Puddin'(65)

“We’ve been cooped up in this room all night hiding from Amanda’s brothers. I’ve forgotten what the outside world even looks like.”

“Fine,” I say. “Be quiet. Amanda’s dad is a light sleeper.”

The three of them follow me downstairs and through the kitchen to the back door, which lets out a long creak as I open it to the milky nighttime sky. I hold the door while they all shuffle through, then let it close softly behind us.

Willowdean and Ellen head to the gate on the side of the house, circling around the pool.

“Y’all, don’t stay out too long,” I say.

Willowdean smacks Ellen’s butt as they shuffle through the gate.

“Oh my God!” says Callie.

“Shhh!” I try to quiet her.

“Amanda didn’t say she had a pool!”

I smile. “It’s not even warm enough out yet.”

She sighs. “I know, but . . .” She sighs again. “A private pool all to yourself in the summer.”

“Well, she does have to share it with her brothers.”

“Can we just put our feet in?” Callie asks. “It’s pretty warm tonight.”

I glance behind us to make sure there are no lights on in the house. “Sure.”

We sit side by side with our feet dangling in the deep end. Amanda’s house is pretty old and so is the pool, but it’s the reason why her dad bought the house. The tiles lining the pool are clearly older than both Amanda and I, but her dad treats this pool like a fourth child.

“Didn’t your, um, ex-boyfriend have a pool?”

Her eyes light up briefly before her whole expression droops. “Yeah, but his dad was weird about having people over.” She holds her hand to her chest. “I was allowed over, but if we wanted to hang with friends, we had to go to the community pool.”

“I see.”

“Which was fine,” she adds. “Except for there never being enough lounge chairs, and kids everywhere. Plus they had to shut down the pool three times last summer for floaters.”

I gasp. “Oh my gosh, like, dead bodies?”

She laughs. “No. More like turds.”

“Ewww,” I say. “Oh man, that’s so gross.” But it’s still sort of interesting to hear about summer in Clover City. I’m usually only here long enough to go swimming with Amanda a few times before I’m off to Daisy Ranch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually gone to the community pool,” I say. Despite my appearance in the Miss Teen Blue Bonnet Pageant might suggest, I’m still coming to terms with wearing swimsuits in front of people. Besides, I think I was too high on adrenaline that day to process much of anything, let alone embarrassment.

“Well, it leaves quite a bit to be desired.” She kicks her feet a little, letting the water splash up above her knees.

“Well, I don’t think I would let it stop me from going, but I do know that the thought of wearing my swimsuit at the public pool in front of everyone from school gives me a little bit of anxiety.” I sigh. “Which is silly, because it’s not like I’m not used to standing out.”

“I hear that.”

I laugh. “Well, you stand out for things that people think are strengths. You’re thin. Pretty. Smart.”

“Mexican,” she says.

“Well, yeah,” I say, a little taken aback. “But that’s not a bad thing to stand out for.”

She sighs. “I know. I just . . . I know it’s probably different, but I know what it’s like to stand out, too. I’ve got my dad and my abuela and my older sister, Claudia. And there are tons of other Latinx kids at school, but at home with my mom, Keith, and Kyla . . . well, they’re all super white, and I am super not. Especially with Claudia out of the house. Sometimes people think I’m not even related to them. Then when people do find out I’m Mexican, they assume my mom is a cleaning lady or that I’m here illegally. Or that I have a fiery temper or that I’m a . . .” She holds her fingers in air quotes. “‘Sexy se?orita.’”

“Wow. That’s really crummy.” In my head, Callie has had such a perfect life up until recently. Dreamboat boyfriend. Traditionally pretty. One of the most talented athletes at school. I may be fat, but no one ever questions whether or not I fit in with my family. Being white, that’s not something I’ve ever had to deal with. “I’m sorry, Callie. I get what it means for people to make decisions about the kind of person you are based on how you look, but I’m still sorry.”

Her lips spread into a faint smile. “Thanks. And hey, I guess if my BFF had this gem in her backyard, I’d keep my distance, too.”

“It’s not just that,” I explain. “I spend most of my summer at camp.”

“Oh.”

“Fat camp.”

I can feel her body tense up a little bit beside me.

“Eight summers,” I say. “Sixteen months, if you add it all up. I even had a camp nickname.”

“A camp nickname?” she asks.

“Yeah. Everyone at camp sort of chooses a nickname for themselves. Or sometimes the nickname chooses you. It kind of helps to separate everyday you from summer-camp you.”

She smiles. “That actually makes sense. So what was your nickname?”