Puddin'(48)

I think I hear him gulp. “You do?” he asks.

I inch closer, my mint-green-and-black polka-dot hand-painted Keds kicking up loose dirt.

“I really do.” And I kiss him. I touch my lips to his, which are soft and maple-syrup flavored.

His lips press into mine and both his hands trace up my arms to my shoulders and then up my neck until he’s cradling my face in his hands just like in all the movies I love so much. I fumble with my hands, unsure of what they should be doing or where they should go, until I just let them drop down by my sides. My whole body goes numb in a wonderfully tingly way, and for a moment I think Malik is actually holding me steady with his lips.

I pull back, because if I don’t, we’ll be here for days. He takes my hands in his, like he’s unwilling to end our physical contact entirely.

“I liked that,” he says. “Very much.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime?” I ask before I lean in for one more kiss. And this time I even sneak in a little tongue.

On the way home, we talk about small things like class and Uncle Vernon’s gym and how Malik goes to Portland and San Diego every summer, because most of his family lives in those two places. And he tells me about how his dad moved here for an engineering job but actually took it because he’s always been obsessed with westerns and has always wanted to live in this part of Texas or Arizona or New Mexico. His mom hates it, but their compromise is that they’ll move to a breezy beach town when his dad retires after both Malik and his sister are out of college.

We listen to more music, and when there are a few more songs he wants me to hear, we take a couple extra laps around my neighborhood as he holds my hand.

When he pulls up in front of my house, I let out a big yawn that I’ve been sitting on for a while. It’s already three in the morning. I don’t have to be at the gym until noon, but I know that tonight I’ll barely be able to sleep.

In his car, we share one more kiss. And this one feels more urgent, like we’re trying to hold on to something we’re not quite sure we can re-create.

When I crawl back in through the window, I lose my balance and somersault inside, nearly knocking over my nightstand in the process. It sounds like an elephant is bowling just down the hall from my parents.

I sit there in the dark for a moment, expecting one of them to rush in. But nothing. I slip back into my pj’s and crawl into bed. I can’t shake my disbelief. Malik and I went on a date. I think it’s safe to call it a date. He said he liked me—with his mouth! Then he used that same mouth to kiss me. After I kissed him first, which—OH MY GOSH—I’m just realizing is a thing I did. (Willowdean—and maybe even Callie, too!—would be so proud, I bet.) And I snuck out for the first time ever and I didn’t even get caught.

If somehow each person in the world is only allotted a certain amount of good luck in life, I’m scared I’ve spent all of mine tonight.





Callie


Eighteen


On Saturday, I get to work at noon for my shift with Millie, and I find Inga tapping her toe behind the counter. “I have to go,” she says the moment she sees me.

“Okay.” The door hasn’t even swung shut behind me. “You don’t want to fire me first?”

She squints at me like she’s actually considering it. “Vernon is home with the babies and they’re all sick as pigs.”

“I think the phrase is sick as dogs,” I tell her.

She shoves her sweater into her bag and hoists it onto her shoulder. “Well, you’ve obviously never seen a sick pig.”

I nearly laugh. “You’re right. I haven’t.” I glance up at the clock. Millie should be here by now. “I’ve never worked alone before.”

She pushes open the front door. “Try not to break any windows.” She points up to the camera behind the counter. “I’ll be watching.”

“Ha, ha,” I say dryly, but she’s already halfway to her car.

The only people in the gym are two older guys on the stair climbers and one dad-aged guy on the punching bags. Logically I know that nothing will go wrong, but I also hate that I’m solely responsible for this place when I’ve already done enough damage and shouldered plenty of the blame.

Those bitches. I know the one I should be most angry with right now is Bryce. But I can’t shake that this all started with the Shamrocks, specifically Melissa. I have no way of proving they were all here with me that night. The offer from Sheriff Bell to rat out my cohorts is definitely off the table anyway. But I’ve got dirt on all those girls, and I think it’s time to air some dirty laundry.

Out of habit, I pull out the glass cleaner and get to work. For all I know, Inga is watching me right now via some spy software on her phone. I wouldn’t put it past her.

It’s another twenty minutes before Millie races through the door, her hair mussed and her shoelaces untied. “Oh my gosh,” she pants. “I’m so sorry. I overslept.” But she doesn’t look sleepy. Instead her cheeks are flushed and she’s got a bounce in her step.

“No big,” I tell her.

“I was out super late last night,” she whispers loudly.

I can tell she wants me to ask her what kept her out so late. I can feel the energy vibrating off her. But I’m not taking the bait. Not after the week I had.