could argue that it’s more important than prom. It’s an entire week of school pride. We wear silly clothing to school like pajamas (today) and country-western clothes (tomorrow), have a pep rally on Thursday, then the football game on Friday and the dance on Saturday. And if that isn’t enough, we have our first cheerleading competition on Sunday. It’s only Monday, but I’m already fully over this week.

Luckily, cheerleading competition season has just kicked off. We are only at semi-regionals, four rounds away from nationals. The competition at this level isn’t tough. Even if every hungover cheerleader hurled during our performance, we’d still advance to the next round. The most difficult part of Sunday will be waking up for the bus that leaves at nine a.m.

I lift my head when I hear Ms. Randolph walk into the classroom. She doesn’t notice me. “You’re late,” I say, watching her jump.

“Georgia! I didn’t see you there.”

“I guess I’m Anonymous in life too,” I kid. Ms. Randolph laughs, and her glasses slide down her nose. She pushes them back up and leans against a desk. All teachers do the same desk-lean thing. Do they give a course on it at teacher college?

“Georgia, your article about pranking was great.