by Julie Murphy
Keith shuts the door behind me, and I follow him in through the back gate.
“Maybe cool it with the protective-dad act,” I tell him.
“Aww, come on,” he says as he locks up his work truck. “You can’t expect me to catch some guy getting handsy on my stepdaughter and not to step in.”
I laugh. Keith and I used to butt heads quite a bit, but we’ve come to an understanding in the last few years. At first, though, he was just some tall blond dude who married my tall blond mom and the two of them made a cute little blond baby named Kyla. Claudia and I were the odd ones out—short with curves that announced themselves the moment we hit middle school and deep brown hair with a slightly darker complexion that stood out against the rest of the family’s freckled skin.
For the longest time, I looked at family portraits and didn’t see a family. All I saw was two half-brown girls intruding on a perfect little white family of three. It never bothered Claudia as much. Maybe because she was older and can remember how viciously Mama and Dad fought. I guess I’m mostly over it now. But sometimes I still look at the portraits lining our walls, and I wonder what it might be like to see one of me, my mom, Claudia, and our dad framed like it was something worth remembering.
I follow Keith onto the porch and into the kitchen. He stops abruptly, and I practically walk right into his back. “Sheriff,” says Keith.
My heart rattles, nearly pounding out of my chest. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I peer around Keith’s arm to find my mother serving Sheriff Bell a glass of sweet tea.
“Baby,” Mama says to Kyla, “take your homework upstairs.” Her tone is soft, but her lips are pursed into a thin line, and everything about the way she stands, from her squared shoulders to her arms crossed over her chest, her red nails drumming along her forearm, tells me that I’m fucked.
“Is Callie in trouble?” my little sister asks.
Of course I’m in trouble, you turd.
“Upstairs,” Mama says, her voice firm this time.
Okay, save the panic for later. Now is the time for logic. What are my options? I can just rat on the whole team. I can deny, deny, deny. I can take the blame. Or I can pin it on someone else entirely. It all depends on what Sheriff Bell knows.
The four of us watch as Kyla takes her time gathering her papers and pencils, walking toe-heel, toe-heel like she’s been taught in dance class, before stalking upstairs in a huff for being dismissed. If Mama and Keith think they have their hands full with me, just wait until that one hits puberty.
Not until my mother hears Kyla’s bedroom door shut does she say, “Callie, sit down.” She turns to Keith, her expression softening slightly. “You too.”
I think that if my life were some kind of courtroom drama, this would be the part when we call a lawyer. But my mom and Keith went to high school with Sheriff Bell. The guy was my mom’s homecoming date once, so yeah, no one’s calling a lawyer for my defense anytime soon.
“Callie,” says Sheriff Bell.
My mom dabs her eyes. She hasn’t cried yet, but she’s going to. My mom cries a lot. I hate crying. I hate when I do it, and I hate when other people do it. It makes me uncomfortable. Some primal thing in me labels it as weakness. Maybe that sounds cruel, but to me it just feels like a private thing. Even when my mom’s tears are genuine, they feel like manipulation. We can go toe to toe, but as soon as she sheds a tear, I bend to her will, because who wants to be the asshole who makes their mom cry?
“Is there anything you’d like to share with me?” asks Sheriff Bell. “Anything about where you were last night?”
I look to my mom. Still with the dabbing. Seriously. And then to Keith. His lips are pressed together.
“No, sir,” I say. There’s no way he has proof. I recite it to myself over and over again. There’s no way he has proof. There’s no way he has proof. There’s no way he has proof.
“Well, your parents here—”
“My mom and my stepdad,” I correct him. “Keith is just my stepdad.” I don’t look, but I hope that made Keith flinch. I feel like a cornered cat, and my claws are out. “My real dad isn’t here right now.”
“Well, you better believe I’ve called him,” says my mom, her voice shrill and shaking. “He is very disappointed in you, as am I. We never had problems like this with Claudia.”
I roll my eyes. Claudia practically came out of the womb balancing a checkbook. That’s how angelically responsible she is. Mama comparing us is nothing new, but it’s a game I’ll never win.
Sheriff Bell folds his hands on the table. “Listen,” he tells me. “That gym on Jackson Avenue was trashed last night. Broken glass everywhere. Rotten eggs. Toilet paper. Damaged equipment. I’m pretty sure I know who did this, and I’m pretty sure you do, too. And if you’re thinking of playing cat and mouse here with me, I’m just gonna put it out there and tell you the whole thing is on camera.”
My heart pounds, and the kitchen is so quiet that I’m scared everyone else can hear it, too. I try not to react to this news. I don’t want to do anything to further incriminate myself.
“I can’t make out much,” he continues, “but I got a head count. And by the looks of it, the whole bunch of ’em were girls. I also happen to know that the gym was the primary sponsor for the dance team until very recently. Ya putting things together here with me, girly?”
I open my mouth to—I don’t know? Deny?
He holds a hand up. “How long have you had that necklace, Callie?”
I tilt my head to the side and press my fingers to the C pendant. My nerves fizzle out for a moment. “Years. It was a thirteenth-birthday present from my dad.”
Sheriff Bell nods. “And you’ve never let anyone borrow it?”
“No. Never,” I say, realizing all too soon that I’ve given myself away.
“Jared,” says Keith. “Say Callie was there and she can tell you who else was with her.”
His head dips down a little as he says, “Well, here’s the deal. We know you were there, Callie. But you’re the only one we can identify, and you shouldn’t have to pay this price alone.”
My mom says, “He’s right, baby.” It’s the first inkling of nondisappointment I’ve gotten from her yet.
This is a sinking ship. Hell. I am the sinking ship. But I won’t bring down the rest of the team. I remember Sam and what she said at practice today. I normally don’t fall for all that fluffy BS, but the Shamrocks are my life. If that’s not a sisterhood—a really dysfunctional sisterhood—then what is? “I was there,” I say in a sweet voice. “But it was so dark, Sheriff. I wouldn’t have the faintest clue who else was with me.”
Sheriff Bell holds my gaze for a long moment, and I can tell this is my last chance.
The sound of my mom bursting into tears pierces the silence in the kitchen. Yup, right on cue.
I groan and cover my face with both my hands, not bothering to be careful of my makeup.
All the things I stand to lose stack up like a pile of dirty laundry. The team. State. Nationals. And then—my God—what if I’m arrested? My weekend job at Sweet 16. Time with Bryce. My standing on the social food chain. What if I have a criminal record? Can I even get into college?
“What do you need from me?” I finally ask.
Sheriff Bell clears his throat. “Well, I’ll be speaking to the owner to see if they’d like to press charges. And of course we’ll have to speak with the city attorney.”
“Do we need a lawyer?” asks Keith.
My mama lets out another yelp.
“It’s not like I killed someone,” I say. “It was just a joke that got out of hand.”
“A joke that’s going to cost a pretty penny to repair,” says Sheriff Bell sternly. “And as far as a lawyer goes . . . well, they’re not my favorite sort of people, but it wouldn’t hurt to have one in the wings.”
Keith nods. “We, uh, appreciate you coming over and not just picking her up at school and making a scene of things.”
; “Oh Lord, yes,” Mama chimes in.
That is possibly the only thing that could’ve made this worse. Me getting arrested at school, with me making a scene in the attendance office.
Sheriff Bell nods and scoots his chair back, putting his broad khaki-colored sheriff hat back on.
“I trust y’all will be keeping an eye on Callie here until I have more information.”
“Of course,” says Mama as Keith shakes the sheriff’s hand. “The girl is so grounded, she’s halfway to the center of the earth.”
Keith walks the sheriff out to the front of the house, where his police truck is parked. The door shuts behind them, vacuuming out all the air in the house.
Mama turns to me.
I can feel her getting ready to unleash.
“What were you thinking?” she asks, her eyes dry now and her voice low and angry. In this moment, nothing about her red lips is sweet and familiar.
“I didn’t start it,” I tell her honestly. “And it really was just supposed to be TP and eggs. Just a dumb prank.”
Mama shakes her head furiously. “That is the exact reason why you should not have gone! These things always get out of hand. Christ, baby. You should’ve told someone. Stopped it somehow. I’m raising you girls to be leaders, not followers.”
“We didn’t mean to do any real damage. I swear.”
“Callie, it does not matter what you meant to do. Only what you did do. You’ve worked so hard for the dance team to make it this far, and now it’s all over for you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
It’s all over for you. Her words ring in my ears. My hands begin to tremble, and I can feel every muscle in my body tense as it tries to suppress tears.
The front door creaks as Keith lets himself back inside, pulling me back into the moment.
“Does that mean anything to me, Mama?” I’m shouting now. My eyes begin to burn as I blink away tears. I use the heels of my hands to wipe them away. “This means everything to me! And yeah, I wish it hadn’t happened, but if you think I’m ’bout to cower ’round here with my tail between my legs like some kind of poorly trained puppy—well, then you don’t know what the hell kind of daughter you raised.”
She crosses her arms over her chest with Keith standing a few steps behind her. “No phone. No Bryce. I will take you to school, and you will leave with me when I’m done with work. I will call Sam, Melissa, and Mrs. Driskil to let them know you will not be at practice.”
I knew it was coming. I knew that when the woman said I’d be grounded, she meant it. And still every word hits me like a perfectly placed punch, but one specific thing stings the most. “I can’t just miss practice,” I tell her.
“Oh, can’t you?” She rests her fists firmly on her hips. “You did this. You had every chance of making it to Nationals. I would have loved nothing more than to see my daughter follow in my footsteps. You could’ve been a legacy.”
Where’s my tearful mother now? Suddenly this has nothing to do with me.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” she continues, “but in this house we do not commit crimes and expect things to go back to normal. There will be consequences, and one of yours is that you are grounded from the dance team until further notice. I will always be a Shamrock, but above all, I am a mother.” She holds a finger up to stop me from responding. “And I will arrange for you to apologize to the vice principal, the principal, and later on, the school board. We will apologize to the owner of the gym as well. That is your punishment. For now. Until we hear more from Sheriff Bell. And for the record,” she adds, “I know exactly what kind of daughter I raised, and whoever you are right now is not it.”
I push past the both of them to stomp up the stairs. All the tears I’d tried to hold back are falling freely now. Mascara burns my eyes and runs down my cheeks.
Mama follows me, stopping at the bottom step. “Phone,” she says.
I turn on the landing and throw the dumb thing down the stairs.
Millie
Seven
Me, my mom, Inga, and Uncle Vernon all sit around my mother’s breakfast bar on Saturday morning with the twins in their carriers on the counter. The moment one of them stops crying, the other starts, like they’re tagging each other in and out of the ring.
My mother coos at a sobbing Luka. “He does that howl you would do when you were a baby, Vernon. Just crocodile tears. It’s a wonder you never fried your vocal cords.”
“Ah,” Inga says, “so this is his fault. I was a good baby, you know. Slept and ate. Slept and ate. I was a dream. But no, they had to inherit their father’s temperament.”
“Okay,” I say. “Y’all eat and I’ll entertain the twins.”
Neither Inga nor Vernon argues at that. The two of them pick sparingly at my mother’s oatmeal and topping selection while I make ridiculous faces at Nikolai and Luka as I bounce their carriers back and forth.
The gym has been closed to the public since Wednesday, when I showed up to find the place a complete wreck. Since then I’ve felt inexplicably anxious. It’s not that I feel unsafe, but I feel . . . out of sorts.
“Have they figured out what they’re doing with the girl Millie caught on camera?” my mom asks.
“We have,” says Vernon, using that voice he so often uses with my mother. It’s that you-won’t-like-this-but-you-can’t-change-it voice.
“We!” exclaims Inga. “More like he! I had no part in this decision.” Both Nikolai and Luka sob in unison. Inga circles around to them, relieving me of my brief duties. “I know, babies. Your father is a spineless do-gooder.”
“Thanks,” says Vernon. “I’m sure they’ll respect me for life now.”
“Do something respectable,” she says. “Earn respect. Simple.”
He sighs. “I offered to let the girl work off the damages at the gym.”
“What!” My voice surprises even me. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, but did you just say that Callie Reyes would be working at the gym?”
Mom turns away from her waffle maker. “Oh, Vernon, you don’t even need help at the gym. It’s not like she’ll be saving you any money.”
He shrugs. “The girl didn’t act alone, okay? I spent a lot of years getting into trouble. Maybe if someone would’ve given me a shot like this, I would’ve gotten to the finish line a little sooner.”
Mom and Inga shake their heads. I do, too.
Positive thoughts. Think positive thoughts.
But this is going to be—
Positive thoughts, I remind myself. Positive thoughts.
Nope. Hard as I try, I just can’t imagine a world where the next few months working with Callie aren’t miserable. Maybe Callie isn’t the biggest bully in school, but she’s not what I would call nice either.
It will only be as bad as you allow it to be, a small voice inside me says.
But the voice is too small to affect my growing sense of doom.
Callie
Eight
I didn’t realize how chaotic my world was until this weekend. Keith locked my cell phone away in the safe where he keeps his hunting rifles. I thought that was tragic, but then my mom locked me out of all the computers in the house, changed the Wi-Fi password, and added parental controls so that all I can watch is the History Channel. Somehow that last thing was what pissed me off the most. And that was only Friday.
I spent all evening Friday pacing my room like a prison yard. I knew my necklace gave me away, but it’s just a simple C necklace. Someone must have tipped off the sheriff. It was Melissa. That was something I had absolutely no doubt about.
By Saturday afternoon, I’m wondering what the rest of the team knows and how they’ve reacted. Surely more of them will come forward once they know I got caught. I mean, if everyone just owns up, they can’t disband the whole team. Sam wouldn’t let that happen. I wish I could just get a text out to her. At the very least I would tell her not to trust Melissa.
That afternoon my mother hands down my official punishment
. She knocks on my door, not waiting for me to tell her to come in.
I sit on my bed with my Algebra Two homework spread out around me.
Mama only takes two steps in past the doorway.
“I’ve spoken with Sheriff Bell and Vice Principal Benavidez. The owner has graciously decided to hold off on pressing charges, so long as you work off the cost of the damage by helping out at the gym after school and sometimes on the weekends.”
I stand up, my arms crossed. “That won’t work. I can’t do that. Not with Nationals coming up. I can’t just continue to skip practice.”
She doesn’t even bother acknowledging my protest. “And Vice Principal Benavidez spoke with Principal Armstrong. They’ve both come to the conclusion that it would be inappropriate for you to continue on with the Shamrocks.”
The floor drops out from beneath me. “What—what does that mean?” I stutter. “Like, as co–assistant captain? What about next year?”
Mama shakes her head. “No.” And for the first time, I see the slightest sign of sympathy in the way her brow furrows. “Baby, you’re off the team for good.”
It takes a moment for that news to sink in. I feel silly for not realizing that I would get kicked off the team. I guess I just assumed I would serve my punishment and things would go back to normal.
But no. I have to lose something. It’s like Melissa said. Someone would pay a price.
Mama leaves, shutting the door behind her. I plop down on my bed with my arms limp at my sides. Every day of my life since I was a little girl has been spent working toward the moment when I would finally be able to call myself a Shamrock. And now it’s gone in a moment.
The whole room feels like someone sucked out all the air. I remind myself to breathe, but with everything I’ve worked so hard for evaporating right before me, even the simple act of pushing air in and out of my lungs feels impossible.
Millie