Puddin'(68)

“Then I’ll burn the evidence,” he promises. “But I doubt there’s anything you’re horrible at.”

“Just you wait and see.” I take a seat behind the desk. “You didn’t witness the woodcarving disaster of 2014.”

He laughs. “I’m sure it was awful. I tried messing with the lights, but they’re super old. Let me know if they’re too bright, though, and I’ll see what I can do.”

I nod. My throat is dry and I feel my whole body freezing up, one joint at a time. I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea. I should’ve figured out some way to do this on my own, without any outside help. But this is the only way I could make it look professional. Still, I can barely stand the idea of Malik watching me as I announce sort of fabricated news for a school that doesn’t even have a news channel.

“I’ll add in the graphics later,” he tells me. “Like the little box above your shoulder. I’ll start rolling now, and you can go whenever you want. I can edit out any major mess-ups, but it’ll look cleanest if you can make it through without any hiccups.”

I nod and clear my throat. I take a swig from the bottle of water I left under the desk. “Okay.” I close my eyes and count to ten as I let out a long, deep breath. I can do this. I can totally do this.

I open my eyes. “Good morning, Clover City High. This is Millie Michalchuk, reporting from the Lucky Seven News—sorry,” I say. “I had to come up with a name for the news channel. Is that dumb?” I ask.

“Totally not dumb,” he says. “But maybe start over.”

“Right,” I say. Every possible doubt is racing through my mind right now. I smile, but not too hard. Just a natural, welcoming smile. I hope. All I can hear is the sound of my heart thumping, my blood pumping. Everything else is a dull buzz. I close my eyes again and count to ten. Breathe. Just breathe. The pumping blood. My beating heart. It all fades, and for a moment I can hear it in my head. My intro music. A cameraman doing a countdown until . . . three, two, one. I open my eyes. We’re live.

“Good morning, Clover City High.” My voice sounds like butter. “This is Millie Michalchuk, reporting from the Lucky Seven News studio in the heart of Clover City High.” I can do this. I can really do this. “First up today, we have a follow-up report on the mystery-meat situation in the cafeteria. After various tests performed by both the biology and chemistry clubs, the president of the chemistry club, Jessica Banks, has confirmed that the sloppy joe meat, which also doubles as chili, among other things, is indeed ground turkey and not beef. The nonmeat substance found in the mix appears to be bean filler to save on costs, Jessica ventured when asked. When speaking with Vice Principal Benavidez, I was told that the meat is safe for consumption by everyone except vegetarians. The construction on the new indoor training facility for the football team is nearly complete and it’s expected to be up and running just in time for summer training camp. Meanwhile, other teams on campus, including the incredibly successful Shamrocks, continue to fall victim to lack of sponsorship and district-wide budgetary cuts.”

I continue on for another ten minutes with the boys’ soccer report, the casting choices for the spring play, and rumors of an Algebra One cheating ring among the freshman class.

After I’m finished, we do it twice more, just in case, and we even do some outside footage of me reporting from the new granite reflection bench donated by the class of 1995. I can feel myself nailing it. It takes a whole lot of self-restraint not to squeal and pump my fist into the air at the end of the last take.

When we finish, Malik slides his equipment back into his bag. “You were a pro, Millie!”

“You think so?” I ask.

“They’d be crazy not to take you this summer.”

I hold up my hand for a high five, but instead he gives me a light peck on the lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all day,” he says.

Heat wells up in my chest. “Next time don’t bother waiting,” I say.

He kisses me again, and this time his lips linger. “I won’t.”





Callie


Twenty-Four


On Tuesday, there’s a mandatory pep rally for the Shamrocks as a big send-off before State. I almost skip, but decide not to at the last minute. My mom was kind enough to overlook the whole breaking-up-with-Bryce-in-a-very-publicly-disruptive-way thing, but she’s not yet forgiven me for the Shamrock Secret Shit List, so now isn’t a good time to push my luck, especially with my birthday coming up this weekend. There are days when I am so sure that blasting that list was totally deserved, and then, at times, guilt creeps into my thoughts like an impossible-to-reach itch.

I sit as far away from the action as I can and even wave off Millie when she tries to get me to sit a little closer, with her and Amanda.

Never in a million years would I have believed you if you said that the school was holding a pep rally for the Shamrocks. This is the kind of recognition we always deserved but never dreamed we could have. In the past, pep rallies were strictly reserved for boys’ football and basketball and sometimes baseball. With all the buzz building about the team being one of the top contenders for State, I guess it’s hard for the school to keep pretending we’re no more than a second-tier pep squad but with more costumes. This weird sense of pride over everything we worked so hard for swells up in my chest, and for a moment I think I could cry.