Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(26)

I laugh. “No, they’re all yours. I’ll grab one of the meat ones next time they’re passed, and you can have all the avocado. As long as you don’t mind me eating meat in front of you.”

“Honestly, you could slaughter the cow in front of me as long as I’ve got my toast. Live and let live, you know?” They pause. “Okay, that was intense. Maybe not that.”

“Wow, great mental image.” Tiffany rolls her eyes. “I guess you don’t need the introduction, but I was going to say, ‘Art, this is Gabe; Gabe, this is Art.’ ”

We shake hands.

“So where are you all from?” I ask. “I’m from Gracemont—I mean, I’m from a little town in Ohio. It’s technically a village. In Ohio, you have to have five thousand citizens to call it a town. We have like two thousand. Probably too much info? I am very new to Boston, and I am overwhelmed.”

“Oh god, I am too.” Tiffany places her hand over mine for a brief second, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m from a tiny-ass town in Maryland, and this shit is stressful.”

“Okay, so you get it. Boston is a lot, isn’t it?”

She considers my question for a second, then gives a thoughtful nod. “It’s pretty cool, though, you’ve got to admit.”

“It’s not all bad,” Art says. “I’m a local, but I do appreciate you two not being so doe-eyed about it.”

“Yeah, I’m not doe-eyed, I’m just scared.” Tiffany laughs. “Is that okay to say?”

I feel myself thaw in conversation with them, and I really do breathe more easily knowing that there are nice (albeit toast-hoarding) people here, and there’s another small-town person here who does not seem comfortable either. Though she did jump in my way to chat, which is way more than I did, so I should be taking notes.

“Have you been here long?” I ask.

“Tiffany and I were the first to get here, actually,” Art explains. “We checked in at the same time and got to chat a bit while unpacking in our rooms. Did you just get here?”

“Ah, no. I got here a while ago. I just … haven’t really left my room.”

“I get that,” Tiffany says, and I think maybe she really does. “This is all so weird. Like, I have no idea what we’re going to be doing. I assume boring stuff—filing papers maybe? Think we’ll actually be in the parks at all?”

“If it gets me away from my parents for a whole summer, I would gladly file papers,” Art says.

I give them a sympathetic nod, but they jump in with, “Oh god, not like that. They’re just really annoying right now. Mostly about college stuff. They’re such helicopter parents, I swear.”

Another employee, name tag Laura she/her, comes by our tables and drops off a few notebooks and folders, letting us know that we don’t need to worry about reading any of it yet—just some paperwork and information for our orientation sessions tomorrow.

We continue talking, though the stack of information is clearly taking some of our attention. Art’s eyes keep landing on some spot behind me. I want to turn back to see what’s going on. They walk away from the table quickly, so Tiffany and I watch as they walk up to the table with the two guys from earlier—the one overdressed, overeager, and still talking about hydroponics from the look of it; and the other, who seemed overwhelmed before but is downright flustered now.

Art greets both of them, then singles out the scared guy. They gesture behind them with a concerned look on their face. The two guys from the table shake hands as a goodbye before the loud one walks over to another unsuspecting group of people, and the quiet one (who is noticeably less flustered now) finally joins up with us.

“So wait, how do you have my paperwork over here?” he asks, which makes Art laugh.

“I’m so sorry if this is an overstep,” Art says, “but I’ve been watching you drown in that conversation for at least fifteen minutes, and I thought you might need an escape.”

The guy—Matt, he/him, according to his name tag—fully deflates into the table with relief. He looks up and gives us each a smile. His smile is … really nice.

“I tried to get out of that conversation six times,” Matt says. “I kept track.”

“So did I,” Art replies.

“He’s a sweet guy, but he’s just so freaking passionate about this. I thought I was a tree hugger and all, but wow, I would have fully lit a tree on fire to get out of that conversation.”

Tiffany gestures at my Tree Hugger shirt, which makes Matt laugh. “So you understand just how desperate I was. Anyway, hi, I’m Matt, thank you, you’re all my new best friends. Art, I owe you.”

“Noted,” Art says with a smirk.

To repay us, Matt offers to grab us all refreshments. Once he returns, we all get to know one another a bit more over sodas, and the tension about what mysteries are in the welcome packet starts to ease.

“And you, Gabe, with the very stylish and on-brand shirt, I must say—where do you live?”

My phone starts beeping at this point, and for a weird moment I expect it to be Sal calling me, but it’s not—it’s my ten-minute alarm. I am free to go. I can leave right now, and I’ll have completely fulfilled my obligations for the day.

“Sorry about that,” I say as I delete the alarm and dedicate my full attention to my new friends. “I’m from Ohio.”