Puddin'(105)

Dr. Coffinder gives me a stiff smile and motions for the door.

I walk to the front office, where Callie waits for me. I hold my hand out for her to take, because I think the only way I can carry this disappointment is if I am somehow physically connected to her and she is carrying this ache right alongside me. I don’t look at Iris or Grant. I just head for the exit and squeeze Callie’s hand so, so tight.

“Well?” she whispers.

I shake my head, and as the door shuts behind us the first tear falls. “No. It was a no.”

She squeezes my hand back, and we walk in silence out of the building and through a canopy of trees to my van.

I count my tears as they fall. Twenty-eight before my eyes are finally dry. I count them because I want to remember what the cost of this heartbreak was. I hope and pray that someday, when I count up all my tears, that whatever life I’m living will have been worth it.

“Wait!” a voice behind us shouts. Neither of us turns around. There are so many people on this campus. No way is that one single voice directed at us.

“Wait!” it says again. “Millie.”

Callie stops before I do. We turn around to find Iris running up the hill toward us. Her glittery cat’s-eye sunglasses shimmer quietly from the sunlight shining through the trees. If I was in a better mood, I might ask her where she bought them.

Once she makes it to us, she pushes her sunglasses into her curls and clutches a long white envelope to her chest. She holds a hand up for a moment to tell us to hold on while she catches her breath. “Here,” she says, handing me the envelope. “Lesson for you, kids: pencil skirts were not made for running.”

“What?” I open the envelope, sliding out the papers. “What is this?”

She rests her hands on her hips. “It’s your welcome packet,” she says in a matter-of-fact way.

“But I just—Dr. Coffinder just—”

Iris swallows, still catching her breath. “I was eavesdropping the whole time, and, like, side note, you are just as rad as your audition tape led me to believe. So after you left, I went in there and told Dr. C we had one student decline their spot. And, like, she’s my PhD mentor, so I didn’t want to really step in it or anything, but I very politely told her that I thought she was wrong about you.”

“Oh my gosh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I did, though. Millie, I voted for you because you were good. Not just because you’re a fellow fat girl.” She holds up a fist. “Don’t get me wrong, though. Fat girl pride. Riots not diets and all that.”

“Riots not diets? I like that.” Note to self: add to my to-stitch list.

Iris continues, “Dr. C’s always been cool with me, and that’s probably because my concentration is more behind the scenes with production, but she was wrong about you. And she knew it, too. She sent me out of her office and called me back in a few minutes later before agreeing to give you the spot.” She rolls her eyes. “Listen, Dr. C won’t admit she’s wrong anytime soon. She’ll probably treat you like you’ve got something to prove all summer, but I think you’re up for the challenge, no?”

I hold the envelope to my chest like it’s made of gold. I don’t even bother wiping away the tears now. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she says. “Just prove me right this summer.”

I nod feverishly. “I so will.”

She motions to the envelope. “And get a jump on that paperwork. Parental signatures and everything.”

I gulp.

“She’ll get it all back ASAP,” promises Callie.

I’d almost forgotten she was there.

I thank Iris once more and ask if it’s okay to hug her, before squeezing her to death.

As we’re walking back to the car, our arms linked, I turn to Callie. “I have to get them to say yes.”

“You will,” she assures me. But even Callie doesn’t sound so sure.

I know my dad would have probably preferred if I’d stayed the night in Austin instead of driving right back, but I’ve got too much adrenaline to even think about sleeping. And with my parents’ signature on this form looming, I’m feeling antsy about just getting back home.

Callie and I stop to eat on South Congress at a place called Home Slice Pizza. It’s the first time I’ve ever parallel parked the minivan on a busy street, and that definitely inflates my ego a bit. Before heading out of town, we stop at Amy’s Ice Cream, where we each get a scoop of sweet cream, mine mixed with Oreos and Callie’s mixed with strawberries.

When we get back to town, I drop Callie off first.

“Your mom is going to be so upset,” I tell her.

“It was worth it,” she says. “Besides, you’re, like, her favorite person, so she might just support the cause.”

I don’t know how to say thank you. I keep trying to think of the perfect way. Putting the car in park, I turn to her. “I love you, Callie, and I’m so glad you’re my friend.” I shake my head in disbelief, remembering her scratching on my window just last night. “I would’ve never done this without you. I spend a lot of time telling myself to be brave, but you make me brave.”

She laughs, and it almost comes out like a sob. “You jerk. You’re making me cry. I love you, too, Millie. How ridiculous is it that we’ve lived in this town together for so long and it took us all this time to become friends?” She uses her knuckle to wipe away a tear. “You make me brave, too. You make me brave enough to be the person I am and not the one I think I’m supposed to be.”