Golden (31 page)

There is one light on in Trevor Collins's house, and I hope with every last bit of me that it's his.

“You want me to wait here?” Kat asks.

I take a deep breath. “No. If this all goes terribly wrong I'll need the walk home anyway. If it goes right then, we'll see.”

“That's my girl. Now go get your boy.”

I open the door, step out into the crispness of the night, and try to breathe in courage. When I close it, Kat rolls down the window. “Carpe diem, P.” I nod, she gives me a thumbs-up, and then she's gone. And I'm standing alone in my black dress, my hair messy from my impromptu run, about to ask the guy who's given me a million chances for one more.

At the door I hesitate. It's a reflex. A habit. One that comes from fear I don't want to have anymore, so I force myself to knock. My heart pounds, but the house is silent. Then I hear something. Footsteps. And then the door opens, and Trevor's right there looking surprised and confused, and I feel the same way, but I step into him before he can say anything.

I bring my lips to his fully, intentionally, their cold meeting his heat, in a kiss meant to tell him all the things I've been too afraid to say until right now. It takes him a second to catch up, but when he does his hands come to my face, then slide back into my hair, pulling me closer as he kisses me deeper, and all the times I've imagined this happening never came close to what I feel right now. I sink into it completely, letting everything else fall away so all that's left is this. A moment like a poem.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

—“THE ROAD NOT TAKEN,” 1916

I can't know for sure that when Josh got the phone call that made him take the painting and leave, the person on the other end of the line was Julianna. There's no way to prove that she changed her mind and reached out, past her secrets, and beyond ten years to find him again. But I honestly can't see it any other way.

I sit on my roof, blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and watch as the first hint of light pales the edges of the sky
and the stars begin to disappear. And just like I have every day since that night, I choose to believe that somewhere, under this same sky, they are together. That they will wake to the rising sun after a night spent entwined under the stars that led them back together. Like Romeo and Juliet at dawn. Except there will be no worry, or fear, or reason they shouldn't spend every morning for the rest of their lives this way. They've done nothing wrong, and they don't have to hide anymore. The threads of their stories are finally reconnected.

I watch the light from the rising sun spread out slowly behind the mountains. It's pale at first, but deepens to a rich gold in an instant, softening the sharp peaks and making the moment feel like a gift before it disappears into day. It's one of those moments I think Frost was talking about when he wrote “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” I see it differently now. Not as a sad thing, but as a truth of nature. And life. Things have to change.

Since the night I made my choice and I'm certain Julianna made hers, everything has changed. Josh hasn't come back to Kismet. Kat's been helping Lane run it for the last two weeks, and showing a talent for managing I always knew she had. I haven't seen Trevor since the night I kissed him. He's off in Colorado, chasing the last bit of the season's snow for spring training, but we talk every day. And me. I've been here, forging a tentative understanding with my mom about what comes next. We both agree that whatever it is, there needs to be trust between us—enough to let go.

It was easy for her to think of letting go when it meant I was going to Stanford to chase after the goals she'd decided on for me. But letting me go so I can pack up and go spend some time with my dad is harder for her. He called the day after I walked out on the scholarship and said she'd told him everything. And that he was proud of me for all of it. And in the hours that we spent talking after that, laughing back and forth over memories, and musing about the future and writing and the genius of Robert Frost, we made a plan.

A breeze rolls soft over my cheeks and flutters the pages of the journal in my lap. My journal. Today I'll seal it up and bring it to Mr. Kinney, and tomorrow, after graduation, I'll get on a plane, and cross endless miles of land and sky, to begin the next chapter of my one wild and precious life. I don't know where I'll be ten years from now when my story comes back to me, but I hope that when I read it I can see that the road I chose really did make all the difference.

Mr. Kinney is taping up a cardboard box labeled
SENIOR JOURNALS
when I step into his classroom. “Is it too late for one more?” I ask.

He looks up and smiles. “Parker, hi. Of course not. Bring it here.” I cross the rows of empty desks, and he pulls back the strip of tape he just put on. “I'm glad to see you decided to do one after all.”

“Me too,” I say, not sure what to add. I look down at the manila envelope in my hands one last time before I hand it over. “Thank you.”

“It's no problem.” He slips it in with the others and re-closes the flaps of the box before he grabs the tape. “So. I hear you deferred your acceptance.”

I nod. “They call it a ‘gap year.' A little extra time to gain some experience and save some money before going straight in to school. I'm going to be spending it with my dad in New York at the writing school where he teaches. Maybe take some classes there.”

“That's great. Great news. You'll love it there.” He rests his hands on the box and looks at me. “And I think it fits. You were a great writer even back in ninth grade, when I had you in my class.”

I look at the ground, self-conscious about the smile this puts on my face. I'd worked hard at it. Especially because he was a fan of my dad's work. “Wow, thank you.”

Kinney smiles. “I mean it, Parker. You're bright, and talented, and you're going to shine at whatever you decide to do in life.”

The way he says it is like a simple fact, and though I'm a little nervous about what lies ahead, I also believe him. “Thank you,” I say again.

He stretches a piece of tape out over the top of the box and seals it up in one final motion. “All right. Into the vault with it. Or in my case, the closet.” He hefts up the box and I open the closet door, and when I close it, it's with a finality that feels fitting.

Mr. Kinney sits down behind his desk. “Well, Parker Frost, can't wait to see where that journal finds you ten years from now.”

“Me neither.” I smile and turn to go, and that's when I see Mr. Kinney's quote for the day, a parting thought scrawled out in his messy writing over the whiteboard.

“In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on.”

—Robert Frost

I am beyond grateful to so many people who were there for me during the writing of this book. First off, my family, for their endless support and belief in me, especially during those times I doubted myself. Second, I would like to thank my agent, Leigh Feldman, and her amazing assistant, Jean Garnett, for knowing when I needed support and when I needed to be pushed, and doing both of those things with grace and humor. Next, my editor, Alexandra Cooper, who has the vision to see the story that's in my mind, and the wisdom to somehow tease it out onto the page. There truly isn't a page in this book that hasn't benefitted from her insight and heart. I would also like to thank the entire Simon & Schuster family for their astounding talent and support—Justin Chanda, whose love for what he does is evident in
everything
he does; Lizzy Bromley, for her artistic talent and a cover more beautiful than I could have dreamed of; Amy Rosenbaum, for her hard work, contagious enthusiasm, and ability to sound like she's smiling in every e-mail she writes; Lydia Finn and Paul Crichton, for
always being open to new ideas and for offering their constant support. I would also like to extend my deepest gratitude to Michelle Fadlalla and the superstar Simon & Schuster Education and Library team—Venessa Carson, Anthony Parisi, and Dawn Ryan, who are out there at every conference, putting the books into readers' hands, and spreading their excitement about them with heart, enthusiasm, and style. I could not be more honored to work with each and every one of these people. And I could not be more honored to count myself a member of the YA community, made up of so many readers, librarians, bloggers, and booksellers whose passion and support amazes and humbles me. Finally, I owe a special thank you to the writer friends I've made along the way, people I've come to depend on for the things that get me through—a shoulder to cry on, a kick in the pants, a streak of inspiration, a companion “in the weeds”, or a shared laugh over a glass of wine. Carrie Harris, Elana Johnson, Gretchen McNeil, Stasia Kehoe, Lisa Schroeder, Sarah Ockler, Morgan Matson, Heidi Kling, and Corey Whaley, you are those people, and I hope that in time, I can return all that you've given me.