Puddin'(31)

“Right. And we talk. But there hasn’t been any kissing. And I like the talking. But I really would prefer the kissing.”

She shrugs. “When it’s good, it’s good.”

I nod longingly as I remember that moment with Malik in the parking lot of the school, the lights above us creating little glowing pools as we stood at the edge of one. “Tonight is his family birthday party, and he invited me and my friend Amanda. So maybe something will happen tonight?”

“Hmmm.” She muses to herself for a moment. “Him inviting your friend tonight too is a major friend-zone sign. It’s been a while now since the dance, though, and you can’t just wait around for him forever.”

Oh my gosh! She gets it! “Right?” Maybe she isn’t as awful as Willowdean said.

“Give him one more shot,” she says. “But you gotta be smooth about it. Put yourself out on a limb for him just once more, and if nothing comes of it, at least you know you did everything you could.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s such bullshit the way we’re made to think that only boys can go after girls. What about what we want?”

“Yes! Why should I have to sit around and wait for him to be brave enough? Maybe I’m plenty brave for the both of us.”

Callie slinks back a little, like something about what I’ve said or my voice or something has just reminded her who she’s talking to: Millie, the fat girl. And not the cute fat girl. Not like Willowdean. I can practically hear Patrick Thomas oinking in the distance.

My jaw throbs again, and this time I wince.

“Are you okay?” asks Callie.

I hold my hand to my cheek again. “Yeah. Just a toothache. You think you’re okay out here for a minute?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” she asks.

I look at her for a moment, and she rolls her eyes. “I promise not to trash the place while you’re gone, okay?”

I nod, secretly thankful that she put it out there before I had to. I shuffle to Uncle Vernon’s office, holding my cheek. I can feel the pain all the way down to my toes. I’ve had a toothache before, but this is something different altogether. I sit down at the desk and just close my eyes for a few moments as the throbbing thrums through me like a tuning fork.

Finally I reach for the first-aid kit, but find the bottle of ibuprofen completely empty. I reach for the office phone and do what I’ve done anytime something hurts more than I can handle. I call my mom.

She answers after only half a ring. “Millie?” she asks, recognizing the gym number on her cell. “Is everything okay, sweetie?”

I don’t normally call during work, and she’s been a little on edge since the place was vandalized anyway. “I’m fine,” I answer automatically. “Well, no, actually I’m not. My mouth is throbbing, Mom.”

“Is it a toothache?” she asks. “You didn’t crack a tooth, did you? Your grandmother did that once on a piece of hard candy.”

“No, it feels worse than a normal toothache. This is more at the back of my mouth. And Mom, it just hurts so bad. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Oh dear,” she says. “That would be your wisdom teeth.”

I don’t know exactly what this means, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Let me call Dr. Shepherd.” Before I was born, my mom was one of Dr. Shepherd’s dental hygienists, and she’s never been shy about calling in a favor.

“Mama, it’s almost six o’clock on a Friday.”

“Well,” she huffs, “I don’t expect that your wisdom teeth know or care what day or time it is.”

“But I’m supposed to go to Malik’s birthday party with Amanda.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere but the dentist today. Just stay put in that back office, and I’ll be up there in a jiff with Vernon so he can lock the place up.”

The moment we hang up, I slump forward, laying my head on the desk, and the next thing I know, my mom is guiding me to her car and I’m mumbling to Uncle Vernon to teach Callie how to close down the gym and then I’m in Dr. Shepherd’s office.

The last thing I remember hearing are the words “emergency wisdom teeth removal” as I lie absolutely helpless with Dr. Shepherd’s fingers in my mouth and a bib around my neck.

Everything after that is fuzzy, like how I imagine it would be to live in a place where snow falls so endlessly you can’t see more than two feet in front of you. Snow in my hair. Snow melting on my cheeks. Snow in my eyelashes. Snow everywhere.





Callie


Twelve


If I didn’t have to bear the brunt of Inga’s wrath, I’d actually respect the woman. When she and Vernon showed up with their two screaming babies, she didn’t even acknowledge me. Her chief concerns were helping Millie to the car and counting the register to be sure I hadn’t stolen anything.

While she did that, Vernon rocked both their twins back and forth in their huge double stroller. I use the word twins generously. Those boys are little screaming demons. I don’t know what kind of contract with the devil Vernon and Inga inked to get stuck with two beet-faced howlers.

“Callie,” says Vernon, “could you double count the register while Inga prepares the deposit sheet?”