Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,19

bottle. We all joined in because why not. I dread when this game gets going at parties, but I didn’t want to seem uncool by sitting out. I took big gulps of my beer while secretly praying that spinning bottle never landed on me. Making out with some guy as my friends watch? I can think of better hobbies.

My opinion on the game quickly changed when the new senior captain of the football team—this gorgeous guy with big ears and blue eyes—stepped up to take his turn. I wasn’t going to be mad if I had to kiss him. He gave the bottle a strong spin, and I held my breath. The Miller Lite bottle made a couple rotations before he reached down, stopped it, and pointed it directly at me. Every part of my body heated up. He walked over, helped me to my feet, pushed my hair behind my ear, leaned in slowly, and kissed me. I could feel his stubble against my face. I could hear my girls yelling and cheering. I could taste whiskey and tobacco. It was intoxicating.

We stopped after a few seconds and both looked around at everyone watching. Getting super shy, I was starting to sit back down when he grabbed my hand and led me into the woods. I was on top of the world. We hid behind a tree and kissed, our bodies pressing against each other.

After that night, we were together. There was no reason to waste time. It was a perfect match: football guy and cheerleader girl. We hung out with other couples, the guys wandered off to play video games, and the girls talked in circles about our relationships and clothes. I didn’t care; I did it for him. He got my total and complete attention. I liked making him happy, but I eventually lost myself.

I find my desk in first period and try to forget Anthony. I’m composing mean and super hurtful texts to him in my mind. He’s winning when I think about him this much.

I’m spiraling, but just a little. Like, a cute amount.

I feel my calf vibrate. It’s my phone tucked into my bag. I reach down, low-key, so the teacher doesn’t catch me. Another unidentified number: Look at you, wearing civilian clothes.

There’s Pony. Finally. I look over. He smiles at me.

Without any thought, I text back: Enjoying the view?

A few seconds later, I hear something hit the ground and bounce a few times.

Someone yells, “New kid dropped his phone!”

And for the first time today, I smile.

12:17 P.M.

At lunch, Lauren and I walk around the school. When we have a problem to solve, we walk and talk it out. It’s boiling hot but nice to get some exercise. I’m drinking a Diet Coke and trying to keep up with Ms. Long Legs over here.

Lauren is going on and on about college. I suppose that’s a normal discussion topic for two seniors, but it’s not where my head is at. Last year, Mia, Lauren, Kelly, and I swore that we would go to Texas Tech. A decent state school in Lubbock, famous for its parties. We would pledge a sorority and keep living our popular-girl fantasy. I’m not against the idea completely—the tuition is affordable, and Lubbock isn’t too far from Addison and my dad. But maybe I want to go to a school known more for its academics than its partying.

“You can do better,” I say to Lauren.

“But Matt is going to Tech,” she argues.

“Lo, you are so smart. That big, beautiful brain in your head could get into any college.”

She stops walking to think about it. “Well, my dad is University of Texas alum. It’s expensive, but I’m applying for the Hispanic Scholarship Fund. I could go there, but Mia . . .”

“Mia what?”

“She would be so mad.”

Which horoscope sign makes you the smartest and nicest person but unable to stand up for yourself? Whatever it is, that’s Lauren. “Mia isn’t your mommy,” I remind her.

“What about you?” she asks.

That’s a loaded question. Anthony is at Texas Tech. It’s a big school—over thirty thousand people—but that doesn’t mean I would be safe from him. I did some research and found out they don’t have a strong journalism program. My dream school is Columbia in New York, but that’s so out of reach. “I guess I’ll go to Tech and get back with Anthony. That’s why he reached out, right?”

“No, Georgia. You are done with him. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say.