Puddin'(85)

“We can agree there.”

“But why football?” I ask. “Why did that have to go?”

“Isn’t there anything in your life you just do because you’ve always done it?”

“Um, are you kidding?” I ask. “I was born wearing a Clover City Shamrocks uniform.”

“Yes!” he says. “You get it. Football has always been that thing for me. I finished out the last season, and I was going to go back and just do my senior year to make my dad happy and maybe even get some scholarships out of it. But then I’d be stuck playing for another four years at the very least.”

“But free school,” I tell him. “And don’t you enjoy it? Even just a little bit.”

“If I don’t get injured,” he says. “I guess it felt good to win. But I kind of wonder what it feels like to love something so much that you’re even happy to fail at it.”

I shake my head. “That sounds all nice and good. But I don’t know how that’s possible.”

He shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to let you know. And I’ve always wondered what I would do with a whole year of high school if I got to call the shots. Like, have you even taken the time to imagine what you’ll do with your time when your grounding is up? No dance-team commitments to worry about?”

“I have thought about it,” I say. “A little.” But not fully. Maybe I’ll take dance classes on my own. Or write for the school newspaper. Or join the volleyball team. I don’t know.

“Video game designer.” He nods to himself. “It’s this thing that I’ve always wanted to try, but I don’t even know how someone does that. And, I mean, my dad would give me so much shit. I can practically hear him. ‘What kind of bullshit job is video game design?’”

I think for a minute about what I could do if I could do anything. I wonder if Claudia has ever felt like this and if she could choose who she was going to be today, if she would still choose opera.

Once the sun sets completely, Mitch and I stand up to walk back home. He offers me his arm like a true Southern boy, and I loop my arm through his. For a moment, I even rest my head against his shoulder.

“I better get home,” he says once we’ve made it back to my house.

Suddenly I feel like I’ve wasted my whole night. Like, what if he decides he doesn’t want to see me again after this? Breathlessly, I stand up on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek.

When I step back, he touches his hand to the spot I just kissed. His cheeks burn with blush.

Heat spreads down my neck, and it takes all kinds of willpower to not do things that would really make him turn red.

We could do more. We could get in the backseat of his Bronco or we could get back to the lake and roll around on his letter jacket. And all that would be fine. It would be fun even. Because there’s nothing like tumbling around in the dark with someone you like.

But I feel like I’m stepping out of my house for the first time after a colossal storm. I just want to take my time. Survey my new reality. Most of all, though, I want to savor it. I want to go to bed tonight and dream about the way a simple kiss on the cheek made everything tingle all the way down to my toes.





Millie


Twenty-Nine


Two weeks have passed since my epic date with Malik, and I take another turn hosting a slumber party. I can tell my parents are a little perplexed by my friendship with Callie. I hear my mother referring to her as a criminal in hushed tones to my dad the next morning, but no one says a word to me. Willowdean promises to host once she cleans her room (though she says she can’t make any promises when that will be), and Hannah swears to have us over in a few weeks, once her mom gives away the litter of kittens their cat just gave birth to. I argue that this is actually the best time for us all to come over, when there are kittens to cuddle, but Hannah’s mom thinks otherwise.

So that means this week is Callie’s turn to host, and not to be a nerd or anything, but I’m weirdly excited for Callie’s mom to see that she’s made friends.

I take my time getting ready for work on Saturday morning. I slept in a bit and I wish I could’ve slept longer, but I’m still buzzing from last night, which was the third Friday in a row I spent hanging out with Malik while he worked at the Lone Star 4.

Last night when he pulled up in front of my house to drop me off, he said, “I know you’re going to be gone for most of the summer and that I’m going to be off visiting family, too, but I just want you to know that I don’t want us to take a break.”

“Well,” I said, “what exactly would we be taking a break from?”

He coughed into his fist and squirmed in his seat a bit. “From us.”

“And what are we?” I asked.

He looked to me, his eyes questioning. “In a relationship?”

“Good,” I said, letting out a squeal.

As I relive the interaction over and over in my head while I finish off my cereal, I barely even notice my mom coming in from the grocery store.

I pop up from my seat. “Let me help you.”

“Oh, I’ve got it all,” she says, “and you can sit your behind right back down, young lady.”

“Um, okay. Is everything all right?”

Mom puts her low-fat fruit Popsicles in the freezer and her almond milk in the fridge before saying, “No, ma’am, everything is not okay.”