Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(8)

“Is mine the green one?” he asks.

“Naturally. It’s engraved; sorry if that’s a trigger for you after your fancy pen gift.”

“You engraved a little bow tie into this? I’m dying, this is so sweet.”

“You really think so?”

“No, seriously. I was going to crap on whatever you were pulling out as a joke, but I couldn’t even do that. You really made these? With tools?”

A bit of pride creeps into my chest at the compliment. I did this. It’s such a step outside my normal art, which consists fully of illustration or designs. But working on something I could physically touch was a new experience.

“I did,” I say. “We’ve got plenty of tools around here, plus I had an old engraver that Mamma bought to put my name onto my TI calculator. It was fun.”

He takes another bracelet. “Let’s see, the bracelet with the red charm has got to be Gabe’s.”

“Yep. His charm’s a sapling. Felt like it worked on multiple levels: he’s volunteering with a nonprofit that deals with trees; he gardens for fun.”

“But it’s also brand-new,” he says, running a thumb across the etching. “I get the feeling he wants to reinvent himself this summer.”

I nod. “You don’t?”

“Is it conceited if I say no?” He chuckles. “I really like who I am now. I feel like DC will help me be more myself, if that makes any sense.”

He offers a smirk, and I wonder what it would be like to be so sure of yourself. It’s no wonder someone like Gabriel would find comfort in him.

“The other two are blank,” he says, holding two bracelets. One has a metal charm tinted blue, and one a pale yellow. “I don’t think I know who I am yet. Or what this summer is going to mean to me. And Heath,” I say with a sigh. “Nothing seems good enough for him, you know?”





CHAPTER EIGHT

HEATH

This is too complicated. A nondescript white van just birthed dozens of identical children like one of those pregnant spiders, and I’m standing on the porch, fully unprepared for this quiz. Even though I literally studied for this.

“You’ve got this!” Gabriel says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

I wave to the group, and Reese’s older cousins come up to give us hugs. Four girls from ages three to sixteen tag along, holding various dishes for the potluck, family games, and all the other essentials for a big family party.

“Here, Gabriella, let me take that from you,” I say, reaching for the large bowl of pasta salad in her hands. “Are those glasses new?”

She gives me a funny look, and just beyond her, I see a clone pop up.

“Oh god, you’re Isabella. I didn’t realize you got glasses too. Wow, now you two look identical. Sorry. And sorry, Gabriella.” I shake my head. “You know what, let’s just go inside.”

I turn from them, the embarrassment eating me from the inside out. It’s bad enough all these girls look the same, but now they all have to be nearsighted too?

“Heath,” Gabriel says as we walk into the kitchen, “it’s okay. They might as well be twins—don’t get flustered about it.”

“You don’t understand,” I say.

Once Reese comes into the living room, he’s suddenly the star of the show, and my embarrassing mishap seems to be gone from everyone’s memories. More of his family arrive, plus members of their church and other family friends. His house is huge compared to mine, but once it’s packed with forty people, even it seems tiny. Some people spill out into the backyard; others start to play cornhole in the front.

I mostly stay in the same place all night, talking to his family. Lucia hops onto my lap, and I make the point to call her the correct name, as a three-year-old would be much less forgiving.

Reese’s family does this thing where a big group of them all gather in one room, and they’ll play a party game that’s obviously meant for smaller groups. None of them have difficult rules—usually, guess what I’m describing, quick! or guess what I’m drawing, quick!—but we still have to repeatedly go over how the game works.

We finally split the group up into teams, but then Isabella gets bored and leaves the room, and we have to count off again. At this point, no one knows what team they’re on or what game they’re playing, but they’re all shouting answers. Even when the timer runs out. Even after Reese’s aunt yells, “God, stop saying ‘seahorse’—it’s not a seahorse!” over the whole group.

It’s … pure chaos.

It’s perfect.

It reminds me that I don’t have a family like this. I don’t know how not to be jealous about it, either. Sure, Diana and Jeanie might be great, but having a handful of family members spread out across the country, while the only traditions you did have are being ripped out from under you, will never be the same. It’ll never feel like this.

And … tears are running down my face. Thankfully, no one seems to notice—honestly, no one can really notice anything in the chaos that’s happening. I lift Lucia off my lap and place her on my seat, then quietly leave the room. I survey my options: Sal and Reese are in the backyard, and I don’t want them to see me like this. The cigar smokers are in the front, and they always trap me in a convo about baseball I don’t really care to have. Which leaves me nowhere to go but up.