Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(6)

We fill the cooler with ice, then leave, barely saying a word. On the way out, I don’t give the cafeteria another look, I don’t give him another thought, and as we step out of the doors of the school, my core steels and a smirk comes on my face.

In a few days, I’m getting the heck out of here. I’ll be in DC, working on Capitol Hill, wearing a suit every day, somewhere where no hometown bully can follow me.





? iMessage ?

GABRIEL + HEATH





CHAPTER SIX

GABRIEL

One time, in sixth grade science, we had to give presentations to the whole school during an Earth Day assembly. The auditorium was packed with clusters of students, each grade taking up a section of the seating, and within the sections there were defined groups of people. I wanted to map out the entire auditorium—choir boys in one cluster, the girls’ basketball team in another. I could see the groups forming, connecting with one another as the teacher tried to get my PowerPoint on trees to show up.

In all the teen movies I’d seen, there were definite cliques. Jocks, nerds, band geeks—but that’s just not how it was here. Our school was too small, and it was messy. I spotted slick and fashionable Sal make his way toward a couple of 4-H Club girls in denim suspenders, while artsy Reese was up in a corner with Heath and the baseball team. Everyone seemed to fit in everywhere, and I … didn’t. If I wasn’t in a class with Sal, Heath, or Reese, I usually didn’t talk. Maybe it was the added pressure of public speaking, but that’s when it really clicked: I don’t know how to make friends.

My presentation wouldn’t work. Actually, the whole projection system was down, and the teachers didn’t know what to do. So there I was, dealing with the fact that I had no backup friend group, nor the capacity to make friends, when the teacher whispered into my ear:

“Do you think you can give the presentation without your slides? Looks like you have it all printed out here, so maybe you can just relay some of the facts without the visuals. You’ll still get full credit, of course.”

A knife of anxiety slashed my chest, and I again looked out in the crowd. Their chattering had gotten louder, it seemed. In the halls, I could just put my head down and push through to my locker, then get to class. At baseball games or birthday parties, I could just cling to Sal. But here, I had no one, and I’d never felt so vulnerable in my entire life.

I’d had many awkward moments in the years since, but nothing’s brought up that memory quite like this upcoming trip. I can’t make friends in Boston. I don’t even know how. The anxiety’s been building all week, all month really. Combine that with the minibreakdown Sal just had, and I can feel a knot in my stomach twisting so tightly it’s like it’s sucking me inside out.

When we get to Reese’s house, Sal pulls his car off the driveway to park in the grass. We sit in the car for a few minutes, and I don’t think either of us wants to do anything. To move. To say anything.

A part of me wishes I’d have been there when that guy went up to Reese and Sal, but my lunch period had already ended. I don’t know what I would have done. Probably just stare in disbelief, then follow Sal out of the building.

I reach out to grab his hand, and our fingers lace together. It pulls us away from the past, back into this moment. Hand holding is against our rules, technically, and this feels like we’re crossing into the not-just-friends territory. But I want to be there for him like I wasn’t able to that day.

“Don’t tell them I freaked out back there,” he says. “Just pretend nothing happened.”

My cheeks flush, knowing I’ve already told them. “Sure,” I say. Because that’s what he needs to hear to save face.

We get out of the car just as Heath busts out the front door, Reese tagging along behind him. Sal comes to my side, and we lean against the car as they approach. He loops his pinky through mine, and I feel a warmth, a rightness of having us all together again.

“Hey, Reese,” Sal says, forcing a cheery tone into his voice. “Sorry we’re late—”

Reese cuts him off with a hug. It’s not a boastful one, not one with arms spread wide, but it’s full of emotion nonetheless. Reese buries his head in Sal’s chest and holds the fabric of his shirt a little too tightly. My gaze meets Heath’s, and he gives me a sympathetic nod.

Reese doesn’t seem to be letting go anytime soon, so I wrap my arms around them both and press my forehead to theirs. Reese is an ember, smoldering and furious and full of tears. Sal still seems caught off guard. His breathing is irregular, and my heart aches for him. For what he and Reese went through that day. As expected, Heath joins the fray and uses his lengthy wingspan to pull us all into him. We’re a little off balance, and it’s not even comfortable anymore, but it feels so safe and so right.

I know they’ll all be here when I get back. I know twelve weeks is nothing. A tiny part of me wonders what will change, how I’ll change. But then a darker thought enters my mind … what if I’m the only one who doesn’t?





CHAPTER SEVEN

REESE

After we all break apart and awkwardly shuffle to the door—Heath last because he insisted on bringing in the cooler of ice all on his own—I feel a brush of heat hit my cheeks. See, I don’t show emotion. I have emotions, but I don’t get why people feel the need to show them all the time. Like how, by the time we’ve hit fourth period, Gabriel’s blown up the group chat with four different anxiety spirals, or how it only takes one good “unlikely animal friends” video on YouTube to make Heath cry.