Puddin'(36)

I head straight to the front office to do morning announcements, hoping to find that spring in my step but failing.

Between first and second periods, I find Amanda waiting at my locker, tugging the straps of her backpack and twisting her toe into the linoleum. A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I relive my wisdom-tooth text-message fiasco. I might’ve been drugged, but I made something that was very much about Amanda about me and my feelings. I should’ve reached out to her over the weekend, but I didn’t know where to start. I take a deep breath and tuck all thoughts of my mom and Daisy Ranch aside. Trying to fix more than one thing at a time usually means I can only give half a mind to a whole problem. So first: Amanda.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks immediately.

I nod and touch my cheek. “A little sore. Mom said she can’t believe I had to get my wisdom teeth out. Her and Uncle Vernon never did.”

She nods, but there’s something about her that feels off.

“We should talk,” I offer.

She waves her hand and her whole body bounces back, like she’d just as soon tiptoe around the issue. “Psh! Nothing to talk about. Well, I mean, between us.” She leans down and whispers, “But oh my God! What did you send to Malik?”

I release a heavy breath, but I can’t hide my smile. “Well, I’ve got some damage control to do, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” I’ve backed out of one tough conversation already this morning; I won’t do it again. “You know those texts I sent you about my feelings?”

She nods silently.

“That was just about me wanting you to always feel like I’m here for you and not about me thinking there’s anything wrong with you being . . . asexual.” I test out the word, wanting to be sure I’m using it in the right way. I take a step closer and cup her arm with my hand. “You’re my best friend. The only one who’s ever willing to go all in on my ridiculous plans and the only one whose faith in me is unwavering. I want you to be able to tell me everything. And if it’s something I don’t understand, I want to learn. And I know it’s not on you to teach me about it.”

Her lips split into a half smile. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. I just didn’t know how. And . . .” She shakes her head. “When we were playing Two Truths and a Lie, it felt like a good time to just get it out there. Like, it wouldn’t be some big deal. It’s just my sexual orientation in the same way that you’re straight and Hannah’s a lesbian. I wanted to tell you, but I also know that you’re always looking for a solution. So I was scared you’d think this was something that needed fixing.”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I don’t think you’re broken,” I say. And I mean it. “I love you because you’re Amanda,” I tell her. “And that means loving all the little and big things that make you—you!”

Amanda throws her arms around me and squeezes relentlessly. We’ve never been the type to hug much. Not like Ellen and Willowdean. But in a way, I’m okay with that. Because this hug—this suffocatingly tight hug that Amanda has perfected from years of wrestling with her brothers—means so much more.

After lunch, I rush over to AP Psych in the hopes that I’ll catch Malik a little early and maybe we can talk. If I’m being honest, I have totally daydreamed about this moment. Us in Mr. Prater’s dark classroom with the twinkling lights. Except in my daydream, no one else is there. We would talk and talking would turn into kissing and kissing would turn into love and love would turn into forever.

I know, I know. But aren’t daydreams supposed to be embarrassing?

I settle into my seat and wait for Malik. Slowly students begin to trickle in, and my daydream begins to dissipate. The second-to-last bell rings, and Mr. Prater strolls in with a fresh mustard stain on his tie. He waits in the doorway for any stragglers, and just as the final bell rings, Malik squeezes in past him.

He plops down beside me and says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” I echo. Our eyes lock for one . . . two . . . three seconds before he looks away and we are right back where we started.

I turn away and reach into my bag for my textbook. I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, because if I don’t, I might just cry.

When Mr. Prater isn’t looking, I shoot off a quick text to the one person I know has carried the weight of a truly painful crush.

ME: I’m having a CRUSH-911.

She responds almost immediately, which surprises me, even after all this time, because I’ve always felt like she’s way too cool for me.

WILLOWDEAN: Operator. What’s your emergency?





Callie


Fourteen


Life without a cell phone is a desert without water. It’s killing me.

I literally asked Kyla to play Scrabble with me the other night. (For the record, I won. Obviously.) The only lifeline I have to Bryce is school, and my mom’s been checking in on me in every single class. The woman is a hawk.

I stand behind the counter at the gym wiping down the same spot of glass over and over again to give the appearance that I am indeed very busy. Millie and her uncle are doing some routine maintenance on the weight equipment. Today, Tuesday, is her first day back since her emergency wisdom-teeth removal, and I nearly hugged the girl when I saw her.

While she was gone, I was left to finish my training with Inga. She tried to fire me four times, despite the fact that she’s not paying me, and even made me go stand outside in the giant muscle suit while I waved around a big NEW MEMBERSHIP SPECIALS sign. When I asked her why, she said I was breathing too loudly.