Page 4 of Studious
The cool salt water is a shock to my senses, and my shoes and clothes weigh me down. There are shouts and laughter and concern as hands reach out to help me out of the pool. I ignore them, trying to shove myself up with both arms on the pool edge, except I’m not really all that strong, so I end up ungracefully swinging one leg, then the other, until I’m sprawled on the pool deck on my belly, a bedraggled, wet cat.
Even though it’s not cold, my teeth are chattering, and tears sting my eyes.
I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. Heat singes my cheeks. I kneel, then stand, and Kayla disappears into the house, saying that she’s going to grab me some towels. My clothes stick to my skin, and my white shirt is see-through. My phone’s a hard rectangle in my pocket, likely ruined.
“Oh my God,” Mason says, “are you okay?” He swings an arm over my shoulder and helps me walk, dripping with every step.
I shrug, knowing that if I say anything I’ll start crying and be called a baby.
“I’ll call your mom,” he says, pulling out his phone.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
But as we go into the house, I look over my shoulder at Sean and see an amused expression on his face. His friends push him, and one of them says, “Good thing you got out of kissing that nerd.”
“Right?” Sean says, smirking. “Close one.”
And that’s too much for me. Throwing Mason’s arm from my shoulder, I take off, running to the street.
Prologue—Danny
Igrin at myself in the full-length mirror, twisting to inspect all angles, my hands smoothing my cummerbund. Even though I’m wearing rented clothes and stiff, glossy black shoes, everything fits well. My ass isfine. The barber did a great fade, and I managed a close shave for once in my life. I look sharp.
As a final check, I pat down my jacket pockets to make sure I’ve remembered tonight’s necessities. Cell phone. Wallet. Jewelry box, which makes my heart squeeze. And condoms and lube packets, which make other parts of my body tingle. I’m ready. I pick up the boutonniere in its plastic clamshell and head out.
When I walk into the kitchen, my mom sets down the glass she’s drying with an old flour-sack towel and holds out her arms. “Mijo, you look so handsome.”
“Don’t pinch my cheek.” I duck—even though she’s a foot shorter than me—and evade her outstretched fingers.
She gives me a fake pout. “But it’s just so pinchable.”
My mouth opens in mock surprise. “Mom, you said a bad word.”
Mom puts her hand on her hip, still gripping the towel, shaking her finger. “I did not say pinche. I said pinchable.”
I grin down at her. “Now, you said pinche.”
“Hmm.” She goes up on tiptoes and gives me a kiss on the cheek, then immediately wipes away the lipstick. “My boy has grown. Let me take your picture.” She sets down the towel and fishes her phone out of her pocket, holding it up to frame the shot.
“Can’t it wait till Brian gets here?”
“No. I want one just of you.” Her expression is insistent. “In the future, you may be with another boy…”
“That’s not likely to happen,” I scoff.
Mom presses her lips together and shrugs. “Perhaps. I still want a picture of my son in a tuxedo. All dressed up and going to prom.”
I lift my chin as she snaps a photo of me standing in front of the stainless steel fridge. She peers at the digital image. “Can’t you ever smile?”
“Nope.”
“Too cool for your mom. Fine.” She sighs. “If only your father could see you. You’re the exact image of him when I met him.” She looks down as her hands fuss with my lapels, but I’m sure unshed tears fill her eyes.
My parents were high school sweethearts. Every once in a while I’ll catch her looking at me with a wistful expression. But Dad’s been gone so long I don’t know if my few memories—him throwing me a ball, chasing behind me as I pedal a tricycle—are truly of him… or if they’re things I made up after seeing the photos so many times.
The low rumble of an engine interrupts my moment of melancholy.
I head to the door, my heart thumping. I’ve never been in a limo before, but Brian and I decided to go all out to celebrate fourteen months of dating. We were going to share with some other kids, but they bailed. I ended up having to pay for the whole thing, but I don’t really care. Why else am I bagging groceries if not to spoil the man I love?
