Puddin'(57)

I’m done letting this shit happen to me. I’m done lying down and taking it. Not only did Melissa rat me out, but now she and Sam are trying to ruin whatever reputation I have left. But two can play that game.

The last Saturday before the start of every school year is a sacred day in Shamrock history. It is the day that the incoming team captain hosts a massive sleepover for the entire team. On the surface, it sounds like a silly party—the type of thing wet dreams are made of. But in truth, it is the night when new members of the team commit themselves to the Shamrocks and we begin the transition from a bunch of girls in matching costumes into a sisterhood of girls who have one shared goal: to be the best.

Because no good thing comes without sacrifice, every incoming Shamrock is required to commit one secret they’ve never told a living soul to the Shamrock Bible—a five-inch-thick green-and-gold scrapbook. The outside of the thing is hideous. Chipped sequins, years-old chunks of hot glue, stray feathers, and an excess of glitter paint. We stopped trying to make the thing pretty years ago, and these days, we only concentrate on keeping it in one piece.

The Shamrock Bible is the deepest of all Shamrock secrets. It has existed in some form since the team was started in 1979 and contains every rule and routine and a secret from every member of the team. The current Shamrock Bible dates back to 1995.

The night I went to my first Shamrock sleepover, Isabella Perez, a senior, was hosting.

After her parents went to bed, Isabella led us all up to her attic, where she and the other girls lit a circle of candles. I remember feeling like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.

The entire team sat in a circle. It was the first time I remember being aware of Melissa. She sat next to me. Earlier in the night, she’d been absolutely giddy about her braces coming off the day before school, but now she was quiet and reverential, even. We all were. For us, this was church.

Isabella spoke of the power of sisterhood and how the Shamrocks were the longest-standing all-female team on the Clover City High School campus. “Singular talent has no place here,” she said. “As of today, you are one piece of a much larger machine, and the only way that machine works is through the power of trust and sisterhood.”

In that moment, I could’ve been joining a synchronized golfing team. It didn’t matter. Whatever she was selling, I was buying. And maybe dance was just the vehicle to get me what I was really hungry for: friends. All my life, my mother had talked about her years as a Shamrock and the friendships she made. Her bridesmaids? Shamrocks. Outside the delivery room while she was in labor? Shamrocks. Holding her hand at divorce court? Shamrocks. Crying tears of joy while I stood by her side at her second wedding? Shamrocks.

Isabella unveiled the Shamrock Bible and began to pass it around. “No feelsy bullshit secrets allowed,” she said. “Hard facts. We want truth. Being a Shamrock comes with lots of benefits. Sisterhood. Eternal popularity. Legacy. But all that comes at a price.”

Sam sat on the opposite side of me, and when it was my turn to write my secret down, she nodded encouragingly and smiled. “At least your secret won’t be lonely. Mine’s just a couple pages back.”

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“Later tonight,” she promised.

“Really?” Melissa asked.

“Really,” Sam said. “Once you commit your secret, the book is yours to devour.”

I was mystified by this one silly fact. Everyone would see my secret, yes, but I would see everyone else’s.

I wrote my secret. Sam and Melissa watched as I did. And then it was Melissa’s turn. When she was done, she passed the book on and said, “You saw that, huh?”

I nodded.

“I guess it’s not a secret anymore,” she said.

“It is,” I told her. “It’s a secret I’ll keep forever.”

It takes me almost a week to pull off my plan. The key was to only make a handful of copies every time I was in the front office. The green copy paper is the kind of thing my mom would notice if suddenly a big chunk of it went missing. But it has to be green. I thought about maybe skimming a little off the top of every color in the copy room, but the green paper is something I feel adamant about.

Millie has noticed I’ve been up to something, too. Yesterday at work, she got a peek at the thick stack of green paper in my backpack.

“Oooo!” she said. “Is that a craft project I smell?”

I shook my head. “Are your crafty spidey senses tingling?”

She pursed her lips and pretended to be suspicious, shaking her pointer finger at me. “You can’t hide a crafting habit from me. If you’re a secret crafter, mark my words, Callie Reyes, I’ll find out!”

I laughed. “Trust me,” I said. “None of my secrets have a damn thing to do with crafting.”





Millie


Twenty-One


I have a deep, abiding love for routines. Or maybe routine isn’t the right word? Plans! I love plans. I love opening my day planner and knowing just what to expect. Which is why I am delighted to be sitting at the front desk of the gym, doodling in the square for next Saturday.

Slumber Party Numero Three @ Amanda’s ?

Callie plops down on the stool beside me after putting some towels in the dryer. “That is one intense calendar,” she says.

“Slumber party at Amanda’s,” I tell her. “Next Saturday! You have to go.”