Golden (10 page)

“On Looking Up by Chance at the Constellations”

—1928

By the time my mom walks through the door, I've showered, erased the message from the school about my unexcused absences for periods two through seven, and am still giddy at the fact that I somehow got away with my little foray out onto the edge today. And it was fun. And Trevor Collins was checking me out in his car.

I've even got a pot of spaghetti boiling on the stove, but it's more a gesture than anything else, because my mom probably won't eat any. Instead, she'll pour a glass of wine and sit down at her computer to check her e-mail even though she just came from work. There's an ebb and flow to her store, which caters to the high-end tourist ladies who want to
shop while everyone else skis. The store lives and dies by November through January. Spring, summer, and fall are the slow times, which means she'll stress out at the end of every month until things pick back up next ski season.

“Hey, Mom,” I say as she sighs her way into the kitchen. “Long day?”

“You have no idea.” She stands on tiptoe, reaching in the cabinet for a wine glass. “Sales for spring break were
not
what I was hoping for. Not even close. At this rate I may actually have to cut down hours come September.”

“You say that every May, and by every September, it's fine. You always make it.” I heft the pot over to the sink and stand back from the billow of steam when I dump the noodles in the strainer. “You want some spaghetti?”

She shakes her head. “Not now. I may have some later.” It's quiet a moment as I scoop some into a bowl for myself, add a ladle of sauce, and grab the parmesan cheese. “So,” she says, making a point to look at me. “How was your day?”

A little tremor of nervousness zips through my stomach, but I shake the parmesan can over my bowl and play it cool. “Fine.”

She nods. “Good.” Then she pours her wine and sits down at the table with her laptop. When she doesn't ask about anything else, not even my speech, it surprises me. Normally she doesn't let it go at just that, which means things at the shop must be really bad.

Partly because I don't want to spend my dinner in silence, and partly because I'm nervous, I elaborate. “I've been helping Mr. Kinney with these senior journals he sends out every
year, so that's pretty cool.” She nods absently, alternately scrolling and tapping. “They're from ten years ago, and now we're mailing them out to the people who wrote them. It's sort of like a personal time capsule of who they were when they were seniors.” I twirl my fork until it's full and take a bite of spaghetti.

She looks up for a second. “Hm. I wouldn't want to read anything I wrote about when I was seventeen.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it'd just be embarrassing to read all the things I thought were
so
important back then. Life is different once you grow up. Not so dramatic. By the time you're my age you'll get it.” She pauses, and swirls the wine in her glass, thinking. “I would just hate to look back and see how naive I'd been about a lot of things. Life works out a lot differently than you can ever imagine at seventeen.”

She stops herself and I shovel another tightly wrapped bundle of spaghetti into my mouth. The only sound is the clink of my empty fork when I rest it on the bowl. We both know what she just said without actually saying it. When I was old enough to do the math I figured out why my parents had gotten married. When I got brave enough to ask her about it, she sat me down and told me all the things a parent is supposed to say: that yes, I was a surprise to her and my dad, and so they did what they thought was best back then and got married, and even though they weren't the right people for each other, I was the best surprise either one of them had ever gotten.

That was years ago, and for the most part she's always
been good at maintaining that glass-half-full version. But sometimes, in little moments like this, she slips. And this slip makes me wonder what it was she would've dreamed of doing at seventeen. It probably wasn't running a boutique that somehow squeaks by every year in a town she never really wanted to live in to begin with, while raising a daughter mostly by herself.

“I didn't mean anything by that, Parker. I just . . . I'm a little stressed about the store right now.” She takes a deep breath and recomposes her smile. “Anyway, I'm sure Mr. Kinney appreciates your help with those. It must be quite a production to find all of the addresses and get them sent out.”

“It is.” I smile. “I actually have a few to look up tonight. I should get back to it.” I'm not hungry anymore, so I get up, put the bowl in the sink, and kiss my mom on the top of her head to let her know I didn't take what she said personally.

She smiles relief and rubs a hand on my back. “Don't let this project take over everything else. Your number one priority right now should be your speech. It's coming along?” I nod and she pats me on the back. “Good. I can't wait to read it when you're ready. I love you, Parker.”

“Love you too, Mom.” I give her shoulder an extra squeeze, then leave her at the table with her sales figures, cabernet, and all the things she would have done differently.

Upstairs in my room I bring my mind back to the day's adventure and the feeling of freedom that came along with doing something risky. Ditching class is not a big deal to
probably 99 percent of people. It was a little thing, deciding to do it. But it felt big at the same time, and between that and what my mom just said, I've got this tiny pang of regret when I think of how much I have probably missed out on in the last few years because I was too scared to take a risk, or too shy to speak up, or too worried to be bold. It is my one wild and precious life, after all.

And Shane and Julianna are proof that it could end at any moment. I know it was silly to go looking for their initials today, and I didn't really expect to find them, but I wanted to see them, not just read about them. I wanted proof that Shane and Julianna had been there, together and in love from the start. It doesn't matter that I know how it ends. My favorite part of any love story is the beginning. Like Romeo convincing Juliet to kiss him, a perfect stranger, at the ball. Or Noah climbing up the Ferris wheel to ask Allie out in
The Notebook
. Beginnings are magical.

And in books and movies they're magical in a way real life never is. So for the third night in a row, I don't do what I should. I don't sit down at my desk and start my speech. Instead, I open the window to let the cool night air in, light my candles, and get Julianna's journal out.

May 24

“One often meets her destiny on the road

she takes to avoid it.”

—Fortune cookie wisdom

It's such a tiny thing, a glance. That half second when eyes meet, lock, and before you can look away, there's
something
. A spark, a flash, I don't know what to call it. But it happened tonight when I walked through Shane's front door and into the party he wasn't supposed to be throwing. The usual mix of people from school and workers from the mountain filled all three floors of his house, but I saw someone new right away, standing alone in the middle of them all. He was tall, with wavy brown hair and eyes that stopped mine and held them there in the middle of a sea of familiar faces and shifting glances. And it was there. A pull, like gravity.

I looked away, and before I could look back, Shane was stumbling over to me in full life-of-the-party mode, beyond drunk and already apologizing for inviting half the town over when it was supposed to be just the two of us. And that's when it happened again, right over his shoulder, and for a second I lost what he was saying to me in the space between the unfamiliar brown eyes across the room and my own. And then they looked away again. And I was back.

Back to Shane's apologies and back to being disappointed because the night wasn't what I expected and I knew how it would go from there. He would drink more, talk louder, make jokes, and everyone would love it but me. I didn't say much, which only made him apologize more. Beg me to stay. Pull me in close, slide a hand around my waist, and kiss me with a mouth that tasted like beer and pot. And all of a sudden, I was done.

“Why do you want me to stay so bad?” I asked. “You have a whole houseful of people here to adore you.”

“For later. When they're all gone.” He winked, and tried to kiss me again, but I stepped back. If I'd been as drunk as he was, maybe I would've kissed him back, but I spun around to leave right then.

He caught my wrist, face pleading. “Wait, wait. I'm sorry. That was a joke. It was an asshole thing to say. I'm sorry. Just stay . . . please?”

I don't know why I didn't leave. I wanted to. I probably should've. But I didn't, and now a tiny part of me is glad. Because after I promised I'd stay, and Shane went back to the party, I stepped though the sliding glass door onto the balcony, and the guy with those eyes was out there, elbows leaned against the railing, staring up at the moonless sky.

It startled me, to see him there, but he just turned to me and smiled. “You know . . . sometimes we meet our destiny on the road we take to avoid it.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was in my fortune cookie today.” He took a step toward me, then motioned at the party inside. At Shane in the center of it. “You looked like you were
trying to avoid that whole scene in there, and here I am, and—I'm Orion—your destiny according to the saying.” He offered a paint-speckled hand, which I didn't take.

“Fair enough,” he said after a second. “I thought it was a pretty good line, but I guess not.”

I let myself smile. “It's only bad if you pair it with a cheesy fake name.”

“Ouch,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest. “I don't have a choice about that part.”

“Your name is really Orion? Like the constellation?”

“It's what people call me.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“So were your parents hippies, or astronomers?”

“Maybe a little of both,” he said.

“Well, it suits you, the name.”

“Really? How's that?”

“Orion was known for being extremely overconfident. Wasn't he?”

He smiled like he was impressed. “So the ice princess has a little fire to her. I like that.”

“What does that mean—‘ice princess'?”

“Isn't that who you are? Future wife to the heir of the empire?” He brushed a hand across the sky at the silhouette of the mountain, where the ski runs cut wide white paths through the dark of the trees.