Puddin'(34)

“Well, I thought she was just being funny. You know I can never tell when Amanda is joking or not, but she said your social life depended on it.” She chuckles to herself. “So I took it out of your room. I figured better safe than sorry.” She winks as she twirls around to grab a jar of dried parsley off her spice rack.

I hit a button on the side of my phone, lighting up the screen to see that I’m almost out of battery. “I’m gonna go brush my hair and charge this thing for a bit.”

“Okay, sweets, this soup will just simmer for a bit longer before it’s ready. And I’ve got some prescription toothpaste and mouthwash for you when you’re ready to brush your teeth.”

I smack my lips together. If my breath smells half as gross as my mouth feels, I’m in pretty rough shape. “After the soup,” I tell her.

She smiles sympathetically. “I must have dropped at least eight pounds when I had my wisdom teeth removed, so that’s something to look forward to.”

Somehow it always comes back to weight loss. But I’m too uncomfortable and groggy to engage with this right now. “I’ll be in my room.”

Back in my room, I search for a charging cord so that I can charge my phone and use it at the same time. I quickly scroll through my text messages. What could have possibly been so horrible that Amanda would call my mom and tell her to take my phone away?

The first text message exchange is between Willowdean and me.

ME: hey youuuuu

WILLOWDEAN: Millie? Hey

ME: what if there was an app that texted you every day to tell you something awesome about yourself but what if the app was like real stuff like it knew you but not in a creepy robot way

WILLOWDEAN: That sounds awesome, but are you okay right now?

ME: I AM GRAND

ME: like if I were the app robot I would say Willowqueen, you have balls of steel and that makes you awesome have an awesome day love your awesome app robot

ME: so genius

WILLOWDEAN: Balls of steel? Am I being pranked? Did someone steal Millie’s phone?

ME: boop boop beep boop

ME: that’s robot for shhh good night

“Oh my God.” I clap a hand over my mouth. My cheeks burn with instant embarrassment. Balls of steel? I don’t think I’ve ever even said the word balls out loud.

I’ve heard of this happening. People just totally out of it on painkillers and doing or saying ridiculous things. But I was so tired. I barely even remember coming home last night.

Still, I’m scared to dive into whatever other messes I might have gotten myself into. But it’s a car wreck. And I can’t look away. Plus I’ve got to get into damage-control mode at the very least. What if I said something rude or hurtful? Or accidentally told someone’s secret? Or my own secrets?

I scroll down to the next message. Amanda.

ME: my feelings ache

AMANDA: Huh?

ME: it’s like a stomachache, but with my heart and not the one in my body I mean the feelings heart. the heart-shaped heart not the fist-shaped heart

AMANDA: Millie?

ME: i want you to always feel like we can talk

AMANDA: I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you drunk?

ME: I like you for always okay but I felt like a bad friend for not knowing that you’re asexual

ME: I had to have my wise teeth taken out but only the very smartest ones and that’s why i missed malik’s party, but it’s okay i told him i wouldn’t be there and that we should kiss for fun

AMANDA: OMG MILLIE WHERE ARE YOU

AMANDA: Throw your phone. Do it. Right now. Throw it as far as you can. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

I clutch my phone to my chest. Oh Lord Baby Jesus. What did I do? I need to talk to Amanda. I can’t believe I told her my feelings were hurt—when I had no right to even have hurt feelings to begin with! And Malik.

I take a deep breath and hold the phone out in front of me as I click on my message thread with Malik.

ME: no party for me :(

MALIK: Oh ok. Did something just come up? You seemed excited the other night.

ME: I was excited but were you is the real question

MALIK: I don’t get it. Did I do something wrong?

ME: if being cute and wearing your stupid pennies in your stupid loafers and always having a kissable face is wrong then yes you do all the things wrong mister sir

I roll over onto my side and pull the blankets over my head. With my face pressed deep into my pillow, I scream as loud as I can. The world is a cruel, cruel place. And what’s even worse is that those were only the first few in a very long series of messages. After a few more screams, I emerge from my blankets with my hair even more mussed than it was to begin with.

I inhale for two deep breaths, taking my time to exhale each time. My breath is truly unpleasant.

MALIK: Wow. Well, this party would be a whole lot better if you were here. That’s for sure.

MALIK: And I think you’re cute, too. And pretty and basically every synonym for pretty.

I gasp, and the rush of air actually hurts the wounds on my gums, but holy cannoli! Did Malik say that? And he wasn’t even doped up on painkillers. He was just regular Malik, sitting around at his birthday party full of people, telling me I’m pretty.

ME: well if that’s true you could’ve kissed my face after the dance and not just pretended like it never happened you weirdo

I pump my fist into the air. “You go, girl!” I say, my voice no louder than a stage whisper. It’s like I’m reading a really good book—the kind that makes you feel like you’ve swallowed fireflies—except this time I’m the main character of the book. I’m the love interest! I’m the girl who gets the guy! And girls like me? You don’t find us in fairy tales or on the covers of romance novels.