Puddin'(10)

Bo gives me a quick nod. “Hey, Millie.” He turns to Willowdean. “I’ll pick you up for work if you want?”

“I think El and Tim are gonna drop me off actually, but I’ll take a ride home tonight,” she says, her golden curls tangling in the wind.

He nods before giving her a kiss on the lips and then jogs to catch up with Tim.

“Not a bad view,” says Amanda, watching him go.

El sputters with laughter, and Willowdean’s whole face looks like it’s about ready to catch fire. “Can’t say I disagree,” she finally says.

I smile. “Anyone seen Hannah?” I ask.

“I’m here,” someone groans.

I turn to find Hannah wearing a front baby sling with an anatomically correct baby in it. Her once-overgrown bangs have become swoopier than they were, so you can actually see her face. Her charcoal eyeliner is jagged and a little smudged, but the look works for her. Based on her medium brown skin, most people at school just call Hannah black or African American, but she actually prefers Afro-Latina. One of the ladies running the pageant told Hannah that was a mouthful when she included it in her pageant intro, but Hannah told her she should try harder. I tend to agree.

Of everyone from the pageant, I see Hannah the least. Not because I don’t want to, but because she goes out of her way to be unseen. Plus she has lots of slightly older friends who don’t even live in Clover City. Her elusiveness makes me want to try even harder to be friends with her.

“What the hell?” asks Will.

Hannah rolls her head back, stomping to the table where the rest of us sit. “I signed up for that life-skills class thinking it would be dumb stuff like online banking and applying for jobs, but no. It’s basically a home ec class.” She sits down and slams the doll on the table, triggering sobs from the speaker on the back of its head. “Our final,” she says, like we’re gathered around a campfire telling horror stories, “is a casserole.”

Ellen, Amanda, and Will nearly fall out of their seats in hysterics, and I bite my lip, trying not to laugh along with them.

Hannah gives them all a half-baked dirty look, but it’s the best she can do not to smile herself.

“I’ll dig through my mom’s recipe book if it’ll help,” I offer.

She turns to me. “If you really want to help, you’ll make the damn thing for me.”

Willowdean nudges me with her elbow. “So what’s all this about? Did you gather us all here to corrupt another time-honored Clover City tradition?”

They go quickly silent with all eyes on me. Suddenly I feel very, very dumb. Self-doubt washes over me, and I am immediately positive that I like all of them much more than any of them like me. That’s just the worst feeling. It’s like showing up to a costume party where you’re the only one who dressed up.

But then I look at Amanda, and she nods, and I know that at the very least, I can always count on her.

“I miss y’all,” I finally say. “A lot. And that’s what this emergency meeting is about. I know that we’re all busy with different things and the pageant is long gone.”

“Thank God,” says Hannah, stuffing her baby and sling into her messenger bag.

“But I sort of hate that, ya know? Because I just never see y’all anymore, and, well, a lot of good things came out of the pageant. But the best part was all of us becoming friends.”

Willowdean smiles. “Well, not to be self-centered, but I sort of feel like the best part was when I wore a cardboard Cadillac on stage.”

“Okay,” I say. “Yes, that was pretty great. But back then we saw each other all the time,” I say. “Because we had a reason to, so if we need a reason to get together, I’m creating one.”

Ellen squints at me suspiciously.

“I’m not a big organized-activities person, in case you hadn’t already discerned that about me,” says Hannah.

“What’s your idea?” asks Amanda.

I inhale deeply. “Slumber parties. Every Saturday until the end of the school year. We’ll all take turns hosting.”

It’s so quiet I can hear the cheerleaders practicing in the gym.

Ellen speaks first. “Every. Single. Saturday. Night?”

“Well, sure,” I say, my answer coming out more like a question. “But with slumber parties. We can do face masks. And crafts. And play games. And exchange ideas.”

“Exchange ideas?” asks Hannah. “What? Like the Slumber Party United Nations?”

“It has to be every Saturday night?” asks Willowdean. “That’s prime date-night real estate.”

Amanda shrugs. “The only date I’ve got is with my TV and my cat. I’m in.”

A small bit of relief sparks in my chest, but no one is quick to follow her lead. I nod. “Okay. What about every other Saturday?”

Hannah works diligently at peeling off her dark purple nail polish. “We all have to take turns hosting?”

Ellen turns to Will, and in a quieter voice says, “This is like what we were talking about the other night. More time for us. Without the guys, ya know?”

I can see Will turning this over in her head. She’s the kind of person who is economical with her time and her love, and I can appreciate that. Sharing Ellen is hard for her.