Golden (8 page)

I watch as he pulls the slip out and signs and dates it for
the rest of the week, every first period. “Thank
you
, Parker,” he says, tearing it off the pad and handing it to me. “It's a big favor you're helping me out with. I appreciate it. And so will all those kids when they get their journals back.”

“It's really no problem.” I smile, hoping to hide the twinge of guilt that tugs at my conscience, and wonder if he even remembers that this batch of journals belonged to Julianna and Shane's class. Or maybe he just decided not to mention it. Mr. Kinney goes back to his essays and I turn to go, marveling at the fact that it really had been no problem to get the pass. Simple. Like nothing. And now I'm free every morning for the rest of the week—

“Parker, wait,” Mr. Kinney says. I freeze. Hold my breath. “Don't you need the journals?”

“I guess I probably do, huh?” I laugh—at my instant panic and at the fact that I'd completely forgotten about all of the other journals.

He hands me the heavy box from behind his desk. “Here you go. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say, backing toward the door this time, box in hand. As soon as he sits back down in his chair, I turn and practically make a run for it. I'm
ditching
—well, not technically, since it's excused, but it's the closest I've ever come, and the thought both exhilarates and slightly terrifies me at the same time.

When I make it down the hallway without any alarms going off, I let a tentative but proud smile creep onto my face. I feel good. Bold. Like Kat. I have to find her and tell her. Then convince her to ditch with me, which will be the
easy part. The hard part will be getting her to drive down to the Grove and then go tromping around through the trees without telling her what I'm looking for. The only excuse I've come up with so far is to say I've had an epiphany of the carpe diem variety and want to go on an adventure. Just get out of school and town for a little bit. It's shaky, but it could work.

I haven't completely made up my mind
not
to tell her about the journal yet, but I'm not sure she'll understand at this point. I couldn't fall asleep last night until I'd decided to go find Shane and Julianna's tree. It doesn't totally make sense to me, why I need to see it so much, but I can't ignore it. Especially now that I know the story behind the carving. It's more evidence that love like theirs actually happens beyond books and movies, in real life. Life that's close to home.

As silly as it seems, it makes me feel like I somehow have a connection to it. To them. I want to see their tree the same way people want to see things that once were connected to famous people—especially once they're gone. Little slivers of their personal pasts, like photos no one has ever seen, or letters that surface years after their deaths. Or journals. Maybe because these are the things that somehow make them more real to us. Or maybe because all of them add to the myth of the person. It's hard to say which, but I need to find that tree, even if it takes me all week.

When I round the corner to Senior Hall, it's empty except for one person. Trevor Collins. Of course. My newfound boldness wavers the tiniest bit when I pass him and catch the
mix of laundry detergent and the cologne he always wears that I always want to ask about so I can buy it for my future boyfriend. It's clean and sexy with a little bit of spice to it, which is how I imagine him to be. The future boyfriend, not Trevor. I know him well enough to know better than to imagine him that way. I don't say anything when I pass, but go straight to my locker, set the box of journals down, and spin the dial like I don't notice him there. That's when I feel him turn and look me over.

“Morning, Frost.” He says it like he knows I'm pretending not to see him, which I'm sure he does.

“Oh, hey.” I glance over, still trying to keep up the appearance that I'm surprised to see him there, then roll my eyes at myself as I push the lock up and open my locker. Where is Kat when I need her? It's so much easier talking to him with her around to hide behind. I pull out a binder I don't need, since I'm not going to class, and a stack of papers comes out with it and flutters to the ground.
Perfect.
Now I look as idiotic as I feel. I bend to pick them up and hide the blush I can feel creeping up my neck.

“Heard you're up for the big money,” he says. I wait a second for an indecent offer to celebrate together in the art supply closet, but it doesn't come. Instead, he comes over and crouches down to help me with my mess. Close. Close enough for me to also smell the cinnamon gum he's chewing, and long enough for me to think it's sweet and that maybe he does have a bit of chivalry to him after all.

“Congratulations on that. That's pretty damn impressive.” He smiles, and somewhere in me something melts a little,
because that smile is pretty damn impressive too. Before I can remind myself that it's my turn to speak, he hands me the stray papers, then stands up. Waits for me to say something back.

“Oh, um . . . thanks. Congratulations on your snowboarding trophy.”

Trevor looks confused.

Oh my God, I need to shut up right now
.

“I mean, I saw some pictures . . .”
That were probably taken months ago, during the actual season, but that you put up yesterday . . . and now I'm a stalker.
Trevor cocks his head, eyebrow raised.
God help me
.

“Never mind,” I manage.

He starts to say something, but God, in the form of Kat's voice, interrupts. “Hey!”

I turn around way too eagerly at the sound of her voice, and she greets me with a signature butt slap. “Today's the day you're going to ditch first with me, I feel it. Just like I feel like a mocha with a view of my favorite baristo.”

A bemused smile breaks over Trevor's face as he looks from me to Kat, and back again. I want to turn and run. “Sounds like you've got places to go,” he says. “Don't let me keep you.”

Kat doesn't bother to keep a straight face. “You can come if you want. I don't want to interrupt whatever you guys have going on right here.”

I fight the urge to kick her. And then flee.

Trevor laughs a little, shakes his head. “Thank you, but I think I'll leave the mochas and baristos to you ladies today.”
He looks at me with clear blue eyes I could honestly dive right into if things were different. “You know, Frost, if you ever wanna see more than just Facebook pictures, I'm all yours.”

“I . . .” I sputter, grasping at the last shreds of my dignity. “That's great of you, thanks,” I say flatly.
Someone kill me now.

Trevor hits me with a smile that's all confidence, then turns and walks—no, swaggers—down the hall, and I die right there. A slow, mortifying death.

“God, that boy smells good,” Kat says, watching him. When he rounds the corner, she turns back to me. “So, what was that about? You're all red and flustered.” She smiles. “Or is that hot and bothered?”

“Shut up,” I say, trying to block the whole exchange from my consciousness.

She grins. “He just asked you out.”

I bend down and grab one last paper from the floor without answering.

“What?”
she asks innocently. “He did.”

“That wasn't asking me out. That was him being completely full of himself.” I close my locker and take a deep breath. “Besides. If he really were going to—which I would say no to—he should at least figure out how to do it without sounding like an ass. Or like he's doing me a favor.”

“Sorry to break it to you, P, but actual guys don't talk like the ones in Nicholas Sparks books. And—I'm sure he'd happily do you a
few
favors if you wanted him to.”

I roll my eyes. “I'm sure he would. And then the chase would be over and he wouldn't be interested anymore.
Which is why it can never happen. It's better this way.”

“God, you're impossible.”

“That's kind of the point. Now let's go get coffee.”

She cocks her head. “
Really
? You realize the bell's about to ring, right?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, like ditching class with her is something I've agreed to plenty of times. “But there's somewhere we have to go after. And you can't ask me any questions about it, okay?”

“Anywhere you want, P.” She smiles. “I like this new you, whoever she is.”

“The Lesson for Today”

—1942

“The Grove? Why?” Kat asks, as she backs out of Kismet's parking lot. Lane's not working this morning, and Josh was especially untalkative, so it wasn't hard to convince her to take our drinks to go. This way we can hopefully make it back by break and I can go to third period. “Now that you ditched your first class you wanna go down to the creek and get high in the trees, too?”

“No, I just wanted to do something different today. You said you were sick of the snow.” I look out the windshield at the remnants of yesterday's storm, now pushed to the sides of the road and already blackened by gravel and exhaust. “It probably didn't even stick down there. It
might actually feel like spring.” I pause, waiting to see if that'll be enough to get her to go. “Let's just go see. I don't want to go back to school yet.”

“Okay,” Kat says, hitting the gas hard enough that her tires squeal. I squeal too, but Kat just grins. “The Grove it is.”

We blow out of town in her little red pickup with the windows down and the music up. Passing the
COME AGAIN!
sign at the edge of town when I should be in second period sends a giddy wave through me that I think I could get used to. The sun is out, the sky is brilliant blue in every direction, and the wind in my hair feels like freedom long overdue.

“So what are we
really
doing right now?” Kat yells over the wind and the music. “Because you realize this is
way
out of the realm of normal behavior for you.” She turns the music down a bit.

Now would be the perfect time to tell her about the journal. She might totally get what we're doing driving out here in search of their initials. But if she knew, she'd definitely have to read it, and as much as I love her, I also know that she has a tendency to not keep things like this to herself. And since I stole it, I'm still a little protective of it, and myself, so I decide it's not time yet.

“What?” I ask. “Is it so bad that after almost eighteen years of you trying to get me to do things your way, I'm finally caving a little?” She looks at me like she knows I'm full of it. “Okay, fine.” I fly my arm out the window, letting my hand dip and rise over invisible waves of air. “You said I had to do something unexpected. This is unexpected, right?”

“It's also random. But okay, I get it. You're not ready to tell me whatever it is yet.” She shrugs. “It's fine. I can wait you out. Like I said before, you're a shitty secret keeper, anyway.” She winks, then turns the music back up and cranks the wheel at the same time, sending us off the highway and onto the dirt road that leads out to the Grove, and I know she's probably right. I won't be able to keep this from her for long. It'd be like trying to fight fate.

I'd never be able to find the Grove without Kat, but I know it's hidden somewhere in the green vein of aspen trees on the hills in the distance. It's a big party spot for kids at our school, and always has been, from what I've heard—and now read. And it makes sense. It's just far enough out of town that it doesn't get near as much snow, but still close enough to make it worth the drive if you don't mind standing around in a clearing next to a creek to drink your beer. Which is both small-town
and
cliché, but that's just the way some things are. I haven't ever actually been to a party down here, seeing I've always had the earliest curfew of anyone and know better than to come out. Getting back before my mom called out the search party would be next to impossible, no matter how many times Kat promised me she'd do it.

But Kat knows the way well, and in a few minutes we turn off the wide, muddy road onto a narrower one that's rutted and littered with boulders every few feet. I wonder briefly if it's part of the actual creek and if it's the best idea to be driving through it, but Kat seems to know what she's doing. She downshifts or something—I don't know what—and I feel the
tires grab the road a little more. We slow to a crawl to get over a rock the size of one of her tires, and Kat grips the steering wheel with more concentration than I've seen her use for most anything. When we bump over the rock and come down hard, all of a sudden I'm nervous. This is a bad idea, I'm sure of it now.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I don't know if we're gonna be able to make it all the way out there. It's not usually this rough. I don't want to get—”