Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(47)

“I don’t have to stay late, actually.” I feel bad for how things have been lately, and I regret opting out of their last invite, so I can’t really say no. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks for the invite.”

“Sure,” Josh says, a bit cautiously.

After work, the three of us pile into a busy metro car and transfer to the Yellow Line to end up a few blocks away from the restaurant. This area of DC is new to me, and it’s instantly so much more uplifting in a way. It’s a bustling neighborhood, half small-town feel, half big-city life. The crowd gives me a second wind, and I feel the fog lifting.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” I say. “I can, like, feel my heartbeat slowing.”

April laughs. “Yeah, it’s a little less intense in our world. Kind of how it should be, you know?”

Josh nudges her with his elbow, and it’s like they’re speaking in some language I don’t know. In that language of friendship, where you don’t have to say the words, just a gentle nudge and a certain look with your eyes can get your message across fully. For a split second, I feel sad. Sad that I haven’t spoken to the boys in so long. Sad that I missed my chance to make friends with these two.

But I guess that’ll change tonight, even if just for a little bit.

We take our seats on the patio, in perfect view of the passersby. As soon as I open the menu, I almost fall off my chair at the prices, but it’s not like I’ve spent my stipend on anything so far—I’ve been too busy—so I can afford it. But still, wow. These are adult prices.

“Where are you staying, Sal?” Josh asks.

“A place in Foggy Bottom,” I say. “My mom’s college friend’s daughter, who is way older than me, had a summer sublet fall through, so they set me up with her. It’s a small two-bedroom, but it gets the job done. Kind of weird to share an apartment with someone who’s even older than Meghan, but we just kind of keep to ourselves.”

“That’s an ideal roommate,” April says with a laugh. “Quiet, mature, stays out of your business.”

We keep the conversation casual as we get our drinks and put in our order. Once the server turns, April sets her fists on the table with a thud.

“Okay, we’ve got to talk,” she says. Her tone startles me—it isn’t angry, but it’s urgent. And I feel some of the stress I’ve been feeling for the past few weeks suck right back into me.

“April and I have been talking lately,” Josh starts, “and we’re a little worried about you.”

“I’ll admit, I was insanely jealous when you started working with Meghan. Like, furious, seeing red, ready to call the senator’s office with a complaint—”

“If you did, I’d have been the one answering the phones, and you know I love to hang up on constituents.” Josh jokes.

“Shut up,” April says, rolling her eyes.

“We were both pretty angry with you,” Josh admits, “and with Meghan, and with this whole office. We did not expect glamorous jobs as teen interns, obviously, but you kept getting to do all the cool stuff, while we were just getting shouted at by strangers, endlessly.”

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t know all that,” I say. “I’m sorry, I feel so entitled. My mom helped Betty Caudill with her run for office, and she knew I wanted to go into politics, and that’s why she put me up for this. I wasn’t trying to get a better gig out of it.”

“Well, that’s the thing: you didn’t get a better gig,” April says. “And that’s what finally calmed us down enough to think through it. We’ve watched you fully deteriorate over the past few weeks, and it’s so damn hard to be mad at someone who’s struggling so much, you know?”

Embarrassment tugs at my gut. “I thought I was holding it together better than that.”

“Meghan thinks you are,” Josh says. “Everyone does. Really. You’re doing way better than I would. It’s just, I know how tired I am every night, and I only work six hours a day. You’re there before I get in. You’re there after I leave. When you finally get a chance to sit at the table, you just kind of zone out. Until Meghan comes back and you snap to attention.”

“What they’re doing isn’t legal, Sal.” April shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “There was this huge thing about interns in DC years ago. They told us a time commitment of twenty hours a week when we got the offer. They all signed that offer, and you’ve been working, what, forty hours a week?”

“Fifty,” I say quietly. “Well, I got to come in a little late today. So forty-eight.”

“We have to go to them about it,” Josh says, and April nods.

“I need this experience, though.” I cling to my water glass. “It’s good experience. I might never get another chance like this.”

“You’ll have plenty of chances,” April says. “Besides, we’re not staging a walkout, we’re just reminding them there are laws they need to follow.”

I’m still clinging to the idea that maybe, maybe I can come back here, in some way, directly after high school. That I don’t have to waste four full years to get to where I want to be. Maybe it’s impossible, but I’ve got to try.

I’ve done everything by my mom’s playbook: how I dress, how I speak, how I act. But Mom not standing up for me during the last week of school? That put everything into focus for me: I don’t want academic success; I don’t want more school—I want to make a difference.