Puddin'(30)

“I only have ten minutes,” I snap, jerking my body away.

“What kind of break is that?”

“Well, I had thirty minutes. But you took your fucking time.”

“Well, this isn’t the reunion I’d imagined.” He pulls around to the back of the parking lot. “But we can do a lot in ten minutes.”

“Not gonna happen,” I tell him. “You were out last night? Did someone have a party? Whose party?” I feel so cut off from the world without even the ability to stalk everyone on social media. “Is Patrick really telling people I was on drugs? What are people saying?”

“Yeah. Kirsten. You know, Volleyball Kirsten. Her and Sam had a thing because Kirsten’s parents were out of town.”

“You mean Volleyball Kirsten with her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts? Yes, I know Volleyball Kirsten.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“What’s your deal?” he asks. “Are you pissed at me for going out? I’ve heard nothing from you for days, okay? Radio silence. All your mom would say was that you were paying your debt to society. I heard Sheriff Bell tried to get you to snitch, though, and you were a steel trap. That’s my baby.”

“Well, keeping my mouth shut has gotten me absolutely nowhere.” I shake my head, because in this moment of weakness right now, I’m pretty sure I’d drag the whole team down with me if I could. “Bryce, I’ve lost everything. The team, my social life, my job. It’d be nice if I didn’t have to worry about you and Volleyball Kirsten, okay?”

He drags his fingers up the length of my thigh. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about me. I can fend off the ladies when you’re not around to mark your territory.”

Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better. “What about Sam?” I ask. “Has she asked about me?”

He studies the leather of his steering wheel before shaking his head.

I glance down at the time on his dashboard. “I only have four minutes left.”

“Why the hell are you working here, by the way?”

I bite down on my lip. “I could explain, or we could make out for four minutes.”

He laughs. “Option two, please.”





Millie


Eleven


Judge not, lest you be judged. Judge not, lest you be judged. Judge not, lest you be judged. I repeat Matthew 7:1 over and over again in my head. It’s one of my favorite verses, and one I often find is either misused or ignored altogether.

I knew working with Callie would test my patience. She’s just one of those girls. The kind of girl who I’m sure is smart, but gets by on pretty. She doesn’t have to go out of her way to be polite or sweet to anyone, because she’s not trying to make up for something else. I know people think I’m just a ball of cheer, and I am. Sometimes. But I don’t exactly get to be moody or snappy when I don’t feel like putting on a happy face, because when most people meet me, I’m already starting out with a deficit. Fat girls don’t get that luxury.

I take a deep breath as the door swings open and Callie returns from her break. Judge not, lest you be judged. Judge not, lest you be judged.

Every muscle in my body has been spun tight since this afternoon. Even my jaw is starting to throb. Ow! I hold a hand to my cheek. “How was your break?” I ask.

Callie pulls down on her shirt around her waist and checks her makeup in the mirror behind the front desk. “It was whatever.”

What does that even mean? “Was that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Bryce.” Something about her voice feels far away, and suddenly I wonder if we don’t speak such different languages after all. “We haven’t spoken for days,” she adds.

“Were y’all fighting?” I ask a little too quickly.

She looks up. “Nope. Just been grounded. From absolutely everything. I can’t even go back to school until Monday.”

“Why are you grou—”

She smirks bitterly and motions around. “Why do you think?”

“Sorry,” I say automatically, even though I don’t have a darn thing to apologize for.

“Not your fault.” She plops down onto the stool beside me, like she’s resigned herself to this.

I suck in a breath through my teeth. I wonder if she knows that I was the one who identified her.

“What about you?” she asks. “Got a boyfriend?”

The way she says it almost reminds me of that taunting singsong voice I’ve spent so much of my life hearing when I walk by. I watch her from the corner of my eye for a second before turning to face her. “It’s complicated.”

She nods. “It always is.”

“So we went to the Sadie Hawkins together in the fall.” I immediately feel ridiculous for spilling these details she didn’t even ask for. But once I start thinking about Malik, my brain turns into a fire hydrant that I just can’t manage to shut off. And with cleaning the gym and catching up on schoolwork, I’ve barely even been able to talk to him for the last week. “And there was a kiss. Well, a peck. But nothing since then. Nada!”

She crosses her legs, holding her chin in her hand with her elbow rested on her knee. It’s like she’s a doctor giving me her prognosis. “So it started with the Sadie Hawkins dance, which I’m guessing means you asked him. The ball’s in his court at this point.”