Puddin'(33)

I tiptoe down the stairs to the drawer in the kitchen where Keith leaves his work phone. It used to be that’d he’d get calls at all hours of the night. Finally Mama put her foot down and said their bedroom wasn’t big enough for her, him, and the phone. So from the hours of eleven p.m. to seven a.m., this is where his work phone lives. I’ve saved the chance to sneak a call on the phone for something important, and this is important. Keith won’t notice a random outgoing call.

I go into the living room and throw a blanket over my head to muffle my voice.

The line rings six or seven times before a voice answers. “Hello?”

“This isn’t Sam,” I say immediately.

“Callie?” asks Melissa. “Is that you?”

“What are you doing with Sam’s phone? Are you, like, stalking her now? Don’t worry. You’re a real shoo-in for captain now.”

“We’ve been trying to call you. I even went by your house, but your stepdad said you were grounded. And not that it’s any of your business, but I’m spending the night at Sam’s. We’re discussing the future of the team.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, the administration is all over our asses,” she says. “We can barely sneeze without them noticing.”

Well, being nice was fun while it lasted. “All over your asses? I got kicked off the damn team.”

She sighs. “That was really shitty, but, like, are you surprised?”

“I’m surprised that everyone let me take the fall on my own.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “You can’t be calling us, Callie,” she says. “We can’t have you associating with the team. We need the school board to think you were the only one from the dance team there. Especially with State in a few weeks.”

I can barely process all that she just said, but State? How? “Y’all are going to State?”

Her tone changes. It’s that voice she uses to trick Sam into thinking she has everything under control. “The car wash was, like, a super-big success, and Bryce’s dad agreed to triple whatever we raised. He says we can do more car washes if we make it to Nationals, and he’ll triple what we earn every time.”

My shoulders sink. “Oh.”

“I have to go,” she says. “Sam’s coming back.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“No,” she says. “You don’t. The dance team can’t be associated with you. The sooner everyone forgets that you didn’t act alone, the better.”

“But . . . but I didn’t act alone. You were there, too, Melissa.”

“I left,” she reminds me. “And no one cares who was there as long as someone pays the price.”

“I know you’re the one who ratted me out.” It feels good to finally say it out loud.

The phone cuts out. I yank the blanket off my head and squeeze my hands into two tight fists. Oh, I’m passionate, all right. And right now my passion is making Melissa’s life hell. I’m gonna burn it all down.





Millie


Thirteen


I sleep for days. I think. I have vague memories of my parents coming in and out of my room and cotton balls in my mouth and bloody drool. One recurring dream haunts me: an out-of-body experience where I watch myself writing my personal statement for journalism camp. Except every time I finish, the page is blank, like I’ve been writing with invisible ink. And then another where I’m doing my audition tape 100 percent naked.

When I do come out of it, I wake up in a panic. My bedroom is hot with afternoon sunlight. I reach for my phone on my nightstand, but it’s not in the pineapple-shaped charging cradle where I set it every night like clockwork. After taking a moment to rub my eyes and pry myself out of bed, I stumble out into the kitchen, where my mom is chopping celery and simmering chicken stock for chicken noodle soup.

I open my mouth to speak, but my jaw punishes me immediately with a shooting pain. Cradling my cheek, I groan.

My mom spins on her heels. “You’re up! Oh, sweet pea, I could’ve brought this to your room. Do you need something?”

I sit on the bar stool across the breakfast bar from her. “My mouth hurts.” My throat nearly cracks from dryness, and my tongue feels heavy and swollen in my mouth. “What time is it?”

My mom glances at the microwave. “Three thirty in the afternoon. You’ve been out since we got home from Dr. Shepherd’s last night.”

I nod. “Did he give me anything for the pain?”

“Awww, sweetie,” my mom coos. “Yes, he did. And you’re due for a dose in about thirty minutes.” She comes around the other side of the breakfast bar to smooth out my hair a little. “You slept good and hard.”

“I didn’t see my cell phone on my nightstand. Did I leave it at the gym or something? I could’ve sworn I brought it home.”

She reaches into the pocket of her apron. “Well, it was just the weirdest thing. Amanda called the house phone last night and said I oughta take your phone away from you. Immediately. She wouldn’t say why, except that your life depended on it. You know I like Amanda, but she’s a touch dramatic.”

“Huh.” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to detangle some knots. “And you did? Take my phone away?”