Golden (30 page)

“So I've stuck to this plan. I've spent plenty of nights studying instead of going out to parties. I've put in community service hours instead of taking spring break trips. I've gone the extra mile, put in the extra time, devoted everything I could to these things so that nothing could be left to chance, because chance, after all, can be dangerous.

“But what I didn't realize all that time, what I missed all along, is that chance is everywhere. It's also what life is made of. It's all around us, but most of the time we never see it working. We turn left instead of right, we take the stairs instead of the elevator, cross the street for no apparent reason. Our lives are made of these little moments that somehow add up, and sometimes, if we look back, we can see chance at work.

“When we turned left we found something we were looking for, when we took the stairs we avoided something not meant for us. When we crossed the street, we met the person
who was. Looking back it's easy to see all those things. To connect the dots and see that it was actually those things that made all the difference.” I glance at Mr. McCoy, who seems appreciative of the reference.

“But sometimes life gives us those rare moments where we
do
see chance as it's happening. And in those moments, we have a choice. And sometimes we have to take a risk. And it's scary. It makes us vulnerable. But I know now it's worth it.

“A few weeks ago I had one of those moments where I thought I saw chance at work, and a few days ago, I made a choice. I took a risk for something I totally believed in, and I failed. And right now, it still stings, but I'm glad I did it. I'm glad I did it, because I was about to leave high school without ever having taken a real chance on anything, or kissed the boy I've had a crush on since seventh grade, or stayed out past curfew and come home at sunrise. I was going to leave here without doing any of that. Because I was scared.” I look at my mom now.

“Two days ago, I did a few of those things.” I almost smile at the thought, but then the moment I pulled back from Trevor's kiss rushes back at me and I falter.

I look down at the page of notes in front of me. I had planned to go on about how doing those things made me realize how winning this scholarship would be another one of those important, life-changing things for me, and how I would take the opportunity and make the most of it, make them all proud. But I lose my place on the page.

I think of Julianna, and her refusal to take another chance on life and love, and Orion, who's lived his life avoiding the
same kinds of vulnerability. And then I think of Kat, who's taken every chance that ever presented itself. And finally Trevor, who took so many on me, for so long. And then I realize.

I look around at this roomful of people, the Cruzes, who are still smiling at me like they want me to succeed, my mom, who is leaned forward in her chair now, probably having to restrain herself from getting up and finishing the speech for me. Mr. McCoy, who tries to encourage me with a nod. I can see them all willing me to finish. To give them a reason to believe that this scholarship is what I want most.

And in this moment, I know it's not.

“I'm so sorry,” I say into the microphone, “but I don't think I'm the right person for this scholarship.” A surprised murmur rolls through the audience, and Mr. McCoy gives me a quizzical look. My mom's jaw drops. “I used to be so sure—about my plan, and Stanford, and what I wanted out of life. All of it. But I'm not anymore. And I think this scholarship should go to someone who is.” I swallow hard. “Thank you so very much for the opportunity, and for your time, but I would like to withdraw my name from your consideration.”

I close the composition book. Back away from the mic. My mom stands up, horrified.

I turn and bolt.

“A Boundless Moment”

—1923

I burst out the restaurant doors into the night without any idea of where I'm going. The air is crisp, and burns my lungs and fogs around me as I run. My heart pounds with the realization that I just gave up my scholarship. I just walked—no, ran—away from a chance I was about to be handed. That I've been working toward for as long as I can remember. I stood at the podium, and I made that choice.

And now I don't know what comes next.

I can't know, until I've walked the road I've chosen. I slow at the thought. I don't have a plan, and there is no map for this. It's terrifying, but there's a spark of exhilaration that gives me hope that the choice I just made could turn out to be right,
and this feels infinitely better than the weight of regret.

I hear a car behind me on the road, see it slow down as it passes, the driver none other than Debbie Monroe. She doesn't stop or offer me a ride, but she'll no doubt report to my mom the next time she sees her that I was walking the streets at night by myself in a dress not suited for the cold, and that maybe I should be better looked after. At the thought of my mom I feel bad. Not just about how shocked and panicked she must've been when I ran out, but about the things I said to her. I do regret those, and I know when I get home I'll have to face the choices I made about that.

Up until tonight, I thought that making big choices took courage—more than I had. But what I realize, here, now, is that it's not actually making the choice that takes courage. It's facing it afterward. Owning up to it, whether it's good or bad. I think of my mom and dad, and how even now they blame each other for the choices they made years ago. I think of Julianna and how she made a choice that she still hasn't forgiven herself for, and of Josh, who never got the chance to make the one that mattered most.

And then there's me.

I don't want to be like any of them. I stop walking and look up at the stars shining clear and bright in the moonless sky, and I promise them I never will be.

Another set of headlights approaches from behind, stretching out my shadow in front of me. The engine slows to a near idle, and I can tell this car is going to pull over. Of course my mom is out looking for me after that. Okay then. I stop, take a deep breath, and turn around, ready.

When I do, I see Kat's little red pickup. She pulls up right beside me and throws the passenger door open before I can reach for it. “Get in.”

I do, slamming the door behind me.

She turns down her music and looks me over in the light from the dash. “You're insane. And you're gonna be in the deepest shit of your life for pulling what you just did.”

“What? Were you—”

“The guys in the kitchen let me in the back so I could watch. I wasn't gonna miss your big moment.” She shakes her head, almost laughing. “You looked scared shitless when you walked up there and stood behind that podium, but then once you started talking, you were like a whole different person. You shocked the hell out of everyone, P. God, I was proud of you.”

She smiles, but it's gone in a second and worry creases her face. “But are you sure? I hope you didn't do that because of the things I said about you leaving. Maybe they'll still give it to you. Maybe they'll be so impressed by your balls that they'll—”

“I don't want it,” I say. “And it's not because of anything you said. It's because of everything I said.”

Kat looks unconvinced. “But what are you gonna do?”

“I don't know yet,” I say, glancing out the window. “Maybe figure out what I
want
to do?”

We sit quiet for a long moment before Kat turns in her seat so she's facing me completely. “We should go to Kismet. There's something you need to hear.” Her face is serious at first, but then a smile slides over it.

My stomach flutters. “What?”

“A love story,” Kat says, and she puts the truck in gear.

We push through the door, jangling the bells, and warmth and the smell of espresso envelop us. Kat grins and I look around suspiciously. The place is empty, but nothing seems amiss.

Just then Lane walks out from the back room, bleary-eyed and hair wild, like he just rolled out of bed. “Hey, ladies,” he croaks, sounding like it too.

Kat sidles up to the counter, still smiling, and leans on her elbows. “I need you to tell her what you told me.”

Lane glances at me, seeming confused. “That you should come back after I close up?”

I burst out laughing. “I didn't know it was gonna be
that
kind of love story.”

Kat rolls her eyes, trying to hide a smile. “
No
, about Josh.”

Lane heaves a bag of coffee beans up on his shoulder and pours it into the grinder, then flips it on. “HE LEFT TOWN FOR A FEW DAYS,” he yells above the noise.

“WHAT? WHERE?”

He switches it off, and Kat gives him a nod to continue. “Tell her.”

“I don't know. But I think it must've been some kind of emergency, because he got a phone call this morning, went all white, and then hung up and offered me double my pay to watch the place until he gets back. Round the clock.” He rubs his eyes. “Then he sat down at one of the tables and didn't say anything for a long time. I was pretty sure somebody died, but he seemed so messed up about it I didn't wanna ask.”

“He didn't say where he was going?” A tiny hope flutters in my mind.

Lane shakes his head. “No. But then he did something kinda weird.” Kat grabs my arm and squeezes at this.

“What?” I ask. “What did he do?”

“He took one of the paintings off the wall,” Kat interrupts, no longer able to control herself.

I know before my eyes find the blank spot on the wall which one it is, and my heart pounds when I see that I'm right. “He took that painting with him? The one that was right there?”

“YES!” Kat yells.

Lane looks startled. Or slightly irritated. “Yeah, that one. Took it down and booked it outta here without looking back.”

“Oh my God,” I say, shaking my head. I almost don't believe it, but it couldn't be anything else. I laugh out loud and grab Kat's hands.

“Now why would he do a thing like that?” Kat asks, doing the thinking man's pose on the counter. “What do you think that could possibly mean?” The way she says it tells me she somehow knows what it could mean.

“I don't—”

“I think it means you're a shitty liar, P.”

“Why?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around what it could really mean.

Kat looks me in the eye. “I know you found her,” she says. “I knew it was gonna be her as soon as I saw the paintings in that gallery. It was obvious the same person did them.”

Now I'm lost. “Then why'd you pick a fight and leave?”

“So I could tell Josh.”

Panic and my promise to Julianna zip through me on a wave of anger.

“I knew you wouldn't want me to,” she says, looking apologetic. “Which is why I didn't go through with it. And then when you showed up all depressed, without the journal, and it was obvious it didn't go how you wanted, I was so frickin' thankful I didn't.”

I release the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. “So you never told him? Anything?”

“No. It wasn't my place. It was your thing.”

“Then . . .” My mind races ahead, connecting shiny, hopeful dots. “That phone call he got?”

Kat holds her hands out. “Had nothing to do with me.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, picturing the moment Josh picked up the phone. “It had to be her.” I look at Kat. “Right?”

“Had to be.”

I can barely contain the soaring feeling within my chest. The thought of them together somewhere in the night makes everything seem right. Almost.

“I need a ride,” I say suddenly.

A wide smile breaks over Kat's face, and she reaches into her purse for her keys. “I was wondering how long it would take you to say that.” She loops her arm through mine. “I bet there's someone sitting at home right now, wondering the same thing.”