Puddin'(3)

But LCF filed for bankruptcy without any warning, so now Uncle Vernon and Aunt Inga are on their own with this place, and without a safety net. Between all the investments they’ve already made here and newborn twins, the success of this gym has turned out to be more important than ever. Last time I was at their house, I saw a stack of late notices from the water and electric companies, and I just can’t shake the image. This place is their last hope, and I’m not about to let it fail.

I point to a puke stain on Vernon’s shoulder. “You’ve got some clean shirts in the office.”

He glances at the stain. “I don’t, actually. This was the last one.” He plops his head down on the counter. “Nothing will ever be clean. Luka and Nikolai had the toxic shits last night. We might just have to condemn the whole house. All is lost, Millie. Poopocalypse has claimed every last soul.”

I try not to laugh, but I can’t help smiling. Vernon is the only person in my family who cusses, and something about him doing it in front of me makes me feel somehow older and cooler than I actually am. “I washed the shirts in your office with the towels last night.” He picks up his head, and I get a good whiff of him. Toxic is about right. “Maybe hop in the showers, too? We normally don’t see anyone for another twenty minutes anyway.”

Vernon lifts his arm up and sniffs. “Well, guess I don’t wanna scare off any potential new members.”

I muster my most encouraging smile. “Right! Now, you know where the new membership packets are, and we’re starting that promo with Green’s Vitamins, remember? Those flyers are on your desk. And just . . .”

“Don’t take no for an answer,” he says, finishing Inga’s business mantra. (Well, really, just her mantra in general.)

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Inga’s been slashing our budgets like crazy lately. She could star in her own horror movie. Or maybe she could be a wrestler. Invincible Inga the Budget Assassin.” He turns and shuffles toward the showers, his shoulders sloped. I decide not to tell him about the brown mystery stain on his back.

“Just throw that shirt in the dirty towel hamper,” I call as I let myself out the front door.

I slide into the minivan and glance up to the Down for the Count sign flickering above, with the W in “Down” completely out—something I take a mental note of for our long list of needed repairs.

As I pull out into the street, I hit the call button on the steering wheel. “Call Amanda!” I shout.

“Calling Panda,” the robot car voice responds.

“No. End call. Do not call Panda. Call Amanda.”

“Searching for Panda Express.”

“No!” I moan and turn the whole radio off and on before trying again. “Call Amanda!”

There’s a long pause before the robot voice answers me. “Calling Amanda.”

“Finally,” I mumble.

The line rings for a moment before Amanda groans into my speakers.

“Good morning, beautiful!” I say. “You are smart. You are talented. You are kind.”

“There is nothing good about mornings,” she says, her voice muffled by what sounds like a pillow. “But at least you got the beautiful thing right. Smart? Talented? Kind? I’ll work on those.”

“All mornings are good,” I tell her. “It’s those afternoons that ruin everything.” I chuckle at myself, but Amanda’s silence is evidence that she doesn’t find my humor cute. “Daily affirmations. I read about it last week. You speak the things you want to be. I figured it’d be easier if we affirmed each other. Spice things up!”

“I can play this game,” she says. “I just say good things for you to be.”

“Pretty much.”

“You are a plate of hash brown. You are a waffle. You are a cinnamon roll.”

“Amanda!” I roll my eyes. “Take this seriously.”

“What? I’m hungry and no one is taking that seriously.” She huffs into her receiver. “Are you on your way?” she asks. “Get out of my room, Tommy!” she growls. “Sorry. My brother.”

“Be waiting for me outside. I’ve got morning announcements.” I grin. “Be there in ten. And maybe we can stop for breakfast.”

“I’m awake, Mom!” she shouts again. “Please hurry,” she whispers into the phone.

“You owe me three affirmations!” I remind her as I press down harder on the gas. A friend in need is a friend indeed.





Callie


Two


Melissa and I sit on the floor of the gym, facing each other with our legs spread and our feet touching. Our hands clasp together as we stretch, pulling each other back and forth. She sits up, and her dark burgundy ponytail on the very top of her head swings forward as she pulls me toward her. I’m trying really hard not to breathe in, though, since the gymnasium floor seriously smells like balls.

“Our after-school practices next week were bumped to the band room,” I tell Melissa.

She looks up from her stretch. “Are you shitting me?”

“Nope. Coach Spencer is scrambling because the football team’s indoor facility isn’t done yet, so they’re moving everyone’s practices around so the team can have the gym and the weightlifting equipment.”