Puddin'(96)

Always,

Millie

As he rushes in just before the last bell, I set the note down on his half of our desk. He grins at the folded piece of paper and my bubbly handwriting. Once Mr. Prater dims the lights and turns on the projector, Malik opens the note. I guess it makes me a coward, but I just can’t bring myself to watch him read it.

Maybe working hard and wanting the dream career and that sickeningly sweet rom-com love story isn’t enough.

I keep picturing the wooden toys my mom bought for Luka and Nikolai. It’s the kind of shape toy where you push a block through a matching hole. The triangle goes through the triangle hole and so on and so on. Last Sunday, I sat there with the boys all afternoon, mesmerized by the small shaped blocks and how, truthfully, they could fit through almost any size hole. Bigger shapes, like the circle, could only fit through the matching shape. No matter how hard Luka or Nikolai tried, the circle couldn’t fit through the star or the triangle or the octagon. It reminded me that no matter what I want to be, to the rest of the world, I will always be a circle.

All throughout class, Malik is completely silent and makes no effort to acknowledge the note. I guess he read it loud and clear. Guilt burrows deep in my chest at the thought of hurting him.

After class is over, I wait for him to leave first. I should give him space for a little while, before I try to pursue the whole friends thing. But once I’ve said good-bye to Mr. Prater, I walk into the hallway and Malik is waiting there. His hair is a little more disheveled than normal, like he’s been running his fingers through it. Other than that, he is completely put together, from his forest-green sweater vest, gingham button-up shirt, and creased jeans down to his penny loafers. Without a word, he takes my hand.

This is the first time we’ve held hands at school. I try not to be giddy, because this is definitely not how I expected this first time to go, but still a little spark of delight lives inside my chest.

“I need you to come with me,” he says.

“Okay?”

Malik leads me by the hand to the AV studio, where we filmed my audition tape.

Inside, he leaves me at the center of the room while he turns on a few lights, and then he paces. I’ve never seen him like this, so intense and deep in thought.

I watch as he paces for a few moments more, and then he stops in his tracks and pulls the note I just gave him out of his pocket. I don’t know what I expect. Maybe that he’ll read it to me? Or try to give it back to me? But instead gentle, soft-spoken Malik rips my note into a million furious pieces.

My eyes widen. “What—what are you—”

“No,” he says. “This is not a note-appropriate situation. This is a conversation. God, Millie, you know I’m not built for confrontation. Did you see just then how much I had to psych myself up? I need, like, a shot of steroids.”

“Malik,” I say, suddenly finding myself a little annoyed that he’s upset that I gave him a note instead of talking to him. “All I did was present you with facts. My mom doesn’t want me to date. I can’t keep sneaking around. I didn’t get into journalism camp and she didn’t even want me to go in the first place, so I’m going back to Daisy Ranch.”

“Weight-loss camp,” he says.

“Well, yeah.”

“The camp you’ve sworn up and down that you’re done with?”

I pause for a moment and then nod as I study my sneakers far too closely.

“Millie, you love rules. It’s one of my favorite things about you. The way you find comfort in order. But whose rules are you even following?”

I throw my hands up. “You’re telling me to lie to my mom? To keep sneaking out?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is about. I mean, yeah, you’re my girlfriend, I want to see you, but you shouldn’t waste another summer at Daisy Ranch if you don’t want to.”

“Well, then what the H am I supposed to do, Malik?”

He begins to pace again. “Protest your rejection to journalism camp. Or just don’t go to Daisy Ranch! Stay home this summer. Help at the gym!”

He doesn’t know how impossible his suggestions are. “And what am I supposed to do about us?” I ask.

His voice is tiny, but his words aren’t. “Fight for us? Let me meet your mom. I’ll do whatever it takes. But we’re almost seniors, Millie. She can’t expect to run your life forever.”

He’s right. This last year has been this precarious balance of trying to be her little girl forever while still becoming a functioning adult. But I don’t know. My whole life feels impossible right now. Like one giant uphill battle. “I can’t make any promises,” I tell him.

“I can,” he says. “I promise to not give up on you and to never let you give up on yourself, Millie. And that means all your larger-than-life dreams, too. But you gotta stand up to your mom. That’s where it all starts.”

He steps forward and kisses me on the lips. It’s a silent plead. He wraps an arm around my waist, but then he pulls away too soon, leaving both of us breathless. He walks out, leaving me alone in the AV studio.





Callie


Thirty-Four


If my mother were to describe herself this afternoon, she’d say she was all in a tizzy! After school, I meet her in the front office. She grabs me by the elbow, and I have to practically run to keep up.