Puddin'(16)

I know I’m not changing my mind, but I still don’t know how to break the news. Instead, I go for a smaller request. “I was wondering if I could have friends over this Saturday? For like a sleepover?”

“Of course!” my dad says prematurely.

“Well,” my mom says, “who’d you have in mind? I think my brother and Inga were going to come over on Sunday afternoon with the babies. And Gran and Pop-Pop, too, probably.”

“Oh, everyone would clear out before then. And we wouldn’t make a mess, I swear.” I take a bite of my dinner and swallow it down with a gulp of tea. “Well, Amanda, obviously. And that tall blond girl I met doing the pageant, Ellen. Also Hannah and Willowdean.”

My mom twists her lips to the side. “You know Amanda is always welcome here. And that Ellen seems like a very sweet girl. Such a pretty thing. But I just wonder if Hannah and Willowdean aren’t the best influences?” She pauses for a minute. My mom does this thing where she tries to plant an idea in your head and make you think it’s your idea, except that the only person it works on is my dad. “Especially that Hannah. So much dark makeup. It’s not flattering. You know, a good friend would tell her so.”

I put my fork down and count to ten. Lots of people would never guess this about me. But I have a temper. Well, I have a temper when dealing with my mom. “They’re my friends, Mom. And Hannah is awesome. No matter how she wears her makeup.”

“I just want to see you surround yourself with positive people, baby.”

My mom put the weight back on and then some after she had me, which was only a year and a half after she and my dad met. These days she’s closer to my size than her post–Daisy Ranch size ten. Ever since then, though, she’s been trying to become that girl again—“the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.”

The irony is that she has always been that girl to my dad.

Dad clears his throat and touches my knee under the table. “We trust your judgment, Millie,” he says, his eyes steady on my mom. “And we would be glad to host your friends.”

My mom sighs into her dish. “I’ll pick up some extra snacks at the store on Friday.”

I almost just nod and say thank you. I don’t want to push my luck. But I do anyway. “Maybe they could be like regular snacks and not just rice cakes and stuff.”

Dad chuckles. “I think we can make that happen.”

“Finish your dinner,” my mom tells me. “You probably have a lot of homework piled up.” After a moment, she adds, “I’ve got Runaway Bride on the DVR.”

Later, in my room, while I’m putting the finishing touches on my trig homework, a chat message from Malik pops up in the bottom corner of my computer screen.

Malik.P99: Have you looked at the psych essay questions yet? That last one feels like a trick question.

aMillienBucks: Not yet! I’m saving that for the weekend. :D :D

Maybe the second smiley face is overkill. Chill, Millie.

Malik.P99: Speaking of this weekend . . .

Malik.P99: Well, not this weekend. A weekend.

Malik.P99: My birthday is coming up.

aMillienBucks: Oh yeah! That’s right!

Malik.P99: My mom is having this big birthday party and now she’s got a bunch of family coming into town and she wants me to invite friends.

Malik.P99: She knows I don’t really have a lot of friends.

aMillienBucks: I’m your friend! Amanda, too.

Malik.P99: It’s not going to be fun. Not even a little bit.

aMillienBucks: Not to brag or anything, but I’m sort of known for my morale-boosting skills.

Malik.P99: Mils, really. It’s not going to be fun. There will be aunties everywhere all up in my business, so if you’re not up for an in-depth interview and a lie detector test, I get it.

Mils. He only calls me Mils online when we’re chatting like this at night without anyone around. It feels so . . . familiar.

aMillienBucks: Okay, well if this is you inviting me, then I would love to go to your birthday party and have no fun at all and meet all your aunties. I’ll even bring Amanda if you want.

Malik.P99: Thank you so much. At least we can suffer together.

A burst of fireworks go off in my chest. We chat like this almost every night, leaving our chat windows up from after dinner until one of us falls asleep. It’s almost like being in one of those relationships that’s all lived-in, where silence isn’t uncomfortable.

But then the next day at school, reality always sinks in. I’m constantly left to wonder if the people we are online will ever materialize in real life.

I’m extra rushed in the morning, trying to pull together some semblance of a breakfast while still remembering to turn on the coffeepot for my parents. I overslept and didn’t even have time to work on my personal statement for journalism camp.

After I pull out of the driveway, I have to double back down the street because I forgot to close the garage door. It’s just one of those mornings. My hair is frizzier than normal. I feel ridiculous in my clothes—black leggings with white polka dots and an oversized red sweatshirt, like I’m channeling my homemade Minnie Mouse Halloween costume from fourth grade. Even though I wore this outfit three weeks ago and loved it! It’s like some days you just wake up and your body doesn’t seem to look right in any of your clothes.