Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,54
say, then take a deep breath. I’m relieved that he’s more real than I thought, and that Taylor is off-limits. Legally. “Look, can you just not be mad at Pony?”
“Depends,” he says with a big mischievous smile.
“On what?”
“On you being my date to homecoming.”
This guy could date any girl at school. Correction, this guy could date any girl in Texas. But for some reason, he wants to date me. It’s flattering. And I need him to leave Pony alone. It’s the right thing to do. Me and Jake, we’re supposed to be a thing. I should go with it. “Yes,” I say.
“Yes?” he asks, surprised.
“I will go with you to homecoming, Jake.”
“Great,” he says. “Great, great, great.”
This is all so sudden. It doesn’t make sense. “Homecoming is a month away. Why now? At the Sonic?” I ask.
He sits back in his chair and motions his head in the direction of the picnic table overflowing with cheerleaders.
“’Cause why?” I ask.
Jake shushes me. “Just watch.”
I roll my eyes to let my frustration be known and focus on my friends. Out of nowhere, a group of guys wearing black clothing and ski masks emerges from in between cars and descends upon the cheerleaders. Once close enough, the guys start launching water balloons. Cue the high-pitched screams. Spilled drinks. The girls are trying to shield themselves with binders and backpacks. A couple brave ones stand tall and throw food at the guys. Classic water-balloon prank by the football team. Well played.
I turn back with my mouth open in shock. “That’s why you wanted to talk now?”
“Yeah,” Jake says. “I wanted to protect you.” He smiles, revealing his one dimple. He has one damn dimple.
I finish what’s in my cup and get up. I’m glad to not be soaked from water balloons right now. “Really smooth, mister,” I say, then jump off the truck. “I need to go help my friends. You’re sweet, Jake.”
From behind I hear, “I’m just getting started!”
TEN
Thursday, September 26
PONY, 12:35 P.M.
“It’s puff, puff, pass, Pony!” Jerry says, handing me a poorly rolled joint. “Not pass, pass, pass!”
“I do not succumb to peer pressure,” I say, handing the joint to Kenji. I had a couple hits and already feel light-headed. Any more and I’ll be too paranoid to go back to school. I don’t love getting high, but I guess I do, in fact, succumb to peer pressure.
I ran into Kenji in the parking lot this morning, and he invited me to lunch. He said they were getting baked pizza. I’m interested in pizza, so I agreed. Turns out “baked pizza” is smoking pot (getting baked) in an abandoned lot across from school and eating cheese pizza from Papa John’s.
We’re sitting on large rocks pushed into a circle with a burnt fire pit in the middle. I snag the pizza box off Kenji’s lap and lift the top, revealing the gloriously greasy cheesy perfection. It’s still hot. I have never been hungrier in my life.
“How’s Emma?” I ask Kenji after polishing off the crispy crust. He’s been hanging out with an exchange student from Paris.
“She’s cool, man. I have no idea what she’s talking about most of the time, but we speak the language of love.”
Jerry jumps in. “Slipped her your baguette yet?”
Kenji and I exchange looks and shake our heads. “What’s up with your girl, Jerry?” Kenji asks. “You slipped her your pencil yet?”
Jerry drops the roach on the ground and stomps it out with his foot. “We hang out.”
“And hook up?” I ask. I don’t usually get personal, but I’m curious about their relationship after seeing Kelly at the LGBTQIA Center. Jerry grabs the pizza box from my lap and looks at us, deciding how much he can embellish.
“We made out,” he says, then takes a bite of pizza. “Once.”
Kenji folds over in laughter. He might fall off his rock.
“Look,” Jerry says, “we’re taking it slow. I think that’s cool. I think she’s cool. So I don’t care what you fuckers think!”
Kenji regains composure. “Dude, it’s chill. You do you.”
“’Cause she’s definitely not doing you!” I say, and they both laugh. Best feeling.
Kenji kicks my shoe with his size-15 Jordan. “So, playboy, you make any progress on the cheerleader?”
I never told them about The Kiss. I could earn so much respect, but I didn’t want to open myself up to their questions. “I’m over her,” I say.
“Good, man. You dodged a bullet.”
“Why?” I ask, truly stunned that Kenji would say that.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Something about her—she’s fake.”
“Fake who?