Golden (28 page)

“But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

—“STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING,” 1923

We settle ourselves into the red vinyl booth, Trevor on one side, Kat and I on the other, and after ordering a breakfast for dinner, Kat clasps her hands together on the table, leans forward, and says, “Okay, spill it. What happened with the gallery girl? Did she ever come? Was it Julianna?”

The whole thing rushes back at me for the first time since Trevor kissed me. “No,” I say. “It wasn't her.” I tell her the same lie I told him, and the weight of it drags me even lower than I already feel.

Kat reaches across the table for my hand. “
Shit
. God, I'm really sorry, P. I know how much you were hoping for it.”

Her tone is genuine and sympathetic, and I don't say anything because I can feel the tears ready to spring up if I do. Trevor must see it, because he excuses himself to the bathroom, which I appreciate.

Kat sees it too, and once he's gone, she shifts into pep-talk mode. “Hey—maybe they got a chance to work it out on the other side and they're living happily ever after out there somewhere.”

I force a smile. “Maybe so.”

“What are you gonna do with the journal?” She asks.

“It's gone too,” I say. “I lost it when I went chasing after her.”

She frowns. “Really? You were guarding that thing with your life. How'd you lose it?”

I shake my head, avoiding her eyes. “I don't know. I just did.”

“Huh. That's too bad.”

We're quiet a moment, and then Kat squeezes my hand again. “Maybe it's better that way. It's actually kind of fitting. You found it by chance, and now you lost it by chance. Maybe now chance will send it where it should be.”

I nod, but can't muster any enthusiasm or response. Who knows what Julianna will do with it. Maybe I should've given it to Josh instead, so at least he'd know she really had fallen in love with him too.

Kat leans her elbows on the sticky table, then thinks better of it and sits back against the booth. “So what else? What happened with you guys to make things so awkward?” She glances over my shoulder and I turn to see Trevor, who's weaving his way back to the table from the bathroom.

Kat gives me a mischievous smile when I turn back
around. “Did you hook up and it was bad or something?”

I sigh. “Bad. I'll tell you later.” I try to think of something to change the subject to quickly. “So where did you go, anyway?”

“Don't you worry your pretty little head about that.” She smiles.

“About what?” Trevor asks. He slides into the booth and our legs brush, just for a second, his skin against mine, and we both pretend not to notice.

“About her mom and her speech,” Kat says without missing a beat. “It's gonna be bad when she gets home.”

I chance a look at Trevor. “My mom's a little . . .”

“Crazy,” Kat finishes through another mouthful of French toast.

“I was gonna say strict, but that's a better way to put it.” I fiddle with my napkin. “This is gonna be a big deal, if she finds out. Especially if she finds out I left her a Googled speech.” My mouth goes dry. “Oh my God. I still have to write the real one.”

“We should go home then,” Trevor says. He looks at his watch, then at me, but only for a moment. “We can make it back by morning if we leave now, and you can get home, pound some caffeine, and get it done. Maybe she won't find out.”

Worry over what will be waiting for me at home closes in, and I want to say no, let's not go back. I don't want to face my mom, or my speech, or the scholarship committee. And I don't think I can stand to ever set foot in Kismet again and chance seeing Josh. Not with what I know now.

“He's right,” Kat says. “Let's get you home.”

After we pay our check, we point the Silver Bullet north and drive in silence. I lean my head against the passenger window and watch the night go by. The rain is gone, leaving the sky mottled with patches of clouds and darkness peeking through the places where they've broken apart, but I can't see any stars. Sadness creeps in from the edges all around me, and when we pass the last lights of town and begin backtracking over the miles we traveled only hours earlier, it feels like admitting defeat.

Trevor glances over at me, his expression soft in the glow from the dash. “You can go to sleep if you want. I'm fine driving.”

“Thanks. But I don't think I could sleep right now.”

He nods and is quiet a moment, but surprises me with what he asks next. “So, would it have been worth it if you'd found her?”

I don't answer right away. I want to tell him the whole thing, every last detail about Julianna and what she said, and how it's all even more sad than we knew before we came.

“Maybe not,” I say. “Maybe the whole idea of finding her was better than the reality of it would've been anyway.” I pause. Think about all the things we hope for and dream about, and how often they turn out to be different from what we thought. Like that kiss, and what I did.

“I don't know about that,” Trevor says, his eyes on the road. “I think a lot of things get even better the closer you get to them.” He smiles but doesn't look over at me. “And at least you tried, you know? That should count for something.”

“It should,” I say. “It should count for something.”

“I have come by the highway home,

And lo, it has ended.”

—“RELUCTANCE,” 1915

After miles and miles of darkness we crest the grade just below town, and the mountain skyline I've known as home all my life rises up in front of us, towering jagged and dark against a pink sunrise sky. In the past the sight of it has always been welcoming, but today it's a sad reminder that I'm back where I began. Just before town we pass the billboard, where a single light still shines down on the smiling pictures of Shane and Julianna, and the sight of it is ironic in the worst possible way. My eyes fill up and I close them, wanting to push away the secret that sits heavy inside me along with the realization that this is it. The end of the road.

My house is the first stop, since it's at the south end of town, and after seeing how many missed calls I had from my mom when Trevor gave me my phone back, I know I need to get home because she knows. Almost as soon as Trevor pulls into my driveway, the front door opens, and my mom steps out, looking haggard in her robe, and I know she didn't sleep. Guilt and fear swirl around in my stomach.

“Good luck,” Trevor says, eyeing her nervously.

“Thanks.” I watch as she wraps her arms around herself tightly and starts down the steps. “I'll need it.” I put my hand on the door handle and take a deep breath. “Thank you . . . for everything,” I say, and I wish I could say more, but my mom is making a beeline for my door. “And . . .”

Trevor glances over my shoulder, then back at me. “Sure,” he says.

The door opens behind me, and my mom's voice is as cold as the air it rushes in on. “Get out of the car, Parker. Now.”

Kat sits up in the backseat at this. “Please, wait. You should know that this was all my idea, the whole thing. I made her take the trip. Please don't blame Parker.”

My mom glances at Kat and then Trevor, who's gone silent, but she doesn't respond. She brings her eyes to mine, and in a low, controlled voice says, “
Get
out of the car now. We will talk about this inside.”

I do as I'm told, and as I follow her up my front steps I turn just in time to see Trevor backing out of my driveway. Kat's in the front seat now, making a hand signal for me to call her, and he's looking over his shoulder. I don't even get
a last look. My mom closes the door behind me before I get the chance.

Once we're inside she stands there a moment without saying anything, letting me anticipate the weight of what's about to come down on me. I brace myself.

“The school called yesterday afternoon,” she says, her voice taut. “Said you were part of the group of seniors who decided to ditch school. So I came home from work early. Waited for you to get home. And I called you, left a message. And I waited. And then I called you again. Then I thought maybe you'd gone to Kat's, so I called there, and guess what? Her mom hadn't seen the two of you either. But you already know that.”

Her words are sharp and well aimed, and I know better than to interrupt, so I just keep my mouth shut and my head down and let her get it out.

“So I called you again. And again. And still, no answer. I didn't get angry, Parker, I got worried. So then do you know who I called? Your uncle, who got the rest of the department together, and they went out
searching
for you only to find your car in the high school parking lot. That's right. You and Kat and that boy had the Summit Lakes Police Department out looking for you while you were off somewhere—” She doesn't finish, but heaves a sigh of anger and frustration.

My stomach turns. I hadn't counted on having a search party sent out after us. This makes things exponentially worse. I keep my head down, eyes on the floor. “I'm so sorry.”

My mom holds up a hand for me not to say anything more. She's not finished. “So now what you're going to do is
call your uncle and tell him that you're home, and safe, and that you're very sorry for taking up the department's valuable time by making a foolish choice to run off on some joy ride.”

“It wasn't—”

“What were you
thinking
?
Right
before the scholarship dinner? How could you put that at risk? You
know
how fast word travels, and don't you think for a second that the entire town, including the scholarship board, doesn't know you were missing for a day.”

She stops for a breath. “It's going to require an explanation. People are going to ask.”

I wince. This gets worse every second.

“So right now, what you're going to do is go into your room and practice your speech until it's flawless. Until you can deliver it well enough to make them forget about this whole fiasco. And later, when you can look me in the eye, you're going to tell me what the hell you were doing.”

“Mom—”

She puts a hand up again. “Not right now. Go. I didn't give you a choice.”

“You've
never
given me a choice.” I match her volume and force with the words, and it shocks us both. The few times I've actually been in trouble for something, I've never answered back like that. I've never argued, or tried to defend myself, or justify it, or stand up for a wrong choice I may have made. Ever since I was little, I've said sorry when she told me she was angry, hung my head if she was disappointed, and nodded like I deserved it when she doled out my consequences.

My mom laughs a humorless laugh. “And this situation
right here is exactly why. Look where making your own choice has gotten you today, Parker.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I've spent your life trying to teach you about choices. To teach you how to make the right ones instead of romanticizing all of the wrong ones like your father. And right now I'm not so sure I've done a good job. You've been making bad decisions for the last few weeks, right when all your hard work is about to finally pay off.”

She pauses to step closer, her voice softening by the tiniest degree. “You are too young to see it, but every choice you make matters. Every choice has the power to affect your life later on in ways you can't go back and change.”

Hurt over her words, and anger and disappointment over Julianna all rush at me, springing hot to my face, and I can't contain it any longer.

“You're right, Mom.” I spit the words at her. “I'm too young to see anything like that. I can't see that you're not happy with the choices you've made. Or that maybe Dad finally is. I can't see that sometimes the people who deserve choices don't get them, or that sometimes people who get them throw them away. I can't see any of that. Because I'm too young.”

I keep my eyes on my mom's, and when she looks away first I know I've wounded her. It's silent. What's left of the air in the room goes icy. “Go up to your room,” she says flatly. “We will deal with this after tomorrow.” Her voice has lost its bluster, but I haven't.

“Fine. I will. I'll go up to my room and do exactly what I'm supposed to do because that's who I am. I don't get a
choice. Instead I have a plan that doesn't even feel like
mine
anymore. Who needs a choice when someone else is willing to make it for you?”

I don't wait for her to answer. I turn and plow up the stairs to my room, because tears are coming now, and I don't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. She'd think I was crying about my speech, or how much trouble I'm in, but my tears have nothing to do with that. At all.