Puddin'(99)

My arms fall limp at my sides. I hadn’t realized that this whole time I was crossing them so tight over my chest.

Willowdean clears her throat. “And you gotta get over it. No use wasting a perfectly good friendship on yesterday’s history.”

“And Millie needs you.” Amanda tosses the core of her apple into the trash can from across the kitchen. “She didn’t get into camp at UT, and now she’s going back to Daisy Ranch. You get what a big deal that is, right?”

And that hits me right in the gut. I shake my head. “Oh my God. How could they not accept her? And she swore she wouldn’t go back to Daisy Ranch!”

Amanda nods. “Exactly. I tried talking some sense into her, but if you really care about Millie, maybe you should try, too.”

Ellen and Hannah stand up and join Amanda.

“Listen,” says Ellen, “if you ever want to—”

“I’m, like, super territorial,” Willowdean interjects, still sitting firmly in her seat. “Like the day we learned to share in elementary school? I was probably absent. But what Ellen is trying to say is that if you ever want to hang out . . .”

“We don’t mind having a third wheel,” Ellen finishes. “Or a fourth or a fifth or a sixth or whatever.”

I watch the four of them suspiciously. “Thanks for ringing my doorbell relentlessly.”

After they leave, I slide down the door and onto the floor, still wearing my mother’s apron. Shipley sniffs me, searching for scraps, before plopping down beside me, and I stroke her soft ears.

I can’t make my brain shut up. The dance team and whoever’s fault that it was that I was caught. Millie getting rejected by the broadcast journalism camp. Ellen. Willowdean. Hell, even Amanda and Hannah. All of it swirls around in my head and I can barely process any of it, so I do what I would do in any time of Shamrock crisis. I prioritize.

What is the one thing I can actually fix? I don’t know if there’s anything left to salvage with Sam and Melissa. And Millie . . . well, I know I need to go to her. I gotta make it right somehow. Not just because of me lashing out at her, but I can’t let her go back to Daisy Ranch. Not after the way she talked about all those summers there and how this would be the year everything changed. She was so damn positive and determined. There are a lot of people who could probably stand to be knocked down a few pegs, but Millie is not one of those people.

I push myself up off the floor and head to the kitchen to finish up dinner. After Keith and I eat, I set aside leftovers for Mama and Kyla.

As I’m sitting at the desk in my room with a pen in my hand and a pad of paper in front of me, Mama knocks on my already cracked-open door. “Not bad for your first try at my King Ranch casserole.”

I smile. “Keith said he couldn’t even tell the difference.”

She rolls her eyes. “His taste buds are about as refined as a hog’s.” She leans against the door and crosses her arms. “I really appreciate you picking up the slack tonight.”

I nod. “I didn’t mind.”

“You working on some homework?”

I slide my arm over the paper and lie. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl,” she says. “Night, baby.”

“Night, Mama,” I whisper as she shuts the door behind her.

As the house quiets for the evening, I text Mitch and ask for a favor before reading over what I’ve written one last time.

Mama,

First, I haven’t run away. Don’t panic. I like your cooking way too much. But I’ve gone to do something important, and I’ll be gone for the next day or two. I know I’ve been all sorts of trouble lately, but I want you to know that this thing I have to do isn’t for my own sake. It’s for Millie. She was there for me when I didn’t even have the sense to know I needed her, so now it’s my turn to be there for her.

You can be mad at me. You can punish me when I get back. I’ll spend the whole summer cooking dinners to your liking if I have to, but I gotta do this one thing. I promise to text and let you know that I’m safe.

xo,

Callie





Millie


Thirty-Five


I lie perfectly still in my bed, holding my breath. The light scratching on the window doesn’t stop. It’s been happening for about five minutes now. Someone is outside my bedroom window.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die at the hands of a window-scratching killer.

“Millie,” a voice whisper-shouts.

Then comes a light knock on the window.

“Millie!” the voice says again.

This time I sit up and tiptoe to my window before yanking the curtains to the side and jumping back into a boxing stance in one swift motion. What am I going to do? Box the window-scratching killer from inside my room? Well, at least Uncle Vernon might be proud.

My eyes adjust to the moonlight as the figure in my backyard melts into focus. “Callie?”

She motions to the window, and I step forward and slide it up.

“What are you doing? How did you get here?”

“Mitch dropped me off,” she says.

I gasp. “Are you two, like, a thing? Oh my gosh. I’ve missed so much.”

She smiles just a little. “Are you going to let me in or what?”