Puddin'(60)

“So what do you think?” I know she’ll be honest with me.

“What do I think?” she sputters nervously. “Well, I’m not, like, some professional future-plans analyzer, but it sounds . . . good?”

“Just good?” I ask, trying to mask my disappointment.

“Well.” She pauses. “I don’t really know much about TV anchors or anything like that, but I bet it’s a really tough industry. And you’re . . .” She waves her hand around like she might just magically find the right word.

“And I’m what?” My voice carries some bite.

“Well, you’re on camera all the time, right?” She looks down at her feet and swallows loudly. “People are just super shallow.”

“You don’t think I can be on camera?” I ask, my voice cracking. I knew that bringing this up to Callie was a gamble. But her doubt hurts. I know that in the world of TV, I will face this same hesitation at every turn, so I do my best to numb myself to it. But still, I feel it. I can’t help it. Disappointment washes over me until I’m just submerged in it. I close my eyes and exhale, counting to five.

“That’s not what I said.” Her voice is quiet.

I open my eyes and turn to her, doing all that I can to quiet my feelings. “Sometimes it’s about what you don’t say,” I tell her. “First you were surprised to know that I knew how to work all the equipment at the gym. Maybe it’s equally shocking to learn that I want to be on the news.”

She shakes her head. “You should do whatever you want, okay?” She pulls her backpack into her lap. “What does it even matter what I think? It’s not like we’re friends.”

I hold a breath in to stop the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. Who am I kidding? I can’t numb myself. I feel it all. Every dang thing. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess we’re not.”

She hops out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

I wait for her to go in through her front door, but she’s halfway up the sidewalk when she turns around and raps her knuckles on my window for me to roll it down.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, wiping away an angry tear.

“Listen, Millie.”

Here it is. The moment where she tells me to face reality. To grow a thicker skin. Fat girls don’t report the news. I shake my head. I’m done hearing from people like her about what they think I’m capable of.

She drops her backpack in the grass and says, “I actually think you’re really fucking cool. And that’s totally not what I expected to think about you. My whole life is a mess right now, so maybe I’m not the person you should be listening to, but I think you can do anything you want. I don’t say things to make people feel good. I say them because they’re true.”

I’m taken aback. It’s one of those rare moments in my life when I actually have no words. “Thank you? I think?”

“You’re welcome,” she says gruffly. She scrubs her hands over her face. “And I’m sorry about what I said at the gym awhile back in front of Mitch, and I’m sorry if I looked like I doubted you today just now. But people are assholes, Millie.” She points to herself. “I am an asshole! And . . .” She takes a deep breath. “I guess my first instinct was to discourage you because . . . well, I guess I wanted to protect you from assholes like me. But that just made me an even bigger asshole, because I shouldn’t be standing in your way. I should be telling you to do whatever the hell you want.”

“Which means we’re friends?” Doubt rings in my voice.

She nods quickly and laughs a little frantically. “Yeah. I think so.”

I smile a little. I’m glad that she considers me a friend, but I’ve also spent my entire life living under the umbrella of my overprotective parents, and if friends are the family you choose, I choose not to be friends with people who try to hold me back. “I don’t need you to protect me,” I tell her.

“Good.” And then she adds, “I don’t think you’re weak, Millie. Not at all. I just . . . I’m starting to realize that I’m the kind of person you should be protected from. I’m the jerk or the bully or whatever.”

“You don’t have to be”—I clear my throat—“an a-hole, as you put it.”

She picks up her backpack and shakes her head. “That’s what you keep telling me. Maybe someday it will stick.”

When I get home, I sit in the driveway for a minute to text Malik. My mind is absolutely spinning, but somehow I still find myself focused. I have tasks that need accomplishing. I need help, and the only way to get it is by asking for it.

ME: I need your help with something.

MALIK: Is it legal?

ME: I am a strictly by-the-books kind of girl.

MALIK: Dangit. I was hoping to make my criminal debut.

ME: Do you have any access to the AV equipment at school?

MALIK: Do I have access? DO I HAVE ACCESS? I am access.

ME: You? Me? Sunday afternoon? A room full of AV equipment?

MALIK: Sounds like a date.

When I get to school on Tuesday morning, it takes me a moment to realize there’s something different about the main hallway where the front office is, like my eyes are adjusting to a bright light.

It’s green. The whole hallway is green.