Puddin'(59)

I grin. “I’d be happy to.”

Once we’re in the minivan, I turn on the ignition, buckle my seat belt, and check my mirrors. I look to Callie.

“What?” she asks.

“Seat belts save lives,” I say.

She sighs loudly and reaches across her shoulder to click her seat belt.

“Let’s motor!” I check both ways before pulling out onto the road.

She gasps. “Wait!”

I slam on the brakes and look both ways feverishly. “Was it a cat?” I swear, I live in fear of the day I accidentally hit an animal with my van.

“No, no,” she says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just realized I forgot some stuff at school. Could you swing me by there for a few minutes?”

I glance at the clock on the dash. “Sure thing,” I say.

While I wait outside the school for Callie, I text my parents to let them know I’m running a little late. My mom responds with a frowny face and promises she’ll leave a plate for me in the fridge.

I watch my clock as ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Just as we’re approaching the thirty-minute mark and I’m getting ready to turn off the car and go in search of her, Callie sprints out the main entrance and straight for the van.

I lean across the console to hold the door open for her. “Hey!” she pants. “Sorry. Couldn’t find my, uh, geography workbook at first.”

“I hope you found it.” I don’t bother hiding the annoyance in my voice.

She holds both thumbs up. “All good.”

As I approach the light at the end of the street, I take the turn opposite of my house and head into the older part of Clover City, where Callie lives. I’m a little peeved with how she just took her sweet time looking for her book, but I’m determined to be her friend. “So, now that dance team is out of the picture,” I say, “what are you gonna do when you’re done working off your debt at the gym?”

She squirms in her seat a bit and glances in the side-view mirror at the empty road behind us. “Well, I guess I’ll try to get my job back at Sweet 16. They let me take off the last few months for the competitive dance season.” She sighs. “The employee discount on clothes was pretty great.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

“But I don’t know. I guess you could say everything was sort of riding on dance. I thought maybe it’d get me into college and—I know this is crazy—but I thought I could try dancing for a professional sports team. Like with the NBA or something.” She rolls her eyes. “Those girls are barely paid anything, but I would’ve made it work somehow. And sometimes you even get to travel with the team.”

“That would’ve been pretty amazing,” I say.

“Well, that dream is sort of shot. It’s not like I can go to another high school or something. We just have the one.”

“So was dancing your passion? Like, the thing you want to do no matter what?”

She thinks about that for a long minute. “I’m really good at it. It was nice to have built-in friends . . . if I can even call them that anymore. And I liked being a co–assistant captain and telling people what to do. I like being looked at—that sounds gross, but I don’t mean it like that. I just—”

“You like the spotlight?” I offer.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Well, if you’re open to other options, I’m sure there are lots of things you’re good at that would include bossing people around and being the center of attention.”

She taps her pointer finger against her lips. “Well, that makes me sound like a bitch.”

I laugh a little.

She shrugs. “But I’ve never really been bad at anything either.”

Most people would mistake Callie’s honesty for ego. And trust me. She’s got plenty of ego. But there’s something more to it. Something that feels like self-awareness. And I like it. Because I think maybe Callie would probably admit her flaws in the same way she recognizes her strengths.

She shimmies her shoulders, like she’s shaking off whatever thoughts she’s just lost herself in. “What about you? You gonna work at this gym your whole life or what?”

I tap the brake as we roll up to a stop sign. I turn to her as the car in front of me waits to go. I’m not ashamed of my dreams. But something in me has always felt like the more people you share your hopes with, the flimsier they become. Suddenly everyone else is poking holes in your future until there’s not much left to hope for at all.

“I have plans,” I finally say.

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” I say. “I have plans.”

“And what exactly do your plans entail?”

I pull up in front of Callie’s house and put my parking brake on. After unbuckling my seat belt, I turn to face her. “It all starts this summer. The first domino in my plan.”

And then my plans spill from my mouth like a faucet turned all the way on. I tell Callie about the broadcast journalism camp at UT Austin this summer and how I’m going there after graduation, too. I tell her my five-year goals and my ten-year goals and my lifetime goals. I tell her absolutely everything.

And then I sit back and wait for her reaction.

“Wow,” she says, but her tone is hard to decipher, like she’s impressed but doubtful. “You really do have plans.”