Puddin'

by Julie Murphy

“Well,” she says, her voice as sharp as a razor, “I ran into Amanda’s father, and I thanked him for hosting you for the last three Friday nights. And do you want to know what he said?”

  I shake my head, because no, I actually don’t want to know.

  “He said you haven’t been over a single Friday night in the last month, Millicent. So not only is my daughter—my own flesh and blood who I provide for and care for—lying to my face, but I had to humiliate myself and find out from another parent.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Well, honey, sorry just doesn’t cut it. You’re gonna have to tell me where in Hades you’ve been for the last three weeks.”

  I push my cereal out of the way and stand up. “I have been with Malik. That part is true. But Amanda wasn’t there and we weren’t studying.”

  “So what in the H have you been doing?”

  I smile. I can’t think of the last Friday nights without smiling. “I like him, Mom. A lot. We like each other.”

  She gasps. “Are you telling me that you’re dating a boy right under my nose? Without even going to the trouble of asking your father and me or even introducing us to him? And what type of gentlemen courts a girl without meeting her parents first?”

  “Mom.” My voice drops an octave. “You met Dad in a parking lot and went on plenty of dates before introducing him to your family.”

  “I was an adult,” she says.

  “Barely!” I take a deep breath. “I want you to get to know him,” I say. “He’s smart and passionate and a good listener, but I was scared you’d say no. And I like him too much.”

  Her whole face hardens. “Well, I say no. You lied to me. You went behind my back. Lord knows what else you’re fibbing about.”

  Something occurs to me, and it makes me cringe. “Mom, is this because Malik isn’t white?”

  She gasps. “Of course not.”

  I study her for a long while. Even if the color of Malik’s skin does have something to do with this, she would never say so. And I know for a fact that me dating anyone at all would send my mother into a tailspin, but I refuse to leave a prejudice like that unspoken, even if it’s unintentional.

  I inhale deeply. Well, I might as well get this over with. “It’s not exactly a fib, but I guess it’s time you know that I’m not going back to Daisy Ranch,” I say.

  “What?” Now that shocks her. A boy wasn’t so surprising, but this nearly bowls her over. She braces herself on the counter. “Where is this coming from? Is this you trying to rebel? I knew this would happen. I told your father. We had it too easy with you. Is this your uncle’s doing? Is this his influence on you? No. It’s this boy, isn’t it?”

  I shake my head. “Mom, no. Listen. Hear me out.”

  “This is that Willowdean, isn’t it? Baby, you love Daisy Ranch. What about all your friends there?”

  Now I’m mad. I just want two stinking seconds to tell my side of the story, to be heard for once. “I’m not going back. I am thankful to both y’all, you and Dad, for always trying to do what you thought was best for me. But this summer I’ve applied for broadcast journalism camp at the University of Texas in Austin. It’s a six-week program. I wrote an essay. I paid for the application fee myself and I even filmed an audition tape.”

  She slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, shaking her head. “Lose the weight first. That’s what we always said.”

  I sit down across from her. “Mom, I’ve been waiting to lose the weight for as long as I can remember.”

  “Baby, I want you to go to journalism camp or wherever your heart desires, but I just know you’ll enjoy it so much more if you can just shed the pounds first. There’s a thin girl in you just waiting to get out.”

  I shake my head. “No. No.” My voice is soft but firm. “There’s no skinny girl trapped inside of me, Mom. Just like there’s not one in you. This . . .” I grip my thighs and my thick arms. “This is me. And I’m done waiting to be someone else. I know what I want to do with my life. Isn’t that incredible? Some people wait their whole lives, figuring out who or what they want to be. But I know.”

  “You lost six pounds last year,” she says. “Maybe this summer it’ll be twenty. And you know that keeping it up at home is the hardest part, but it’s worth it.”

  My eyes burn, but I swallow back the tears. Now isn’t the time for crying. “I’m okay with this body no matter what package it comes in. I just wish you would be, too.”

  “Sweetie, you know I love you just the way you are, but I always want the best for you. That’s why you’re going to Daisy Ranch this summer. I already put the application in the mail.”

  “Mom! That was for me to fill out.”

  “Oh, don’t pretend like you’re the only one who can sneak around in this family.”

  I stand up and yank my keys off the counter. “I’m not going back to Daisy Ranch. I’m going to broadcast journalism camp. And you wanna know what else? I have a boyfriend. His name is Malik. And we kiss. With. Our. Tongues.” I feel my cheeks growing flushed with embarrassment, but that doesn’t stop me from storming off.

  When I get to the gym, I push through the front door and plop down on my stool behind the counter without even stopping to say hi to Callie.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says. “What’s your deal?”

  “I told my mom,” I say. “About this summer. And Malik. And making out with Malik.”

  “And I’m guessing it did not go well?”

  I close my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose, trying to calm myself. I shake my head after a moment. “It was just about as disastrous as you can imagine.”

  She throws an arm over my shoulders. “God, I’m sorry, Millie.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Because last night Malik and I DTRed.”

  “DTR?” she asks. “Is that like something between first and second base?”

  I laugh. “No, we defined the relationship.”

  “Ohhhhh. So I guess that means you’re someone’s girlfriend?”

  “Not just any someone.” But instead of excitement, a cloud of disappointment hangs over me as I remember my mom’s reaction this morning. “What about you and Mitch?” I ask. “I didn’t want to make a big deal when I saw you guys at the movie theater last night, but OH MY GOSH! Your mom let you out of the house.”

  “Ugh. Finally!” she says, spinning toward me so that our knees brush against each other. “It was my first night returning to civilization in like two months now.”

  “And you looked amazing in that yellow romper,” I tell her. Malik and I ran into them in between shows, and Callie wore this dreamy yellow lace romper with her long hair down and curled at the ends. She was a vision. She and Mitch walked with her arm looped through his, and it was maybe the cutest thing ever. “Did you guys kiss finally? Like, on the lips?”

  She grins devilishly. “Not yet. I’m thinking next week.”

  “No shame in making him wait,” I say.

  The bell above the door dings, and I open my mouth to recite my greeting, but it’s only Uncle Vernon. And then Sheriff Bell a few feet behind him.

  “Hey?” I don’t bother to hide my surprise. “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”

  Vernon winks at me. “Just some business to attend to.”

  “Callie,” says Sheriff Bell. “You mind following us back to the office?”

  “Surely I’m not in trouble,” she says. “I’ve been way too grounded to do anything interesting.”

  Sheriff Bell chuckles. “I don’t think there’s much more trouble left for you to get in.”

  I grab Callie’s wrist as she stands up.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers.

  Nodding, I let go. It’s probably just about her paying off the damage. Maybe she’s all done working? I could talk to Inga and Vernon about actually hiring her part-time. I wouldn’t even mind taking a pay cut.

  I smile to myself as Vernon shuts the office door behind them. Callie and I are friends now
. Almost best friends, I’d say. We don’t have to work together for us to keep seeing each other. My mom might be unhappy with me, but I have an amazing boyfriend—I! Have! A! Boyfriend!—and a group of friends who could hang out with the best of the best girl squads around.

  I just have to stay positive. It’s like one of my mom’s crocheted pillows says: GLASS HALF FULL, GLASS HALF EMPTY. BE THANKFUL YOU’VE GOT A GLASS AT ALL.

  Callie

  Thirty

  Sheriff Bell takes the seat behind the desk while Vernon shuts the door, then leans against a particularly precariously stacked pile of boxes.

  I’ve got that achy-pit-of-my-stomach kind of feeling I had the moment I saw Sheriff Bell standing in my kitchen a few months back, the day this whole mess started.

  “Have a seat,” says Vernon.

  “Am I somehow in more trouble?” I ask as I move the stack of binders from the chair opposite the desk and sit down. “I swear to God I’ve been living like a freaking nun since I started working here.” A few memories pop into my head. Specifically of Melissa. And the main hall of the school covered in green paper. “Well, mostly.”

  Sheriff Bell laughs, but it comes out like more of a grunt. “Not this time.”

  Vernon coughs into his fist. “Inga did the, uh, math, and it looks like if we were paying you the same wage we pay Millie, you’d have paid off the insurance deductible by now and whatever damage they didn’t cover.”

  “Okay?” Cautious optimism tingles in my toes. “So what does that mean for me?”

  “Well,” says Sheriff Bell, “you’re a free woman.”

  “We’re not pressing charges,” confirms Vernon.

  “So my life is back to normal?” I ask, totally unable to conceal my excitement.

  Sheriff Bell purses his lips together, which I think is his version of a smile. “The school board decision to ban you from the Shamrocks still stands, so you won’t be able to rejoin for your senior year, but other than that, your time is your own.”

  I jump up and squeal. “As of, like, right now?”

  Vernon nods. “Well, in about ten minutes, so yeah.” He whips out a paper. “I just need you to sign this, saying you understand that you were not compensated for your work and that your labor was in exchange for the insurance deductible and miscellaneous damages.”

  I’m signing on the dotted line before he can barely finish his sentence. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” says Vernon.

  “You didn’t really need my help around here, did you?”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “You could say business is slow.”

  “So why’d you agree to this? It’s not like you were saving money on labor you didn’t even need.”

  Vernon shrugs. “There were a lot of you. Didn’t seem right for just one of you to carry it on your record. Guess I wish someone would’ve given me a second chance at that age.”

  “Hell,” says Sheriff Bell, “if it weren’t for your Millie’s sharp eye, we wouldn’t have caught any of you.”

  I snap my head toward him just like our dog Shipley does when she hears the crackling sound of my mama cooking bacon. “Excuse me?”

  “Slip of the tongue,” he says. “Don’t you worry about it, girly.”

  Girly. The word is like a hot coal on a fading fire. It stokes the anger that’s always rumbling inside me, even when it’s only a low murmur.

  I follow Vernon and Sheriff Bell out of the office, and the two of them head straight for the front door.

  “Callie,” says Vernon, “just leave your name tag with Millie.”

  Before the door can even shut all the way, Millie turns to me with that deer-in-headlights panicked look. “You’re leaving?”

  Suddenly I don’t buy it. I don’t buy any of this afterschool-special friendship bullshit she’s been selling.

  “You.” I say. I don’t even have all the details or the facts, but I know Millie well enough to know that she’ll spill the moment she knows her secret’s out. “You’re the reason I’m off the dance team. And why I’m stuck working in this body-odor hellhole. And why Bryce broke up with me! I humiliated Melissa! And Sam! And most of the team! Do you remember that? And you let me do that. You didn’t even tell me that you were the one who knew it was me after I spilled all their secrets. I . . . I . . .” Suddenly the weight of exactly what I did to the Shamrocks hits me. “My mama is never going to forgive me for that, Millie. I violated her trust. All their trust!”

  Her eyes fill with tears immediately. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” she blurts.

  I have no pity for her. In fact, seeing her cry only makes me angrier. I’m the one who should be upset! I don’t know the what or the how. But Millie is the one who turned me in.

  “Your necklace,” she says. Her whole face is flushed red and splotchy. “I saw it on the security footage. I wanted to tell you, but then we became friends and I was too scared to lose you.”

  I rip the name tag off my shirt and slam it down on the counter, making the whole glass top shake. “Well, you should’ve been scared,” I say. “Because I’m done, Millie. With this gym. With slumber parties. With you. It’s over.” I stomp toward the front door. I was fine before Millie, and I’ll be just fine without her now.

  “How will you get home?” she asks. “Let me give you a ride.”

  “I have two legs,” I snap. “I can walk.”

  I grab my bag and shove my cell phone in the back pocket of my jean shorts as I march out the door and out of the parking lot. Millie watches me the whole time. She even walks out onto the sidewalk and tries calling my name.

  A few heads in the parking lot turn, but I don’t stop. I just keep walking.

  Honestly, though, it is hot as hell outside and my home is at least a six-mile walk. I keep moving until I know I’m far out of sight. Millicent Conniving Manipulator Michalchuk will never see an ounce of vulnerability from me ever again.

  I finally stop walking when I find myself in front of Harpy’s Burgers & Dogs. I think, for a minute, about going in, but quickly remember that Willowdean works here. Yeah, no thanks.

  I look both ways before jaywalking across the street to the Chili Bowl—quite possibly the one Clover City establishment I’ve never given a try.

  Inside, a bored-looking guy behind the counter says, “What can I get you? Our summer special is two for one bowls of white chili.”

  Chili in May when the temperature is nearly scraping the triple digits already? I’m good. “Just a large fountain drink,” I say.

  I hand him $1.27 in exchange for an empty cup, which I fill to the brim with Diet Dr Pepper—possibly the only good thing left in the world.

  I settle into the booth nearest the window to just enjoy the air-conditioning for a little while before I decide on my next move. I could call my mom, but then I’d have to explain all this drama to her, and she is very clearly Team Millie.

  Across the street, I watch as Willowdean’s boyfriend, Bo, squats down on the curb with a soft drink. A few minutes later Willowdean follows him in her red-and-white uniform dress, her blond curls spilling out of her baseball cap.

  The two share a soda and make a sort of contest of kissing each other on the cheek until their noses collide and Bo breaks out in a big gut-busting laugh.

  Watching the both of them is like watching the cheesiest montage in one of Millie’s romantic comedies.

  And it only makes me angrier.

  The one person I thought was different from all the other waste-of-space assholes in this town, and she turns out to be just as bad as everyone else. I reach for the napkin dispenser on the table and try pushing away the tears brimming up. But once they start, they don’t stop. I turn my body away from the guy at the counter—not like he’s paying attention to anything besides his phone anyway—and I let the tears spill down my cheeks.

  My life wasn’t perfect before. And, yeah, Bryce was a jerk. But who knows what I missed out on besides State and Nationals when I was banned
from the dance team? Travel, scholarships, awards to beef up my college applications. And I guess Melissa and Sam weren’t all that bad. They weren’t great friends, but they were friends. And Millie took all that away in a moment, without a single thought as to what kind of consequences might lie ahead. Logically, I know that I trashed the gym and that’s my fault. But did she have to be the one who pinned it on me? Something about that just stings.

  But what hurts most of all is that she never said a damn thing. All those hours at the gym and talking in Amanda’s backyard or out at my abuela’s house, and she said nothing. I’ve never even taken Sam or Melissa or even Bryce to meet my abuela. Not even after Millie knew what I did to the Shamrocks for the whole school to see! That really kills me. I like some good revenge as much as the next person, but only when it’s well deserved.

  I watch as Willowdean and Bo share their soda before heading back into work. I try to muster up the old Callie and think of some truly awful thing to say, about how a girl who looks like Willowdean has no business with a guy who looks like Bo, but the truth is I think they’re nauseatingly cute together. The thought alone feels like some kind of betrayal of self. Like I’ve shed the person I once was, and maybe that’s supposed to be a good thing. But instead I feel like I’ve lost the layer of skin that protects me and keeps me safe from the rest of the world. My whole body feels like a skinned knee with too-fresh skin exposed to the elements—so much so that even an innocent breeze stings.

  The sun is slowly beginning to dip below the horizon, and I still have a long walk ahead of me. I don’t need my mom out patrolling the streets, looking for me. I refill my fountain drink once more, and the guy behind the counter doesn’t even look up when the bell above the door rings as I walk out into the parking lot.

  I tighten the straps on my backpack and head off toward home. I make it four blocks before a Ford Bronco rumbles to a crawl beside me.

  The passenger window buzzes down as another car honks as it speeds past. “Hey!” shouts Mitch, unfazed. “You out here training for a survival show or something?” He points to my Chili Bowl cup. “I see you’ve come prepared with rations.”