by Julie Murphy
For the first time, doubt quakes in my stomach. “What?” I ask.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t do this.”
I cross my arms over my chest and inhale deeply. “Mama, every one of those girls hung me out to dry. They’re all just as guilty as I am.”
Her nostrils flare, but there’s not much she can say to dispute that.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask, my voice sounding more like a squeak. I was already suspended for what happened at the gym. What’s next? Expulsion?
Her lips spread into a thin line. “There’s no way to prove who did it,” she says. “And it’s not like you damaged any property this time. I think Armstrong and Benavidez are more concerned about damage control at this point.”
“Great!” I say. “Can I go to class now?”
“No!” she snaps, and waves the list in my face. “I did not raise you to do shit like this, Callie. Not only did you violate the trust of these girls, but you broke your oath as a Shamrock.” She reaches for the doorknob. “What a hurtful thing to do. I’m so ashamed.”
Mama leaves me there in the faculty bathroom, and that high I was riding when I first got to school has evaporated completely. I want so badly to stick to my guns. Those girls screwed me over. They had it coming. But the regret rising up my throat like bile is too much to ignore.
I brace my hands on the porcelain sink and give myself a long look in the mirror. They deserved it. I say it over and over again until I almost believe it.
Since my very public breakup with Bryce and getting booted from the Shamrocks, I’ve spent my last few weeks of lunch periods in my mom’s office. But today she’s kicked me out, which should come as no surprise. She swears it’s tough love. I swear it’s rude.
I carry my lunch and hurt feelings out to the courtyard adjacent to the cafeteria, and for the first time in my life, I search for a place to eat. Today has been . . . interesting. While there’s been some talk about who penned the list and even a few knowing glances, everyone seems more concerned with what’s on the list rather than where it came from. Of course I know there’s a chance of my secret getting out, too, but at this point, I don’t have much left to lose.
With only six weeks left in the school year, our very short-lived Texas spring is melting away in favor of much more summery weather. It’s the time of year when people are starting to get restless and rowdy. Girls (many of whom I once called friends) are spread out on the grass, soaking up the sun, while many of the guys are roughhousing with one another and playing with their food more than actually eating it. And of course a select few Shamrocks are missing in action as they assess their own personal damages.
The moment the door to the cafeteria swings shut behind me, I feel like all eyes have turned to me. No one makes a move to invite me to sit with them. Instead, they all wait to see where I dare land.
And then Millie—mother-freaking Millie!—stands up at the table where she and Amanda sit in a shaded corner that’s often left alone, because with the giant tree, you run a real risk of being shit on by a bird. She waves me over with both hands.
I scan the courtyard once more quickly as I recall the conversation I had with her just last night outside my house after I wallpapered the main hallways. And then I remember painting Amanda’s nails over the weekend. I like both of them. A lot. And that feeling leads to a twinge of embarrassment, which angers me more than anything else.
I roll my shoulders back and stand a little straighter, and then I walk straight over to Millie and Amanda’s bird-shit table.
I block out all the whispers and all the looks. I’m Calista Alejandra Reyes and I’m untouchable, dammit.
“Y’all mind if I join you?” I ask the two of them when I reach their table.
Millie grins, and Amanda puts down the book she’s reading and says, “That would be de-lightful.”
Later that day, as I’m walking to seventh period, Patrick Thomas stops me in the hallway. Mitch isn’t far behind him.
“I’d be careful at that lunch table you chose today.”
I tilt my head to the side and decide to briefly humor him. “Oh yeah. Why’s that?”
He snorts like a pig. “Millie might get confused and think you’re her second course.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look at him for a long moment. “Patrick, someday when we’ve all moved on and graduated, you’ll still be here in this town, cracking the same old jokes. The only difference is no one will be laughing, because eventually everyone you know will learn what I’ve known all along.”
“Okay,” he says, taking the bait. “And what’s that, Miss Hot Shit Callie?”
“You’re a bully, and no one likes a bully. No one. You’ll have no one left to laugh at your horribly unfunny jokes. And another thing: Millie will achieve more with her baby toe than you’ll do with your entire life, so you can rinse your damn mouth out, because you’re not even worthy of speaking her name.”
I hear a couple of ooooooos from other students, and I walk away, brushing shoulders with Mitch. “Time to find some new friends,” I tell him, without stopping for a second.
By the end of the week, sitting with Millie and Amanda at lunch is no longer newsworthy. Sure, I still get a few funny looks, and every single Shamrock practically hisses when I come within six feet of her, but it’s not like any of those people are rushing to invite me to sit with them, so I officially give zero shits.
And not for nothing, but the more my mom notices me settling into a groove with my new friends, the more she eases up on the whole grounded thing. She hasn’t even brought up the Shamrock flyer incident since Wednesday night, when she told me one last time how disappointed she was. In fact, I’ve even started riding to work with Millie after school. We stop at Sonic (I get a watermelon cream slush and she gets a cherry limeade slush), and then Millie takes me home when we close at seven.
That Friday after school, as we settle into work with our Sonic drinks, Mitch walks in wearing navy-blue athletic shorts and a gold Clover City High phys ed T-shirt.
“Hey,” I say. “Welcome back.”
“I was wondering if you still worked here,” says Mitch.
“What? I’m here every afternoon.”
“Ahh, well, I know that now. I’d started coming in the morning before school, but Millie—hi, Millie!”
She peeks her head out of the office and not so discreetly winks at me. “Heya, Mitch!”
He grins widely. “Anyway, Millie let me know that you only work after school and sometimes on Saturdays.”
I glance back at the office, willing my eyes into lasers. “Did she now?”
“Well, now that I know your schedule, I can plan my week accordingly.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” he says. “The workout burn just isn’t quite as good if I can’t watch you rolling your eyes at me from the front desk.”
I squint but can’t help the slow smile spreading across my face. “Well, my eye-rolling abilities are well worth rearranging your entire week for. I mean, no one rolls eyes like I do.” Digging my fists into my hips, I make a big show of rolling my eyes just for him.
“Ah, there it is,” he says. “They should list that as part of the membership benefits.”
I laugh and then say, a little quieter, “I don’t think I’ll be sticking around here for that long.”
He doesn’t press me for more information, but I’m not ready to be done talking just yet. “So,” I say, “you listen to my advice?”
“What advice was that?” he asks.
“About finding new friends.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, Patrick can be an asshole, but you know how it is.”
I look up at him, forcing him to look me right in the eye. “Actually, no. I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.”
“Right,” he says. “Yeah, well, Patrick is . . . I don’t know.”
“That’s one way of describing him.”
“Hey, you said you don’t work every Satur
day, right?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Well, what about this Saturday?” he asks.
“As in tomorrow?”
“She has the day off!” shouts Millie.
I whirl around. “I do not.”
She peeks her head out again. “Yeah,” she says. “You do. I just gave you the day off.” She turns to Mitch. “She’s spoken for Saturday evening, though.” And then she disappears back into the office.
I sigh. Guess I’m in store for another slumber party this weekend, where only two out of five people can stand breathing the same air as me. With the way my mom is looking at me these days, it’s better than staying home. “Well, I guess I’m off, but I’m technically grounded.”
His brow wrinkles. “I can take a hint.”
Guilt sinks into my chest. But I didn’t genuinely want to go out with him. Did I? “I really am grounded,” I say.
“Nah, it’s cool,” he says, and walks off to whatever piece of equipment is farthest from me.
Great. Keep pushing people away, Callie. There are plenty in your life to spare.
After he leaves, Millie rushes out of the office. “Oh my goodness!” she squeals. “He asked you out!”
“I’m grounded,” I remind her.
She waves me off. “Puh-lease, your mom wants to unground you so bad. I can smell it. Yesterday when I was in the office for morning announcements, she asked me all about Saturday night and she said you came home in a . . .” She holds her hands up in air quotes. “‘Not bad mood.’ I really think she’s very invested in your social life and is concerned for you and how well you’re adjusting to post-dance-team life.”
I sputter with laughter. The girl sounds like she’s recapping the plot of a movie. “And you got all that from a ‘not bad mood’?”
She nods with authority. “I speak Parent fluently.”
Millie
Twenty-Three
Amanda’s house is chaos, but it always is. Walking anywhere outside of her room requires dodging her brothers as they wrestle each other across the house like two little tumbleweeds skittering back and forth. Which is why the six of us have locked ourselves into Amanda’s room with two boxes of pizza and a chair wedged under the doorknob for extra security.
Three weeks ago, when Callie joined us for the first time, things were a little rough around the edges. Tonight Willowdean gave me a long look and a sigh when she saw her walk in behind me, but it’s getting better slowly. She can’t hate Callie forever. (Though if anyone can hold a grudge forever, my bet is on her.)
We each take a slice of pepperoni pizza, and Hannah goes for the box of half cheese, half mushroom. “I’m trying out the whole vegetarian thing,” she says glumly. “Courtney made me watch this awful documentary about how we slaughter animals.”
“No thank you,” says Ellen. “I’m happy to live in willful ignorance with my bacon and barbecue.”
“I’ve never taken you as one to bend your will out of guilt,” says Willowdean.
Hannah shrugs. “Well, the whole no-meat thing is kinda pissing off my mom, which is sorta hilarious.” She takes a huge bite of pizza, and with her mouth full, she adds, “We’ll see how long it lasts. Plus Courtney says kissing a meat eater presents her with a moral dilemma.”
“The only dilemma I have is between pepperoni or sausage,” says Amanda.
“So are you and Courtney a thing?” I ask. “Like, officially.”
Hannah keeps on eating her pizza, but she can’t hide the blush in her cheeks.
I squeal and so does Ellen.
Hannah rolls her eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t give up meat for just anybody. And what about you?” she asks, turning the tables.
I clear my throat. “Well, Malik and I are getting together to work on a project tomorrow.”
Everyone lets out an oooooooooo, and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face even if I wanted to.
“Well,” I say, pointing to Callie, “this one was asked out just yesterday.”
Callie, who is still nibbling on her first piece of pizza, sets her slice down on a paper plate. “It was totally not a big deal.”
Everyone’s quiet for a moment, and the whole thing just feels awkward. I need someone to break this silence, and for some reason I know it can’t be me.
“Whatever,” says Ellen. “Don’t play it cool. Spill.”
I grin gratefully in Ellen’s direction.
Callie shakes her head, biting down on her lip nervously. “Just that guy Mitch from the football team.”
Ellen side-eyes Willowdean, who brushes the crumbs from her pizza on her jeans and says, “He’s a really nice guy. Like, way nicer than you even know.” She looks directly at Callie. “Don’t toy around with him, okay?”
Callie groans. “I already told him no.”
“What?” asks Willowdean. “Why?”
Callie looks up to the ceiling like the answer might somehow be written there. “I’m basically grounded forever.” She crosses her arms. “And I’m coming off a really bad breakup.”
“By the way,” says Amanda, “I saw that whole thing play out in the hallway, and you’re a badass.”
“Yeah,” says Hannah. “I heard you destroyed him. Pretty impressive.”
I nudge Callie with my elbow, and she glances at me with a shy smile. “They like you,” I nearly whisper.
Willowdean leans into the circle a little more. “And, um, I saw your run-in with Patrick Thomas the other day.” She nods. “That was pretty cool of you.”
“What run-in with Patrick Thomas?” I ask. All I can think of is when I confronted Patrick last week and she didn’t do a thing.
“Nothing,” Callie and Willowdean answer in unison.
I roll my eyes. “Y’all know that I know he oinks at me, right? Is that what you’re hiding? Just because I don’t usually acknowledge him doesn’t mean I don’t know.”
Callie turns to me. “Well, just because you don’t acknowledge him doesn’t mean I can’t.”
I open my mouth to politely explain why that’s not actually helpful, but Willowdean interjects. “Oh, y’all, trust me when I say that if you want anyone talking back to Patrick Thomas on your behalf, it’s this girl. She takes no prisoners.” Willowdean reaches across the circle to give Callie a high five.
Amanda gives me a knowing look. The two of us have spent the last few years ignoring all the looks and jokes from our peers. It’s not like we don’t hear it, but there came a time when we had to make the decision to pretend we didn’t hear it, or just let ourselves drown in it.
Callie turns to me. “He just said something stupid to me between classes, and I set him straight.”
I wait for a moment to see if she’ll elaborate, but she doesn’t. And truthfully, I know people like him will always exist. I don’t need the details. They don’t change anything for me. But still, a little bit of warmth tingles in my chest at the thought of Callie standing up for me.
That night, Amanda and Hannah sleep head to toe in Amanda’s twin bed while Ellen and Willowdean share an air mattress and Callie and I take sleeping bags on the floor next to the empty pizza boxes.
I can’t sleep, because it just always takes me forever to fall asleep when I’m not in my own bed, so I’m awake to see Willowdean and Ellen sit up in bed and do their best job of tiptoeing around as they gather their shoes and cell phones while still wearing their pajamas.
“Where are you bitches going?” Callie whispers next to me, scaring me a little, because I didn’t even know she was still awake.
Willowdean holds her finger to her lips, telling us to be quiet. “Our boyfriends are outside,” she says, so quietly it barely counts as a whisper. “We were just gonna sneak out for a little bit.”
I sit up. I don’t want them to go, but I’m also jealous, because what if Malik were here doing the same, and what if he was my official boyfriend? But I don’t want them to miss out either. “I’ll help you guys,” I tell them. “I know this house better than y’all.”
Willowdean looks to Ellen, who nods her approval.
“Well, I’m coming with you,” says Callie.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her.
“We’ve been cooped up in this room all night hiding from Amanda’s brothers. I’ve forgotten what the outside world even looks like.”
“Fine,” I say. “Be quiet. Amanda’s dad is a light sleeper.”
The three of them follow me downstairs and through the kitchen to the back door, which lets out a long creak as I open it to the milky nighttime sky. I hold the door while they all shuffle through, then let it close softly behind us.
Willowdean and Ellen head to the gate on the side of the house, circling around the pool.
“Y’all, don’t stay out too long,” I say.
Willowdean smacks Ellen’s butt as they shuffle through the gate.
“Oh my God!” says Callie.
“Shhh!” I try to quiet her.
“Amanda didn’t say she had a pool!”
I smile. “It’s not even warm enough out yet.”
She sighs. “I know, but . . .” She sighs again. “A private pool all to yourself in the summer.”
“Well, she does have to share it with her brothers.”
“Can we just put our feet in?” Callie asks. “It’s pretty warm tonight.”
I glance behind us to make sure there are no lights on in the house. “Sure.”
We sit side by side with our feet dangling in the deep end. Amanda’s house is pretty old and so is the pool, but it’s the reason why her dad bought the house. The tiles lining the pool are clearly older than both Amanda and I, but her dad treats this pool like a fourth child.
“Didn’t your, um, ex-boyfriend have a pool?”
Her eyes light up briefly before her whole expression droops. “Yeah, but his dad was weird about having people over.” She holds her hand to her chest. “I was allowed over, but if we wanted to hang with friends, we had to go to the community pool.”
“I see.”
“Which was fine,” she adds. “Except for there never being enough lounge chairs, and kids everywhere. Plus they had to shut down the pool three times last summer for floaters.”