Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(35)

After a moment of hesitation, Jeanie agrees and leads me toward the back.

“I guess we haven’t had any alone time,” she says. “As you can probably tell, I work all night and sleep all day, so I haven’t been the best host.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I say, putting in the quarters to start my round of Skee-Ball. “The fact that you’re letting me stay here at all is great. Diana’s been showing me the beach life.”

She rolls her first ball, nailing the corner hundred-point hole. “I’m afraid I’m not sure how to be a good aunt. I … you know, I’ve never gotten the chance. Which is partially my fault.”

“Mom’s too,” I say bluntly. “We always talked about coming down here. Then Mom would ultimately take us to Cedar Point or something and pretend it was the same thing.”

“We don’t get along much. She always hated how impulsive I was, how I never wanted to settle down. And I thought about coming back a lot, but I was in so much debt because of this arcade. But also, once you’ve lived on the beach for so long, it’s hard to imagine going back to Ohio.”

“I bet,” I say as I drain a thirty-point shot.

Diana comes by with a platter of corn dogs, then takes a few quarters to start up the third Skee-Ball game.

“I’ll teach you how to make those,” Jeanie says. “And how to pour the perfect beer. Which, if a health inspector ever asks, you absolutely never do on any occasion.”

We laugh, before a loud knock sounds out from the back of the building.

“Ah, that’ll be the frozen-food delivery. Got to sign for that.”

“Jeanie’s trying really hard to be the cool aunt,” Diana says. I’m struck then by how unusual this family is, on so many levels. But I feel the love between them, and isn’t that all that matters?

“Why do you call your mom Jeanie?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It just fits more than Mom, I guess. She’s always let me figure my own shit out. Once I started working here, I always had to call her Jeanie during shifts, and it just kind of stuck.”

“Think she’ll mind if I keep calling her Aunt Jeanie?”

Diana smiles. “I think she’d like that.”

I do have a family. It’s not like Reese’s, or Sal’s, or Gabriel’s, but it’s mine. And just as I feel comfortable with that, I get a text from my dad that shatters that thought and makes me realize nothing will ever be the same again.

Good news, bud—we got an offer on the house!





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

REESE

All of us in the program have started to fall into these daily routines. I am, fully, a routine person, so I appreciate it. The six-hour break I have is usually spent in one of the lounge areas at school, though I know I could go back to my room, or sit at a café, or even go explore the city. I’ve seen the Eiffel Tower in passing, but maybe I’ll go be a tourist this weekend.

I’m starting to get the hang of sewing—meaning, I no longer break the machine just by touching it. And not surprisingly, I’m doing really well in my graphic design classes. But fashion doesn’t come as naturally to me. And a part of me already wants to drop the fashion classes, which feels super immature, but maybe I’m just not cut out for this kind of design.

I’m sitting cross-legged in the comfiest chair that the lounge has to offer, studying my design for the first workshop this morning. I think it’s okay, though the prompt was bonkers—a seventies mod design that incorporates your zodiac sign? It sounds like a bad Project Runway prompt.

What I’ve come up with is a fairly simple dress. A halter top with thin straps that tie into a bow in the back. The navy-colored dress falls straight down, just brushing the floor, and is lightly cinched with a thin belt. I wasn’t sure how to include the zodiac element, so I patterned the dress with the circle-and-horns symbol for Taurus.

I think it’s good, but is it enough?

“That your design?” Philip asks, though it’s a bit rhetorical. We’ve been discussing it all week, though I’ve never felt comfortable showing it to him. “That’s a great drawing.”

“Yep,” I say, and I quickly slip the page into a folder and hide my embarrassment.

We file into the classroom, and I get glimpses of other designs. All of them look more polished, more creative, and far more correct than mine. Watts comes in, and we launch right into the presentations.

“Just so it’s all fair, names will be picked at random. When it’s your turn, present your design and talk us through your design choices, and how you were inspired by the prompts. If you’re not presenting, you’re critiquing. I’ve passed out Post-it notes to everyone. Just write some constructive feedback on these; we’ll collect them for everyone, then we can have a quick conversation about the highs and lows of each garment. Make sense?”

We all nod, and she goes over to a desk and takes a seat. She clicks a few buttons on her computer. “Okay, first up, Philip!”

His cheeks turn red immediately, and he practices deep breaths as he digs for his presentation.

“Better to go first than last, I guess,” he says. “At least this will be over. Wish me luck?”

I smile back at him. “You don’t need it—you’re going to do great.”