Puddin'(88)

“Okay?” Cautious optimism tingles in my toes. “So what does that mean for me?”

“Well,” says Sheriff Bell, “you’re a free woman.”

“We’re not pressing charges,” confirms Vernon.

“So my life is back to normal?” I ask, totally unable to conceal my excitement.

Sheriff Bell purses his lips together, which I think is his version of a smile. “The school board decision to ban you from the Shamrocks still stands, so you won’t be able to rejoin for your senior year, but other than that, your time is your own.”

I jump up and squeal. “As of, like, right now?”

Vernon nods. “Well, in about ten minutes, so yeah.” He whips out a paper. “I just need you to sign this, saying you understand that you were not compensated for your work and that your labor was in exchange for the insurance deductible and miscellaneous damages.”

I’m signing on the dotted line before he can barely finish his sentence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” says Vernon.

“You didn’t really need my help around here, did you?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You could say business is slow.”

“So why’d you agree to this? It’s not like you were saving money on labor you didn’t even need.”

Vernon shrugs. “There were a lot of you. Didn’t seem right for just one of you to carry it on your record. Guess I wish someone would’ve given me a second chance at that age.”

“Hell,” says Sheriff Bell, “if it weren’t for your Millie’s sharp eye, we wouldn’t have caught any of you.”

I snap my head toward him just like our dog Shipley does when she hears the crackling sound of my mama cooking bacon. “Excuse me?”

“Slip of the tongue,” he says. “Don’t you worry about it, girly.”

Girly. The word is like a hot coal on a fading fire. It stokes the anger that’s always rumbling inside me, even when it’s only a low murmur.

I follow Vernon and Sheriff Bell out of the office, and the two of them head straight for the front door.

“Callie,” says Vernon, “just leave your name tag with Millie.”

Before the door can even shut all the way, Millie turns to me with that deer-in-headlights panicked look. “You’re leaving?”

Suddenly I don’t buy it. I don’t buy any of this afterschool-special friendship bullshit she’s been selling.

“You.” I say. I don’t even have all the details or the facts, but I know Millie well enough to know that she’ll spill the moment she knows her secret’s out. “You’re the reason I’m off the dance team. And why I’m stuck working in this body-odor hellhole. And why Bryce broke up with me! I humiliated Melissa! And Sam! And most of the team! Do you remember that? And you let me do that. You didn’t even tell me that you were the one who knew it was me after I spilled all their secrets. I . . . I . . .” Suddenly the weight of exactly what I did to the Shamrocks hits me. “My mama is never going to forgive me for that, Millie. I violated her trust. All their trust!”

Her eyes fill with tears immediately. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” she blurts.

I have no pity for her. In fact, seeing her cry only makes me angrier. I’m the one who should be upset! I don’t know the what or the how. But Millie is the one who turned me in.

“Your necklace,” she says. Her whole face is flushed red and splotchy. “I saw it on the security footage. I wanted to tell you, but then we became friends and I was too scared to lose you.”

I rip the name tag off my shirt and slam it down on the counter, making the whole glass top shake. “Well, you should’ve been scared,” I say. “Because I’m done, Millie. With this gym. With slumber parties. With you. It’s over.” I stomp toward the front door. I was fine before Millie, and I’ll be just fine without her now.

“How will you get home?” she asks. “Let me give you a ride.”

“I have two legs,” I snap. “I can walk.”

I grab my bag and shove my cell phone in the back pocket of my jean shorts as I march out the door and out of the parking lot. Millie watches me the whole time. She even walks out onto the sidewalk and tries calling my name.

A few heads in the parking lot turn, but I don’t stop. I just keep walking.

Honestly, though, it is hot as hell outside and my home is at least a six-mile walk. I keep moving until I know I’m far out of sight. Millicent Conniving Manipulator Michalchuk will never see an ounce of vulnerability from me ever again.

I finally stop walking when I find myself in front of Harpy’s Burgers & Dogs. I think, for a minute, about going in, but quickly remember that Willowdean works here. Yeah, no thanks.

I look both ways before jaywalking across the street to the Chili Bowl—quite possibly the one Clover City establishment I’ve never given a try.

Inside, a bored-looking guy behind the counter says, “What can I get you? Our summer special is two for one bowls of white chili.”

Chili in May when the temperature is nearly scraping the triple digits already? I’m good. “Just a large fountain drink,” I say.

I hand him $1.27 in exchange for an empty cup, which I fill to the brim with Diet Dr Pepper—possibly the only good thing left in the world.