Puddin'(107)

She left me hanging for a good long time before texting me back.

MELISSA: Why should I even consider helping you?

ME: It’s for the Shamrocks. I swear.

MELISSA: Keep talking.

For the rest of our interactions, Melissa was all business. She didn’t even acknowledge my apology, but she did help me gather the facts and research I needed.

Inside the town hall meeting room, sitting in the middle row, I find Millie, Amanda, Hannah, Ellen, and Willowdean. “What are you guys doing here?” I ask.

“Couldn’t let you embarrass yourself alone,” says Willowdean.

Ellen elbows her in the ribs.

Hannah laughs. “Millie made us come.”

“We wanted to,” says Amanda. “So here we are!”

“You’re going to do great,” Millie says, giving me two thumbs up.

I look at the five of them. These girls were never the friends I asked for, but they’re definitely the friends I needed.

“Nice outfit!” calls Hannah as I’m walking down the aisle.

Without my mama even noticing, I give her the middle finger behind my back. And then I turn around and smirk at her.

Mama and I sit in the front row, in the seats marked for members of the public who would like to speak during the open forum.

The budget meeting is long and boring. Who knew it cost that much to fund a cafeteria? And why is everyone always trying to take money away from libraries? Aren’t books sort of the reason we’re even in school at all?

Finally, Laurel Crocker, an old white man who always matches his cowboy hats to his boots, wears expensive blazers with starched jeans, has never taught a day in his life, and who also happens to be the president of the school board, bangs his gavel. “And now we’ll take the required twenty minutes to hear input from the citizens of Clover City.”

The only other person here to speak stands up, a short, graying woman who has the horrible sense to wear a turtleneck during June in West Texas. “I would like to speak on behalf of abstinence-only education in the classroom.”

Someone behind me groans. My bet is on Willowdean or Hannah.

I catch Mama discreetly rolling her eyes. As someone who’s had to sit through sex ed in Clover City, I can attest that we don’t need to make it any worse than it is. As it stands, the teacher treats the diagrams like a game of Pictionary because he can’t bring himself to say the word vagina out loud.

The woman drones on for another five minutes, detailing obviously made-up statistics and a few Bible verses before she takes her seat again next to Mama.

“Do we have anyone else before this meeting is adjourned? Perhaps someone who would like to speak about something relevant to the topic of the meeting?” asks Mr. Crocker.

I stand, and my boots click against the linoleum as I walk to the center of the room. I steady myself at the podium and reposition the microphone.

“My name is Callie Rey—”

Feedback from the microphone shrieks and echoes, interrupting me. Everyone groans from the intrusive noise.

“Try taking a step back, hon,” Laurel suggests.

“I’m not your hon,” I almost find myself saying out loud. But I take a step back and start again. “My name is Callie Reyes, and I am a former member of the Shamrocks. A legacy member, in fact. My mother was on the team that won Nationals in 1992. You may have heard of me. For good and bad reasons. Um . . .”

I lose track of my thoughts for a moment and glance down at myself. I look ridiculous in this uniform. There’s probably lipstick on my teeth, too. For a second, I glance back and catch sight of Mama, who winks at me. A couple rows back, Millie is smiling and giving me thumbs-up.

I turn back to the microphone.

“You’ve got about six minutes left,” says Mr. Crocker.

Great. Not only do I have to be profound, but I’m being timed as well. Millie would know just what to say. She’d say something meaningful and important. Something that would almost sound emotionally manipulative coming from anyone else, but from Millie it would be nothing but sincere.

I sigh into the microphone. For as much as I love Millie, I’m not her. I’m Callie. Prickly and uncomfortably honest.

I try again. “I’m here today because for as long as I can remember, the Shamrocks have had to seek outside funding for everything from costumes to travel. I understand that the school district isn’t a money tree, but when we lost our sponsor a few months ago, we were pissed.”

“Language,” warns Mr. Crocker.

“Sorry, sir.” I clear my throat. “We were very upset. I was the co–assistant captain at the time, and I had sunk my whole life into that team. So yeah, I was upset. And because I was so angry, I did some things I regret, like vandalizing a local gym, which I’m sure you’re aware of. Y’all and Vice Principal Benavidez made the decision to remove me from the team, and I can’t blame you. What I did was wrong. But what I can do now is to help fix the real problem.”

Mr. Crocker chuckles. “The real problem?”

No, sir. You will take me seriously. “Yes,” I say defiantly. “The real problem. The real problem is that the Shamrocks are the most winning team from Clover City of all time. We hold the most District and State titles. And we hold the only National title in the whole city. In fact, we’re the only team that has ever been to Nationals. And! We’ve been four times.” My boots clack as I double back to my empty chair and grab the folder I brought in with me, which Millie helped me compile in a rush. “I brought all of the statistics here with me for you to see.”