Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(16)

I pull in a deep, slow breath, savoring the last moment when I get to keep this project to myself. Then, like ripping off a bandage, I take mine out. Heath and Gabriel instinctively crawl forward to see what it is.

“This is amazing, Reese,” Heath says as he takes it in his hands, and I see a flicker of joy and awe light his face. “How did you brush this with color? That blue is really cool.”

“Wow,” Gabriel says. “It looks like something you’d order off Etsy. What made you want to do bracelets?”

“I tried to think of something we could each take with us, something that would work with pretty much any outfit, whether you were at the beach or in the Capitol. Something that I could personalize too. There’s one for each of us, each a different color, each with a different charm.”

I slip the bracelet on my wrist, and the blue charm flips, so that the four dots stare back at me. It brings out this sort of melancholy feeling in me, and the dots blur in my vision as my mind reels.

“I have an idea,” I say. “Remember when we played Truth or Dare during our first sleepover, like, ages ago? And how no one would pick dare, so it just became this string of confessions?”

Heath snorts. “By the end of the night, we all just started listing our biggest fears. That’s how we found out Sal was afraid of ketchup.”

“I’m not afraid of ketchup.” Sal crosses his arms as we all laugh. “Well, not anymore.”

I look to each of them, remembering the laundry list of fears—tornadoes, fire, spiders—but I don’t recall exactly which fear belonged to which person.

“Can we do that now?” I ask. “Get all our fears about this summer off our chests?”

“Well, you just put on your bracelet.” Sal gestures to me. “We yield the floor. What’s on your mind?”

Immediately, I think about how overwhelming tomorrow’s international flight will be, but there’s a part of me that’s excited and ready for it. It’s what happens next that stresses me out more.

“It all happened so fast,” I say. “My graphic design tutor mentioned this program, Mamma immediately fell in love with it on my behalf, and next thing I know, I’m filling out an application, I’m accepted, and flights are booked.”

I pause, and try not to meet anyone’s eyes. “I can’t complain about going to France, I know that. I’m excited. But when I was trying to list all my goals for the summer in my journal, I couldn’t come up with anything. I love graphic design, but do I need to go to France for that? Compared to how I usually am at school, feeling goalless is new for me.”

Heath laughs. “Not every experience has to have a list of goals, you know?”

“Or maybe you can just pick something really broad,” Gabriel says. “Like, I don’t know, ‘My goal is to have fun’?”

“Ooh, or to eat a lot of French pastry,” Heath adds.

There’s a pause in conversation, and that’s when I lock eyes with Sal. When it comes to this stuff, we’re usually on the same wavelength. In a way. I plan out my days to the T, but I don’t know what my future looks like. Sal has exact goals for the next ten years of his life, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing day to day.

“Not to get meta here, but I think your goal should be to spend the summer figuring out your goal,” he finally says. “Yeah, it sounds so cliché to spend a summer in Europe to find yourself, but it’s what you’re doing, right? There’s a reason it’s a cliché.”

“The fact that I have a dot journal filled with all my plans, dreams, and designs is precious enough,” I say. “Do you really think I should write ‘find myself’ in there?”

Sal crawls over to me and pulls my journal out of my bag. “Absolutely. Be that precious; make us absolutely sick with your idealism.”

The others laugh, but I admit to myself that it’s not exactly bad advice. I flip to my “summer goals” page, which is completely empty save for a few illustrations around the sides.

I make a few notes, then close the journal with a sense of finality. My single goal for this trip is to figure out my goals as I go along.

“If there’s one thing Paris has in excess, it’s inspiration, right? I’ll figure it out. Thanks, guys.”

I look to Heath, and he gives me a soft smile. Truthfully, there is one more fear I don’t say: I’ll be four thousand four hundred thirty-nine miles from Daytona Beach. And something about that hurts.

But I brush it off, then I reach into the box and pull out a random bracelet.

“All right, let’s see who’s next.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SAL

When he pulls out the bracelet, I squint, looking for the familiar green tint. I’m not big on sharing my feelings in this pseudo-group-therapy session, but I do like hearing that I’m not the only one apprehensive about the upcoming move.

Reese feels like he doesn’t have a goal. I can’t relate. If anything, I’m worried I have too many goals for my short time in DC. My brain goes into overdrive trying to find the best “fear” to reveal here.

But when I see a flash of red on the charm, I exhale. Gabe seems to know it’s for him without Reese even saying anything, and when I see the smile cross his face, the edges of my lips perk up.