Puddin'(86)

“Did I do something wrong?” I’m starting to work myself into a panic. She found out about broadcast journalism camp. I don’t know how, but she did.

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the kitchen counter. “You tell me, missy. Where have you been the last three Friday nights?”

Oh crap. “At Amanda’s house,” I lie. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should’ve just told her the truth. If she’s asking, she definitely knows something is up. “Studying with Malik. You know that.”

“Really?” she asks. “You want to think real hard about that for a minute?”

I don’t say anything. My mom doesn’t care that I have a social life, but she would definitely care that I’m going out on dates by myself with a boy. Literally no one else’s parents care about this, but I’m pretty sure my parents expect me to abstain from dating until I’m thirty.

“Well,” she says, her voice as sharp as a razor, “I ran into Amanda’s father, and I thanked him for hosting you for the last three Friday nights. And do you want to know what he said?”

I shake my head, because no, I actually don’t want to know.

“He said you haven’t been over a single Friday night in the last month, Millicent. So not only is my daughter—my own flesh and blood who I provide for and care for—lying to my face, but I had to humiliate myself and find out from another parent.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Well, honey, sorry just doesn’t cut it. You’re gonna have to tell me where in Hades you’ve been for the last three weeks.”

I push my cereal out of the way and stand up. “I have been with Malik. That part is true. But Amanda wasn’t there and we weren’t studying.”

“So what in the H have you been doing?”

I smile. I can’t think of the last Friday nights without smiling. “I like him, Mom. A lot. We like each other.”

She gasps. “Are you telling me that you’re dating a boy right under my nose? Without even going to the trouble of asking your father and me or even introducing us to him? And what type of gentlemen courts a girl without meeting her parents first?”

“Mom.” My voice drops an octave. “You met Dad in a parking lot and went on plenty of dates before introducing him to your family.”

“I was an adult,” she says.

“Barely!” I take a deep breath. “I want you to get to know him,” I say. “He’s smart and passionate and a good listener, but I was scared you’d say no. And I like him too much.”

Her whole face hardens. “Well, I say no. You lied to me. You went behind my back. Lord knows what else you’re fibbing about.”

Something occurs to me, and it makes me cringe. “Mom, is this because Malik isn’t white?”

She gasps. “Of course not.”

I study her for a long while. Even if the color of Malik’s skin does have something to do with this, she would never say so. And I know for a fact that me dating anyone at all would send my mother into a tailspin, but I refuse to leave a prejudice like that unspoken, even if it’s unintentional.

I inhale deeply. Well, I might as well get this over with. “It’s not exactly a fib, but I guess it’s time you know that I’m not going back to Daisy Ranch,” I say.

“What?” Now that shocks her. A boy wasn’t so surprising, but this nearly bowls her over. She braces herself on the counter. “Where is this coming from? Is this you trying to rebel? I knew this would happen. I told your father. We had it too easy with you. Is this your uncle’s doing? Is this his influence on you? No. It’s this boy, isn’t it?”

I shake my head. “Mom, no. Listen. Hear me out.”

“This is that Willowdean, isn’t it? Baby, you love Daisy Ranch. What about all your friends there?”

Now I’m mad. I just want two stinking seconds to tell my side of the story, to be heard for once. “I’m not going back. I am thankful to both y’all, you and Dad, for always trying to do what you thought was best for me. But this summer I’ve applied for broadcast journalism camp at the University of Texas in Austin. It’s a six-week program. I wrote an essay. I paid for the application fee myself and I even filmed an audition tape.”

She slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, shaking her head. “Lose the weight first. That’s what we always said.”

I sit down across from her. “Mom, I’ve been waiting to lose the weight for as long as I can remember.”

“Baby, I want you to go to journalism camp or wherever your heart desires, but I just know you’ll enjoy it so much more if you can just shed the pounds first. There’s a thin girl in you just waiting to get out.”

I shake my head. “No. No.” My voice is soft but firm. “There’s no skinny girl trapped inside of me, Mom. Just like there’s not one in you. This . . .” I grip my thighs and my thick arms. “This is me. And I’m done waiting to be someone else. I know what I want to do with my life. Isn’t that incredible? Some people wait their whole lives, figuring out who or what they want to be. But I know.”

“You lost six pounds last year,” she says. “Maybe this summer it’ll be twenty. And you know that keeping it up at home is the hardest part, but it’s worth it.”