He drags his fingers up the length of my thigh. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about me. I can fend off the ladies when you’re not around to mark your territory.”

Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better. “What about Sam?” I ask. “Has she asked about me?”

He studies the leather of his steering wheel before shaking his head.

I glance down at the time on his dashboard. “I only have four minutes left.”

“Why the hell are you working here, by the way?”

I bite down on my lip. “I could explain, or we could make out for four minutes.”

He laughs. “Option two, please.”

Millie

Eleven

Judge not, lest you be judged. Judge not, lest you be judged. Judge not, lest you be judged. I repeat Matthew 7:1 over and over again in my head. It’s one of my favorite verses, and one I often find is either misused or ignored altogether.

I knew working with Callie would test my patience. She’s just one of those girls. The kind of girl who I’m sure is smart, but gets by on pretty. She doesn’t have to go out of her way to be polite or sweet to anyone, because she’s not trying to make up for something else. I know people think I’m just a ball of cheer, and I am. Sometimes. But I don’t exactly get to be moody or snappy when I don’t feel like putting on a happy face, because when most people meet me, I’m already starting out with a deficit. Fat girls don’t get that luxury.

I take a deep breath as the door swings open and Callie returns from her break. Judge not, lest you be judged. Judge not, lest you be judged.

Every muscle in my body has been spun tight since this afternoon. Even my jaw is starting to throb. Ow! I hold a hand to my cheek. “How was your break?” I ask.

Callie pulls down on her shirt around her waist and checks her makeup in the mirror behind the front desk. “It was whatever.”

What does that even mean? “Was that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Bryce.” Something about her voice feels far away, and suddenly I wonder if we don’t speak such different languages after all. “We haven’t spoken for days,” she adds.

“Were y’all fighting?” I ask a little too quickly.

She looks up. “Nope. Just been grounded. From absolutely everything. I can’t even go back to school until Monday.”

“Why are you grou—”

She smirks bitterly and motions around. “Why do you think?”

“Sorry,” I say automatically, even though I don’t have a darn thing to apologize for.

“Not your fault.” She plops down onto the stool beside me, like she’s resigned herself to this.

I suck in a breath through my teeth. I wonder if she knows that I was the one who identified her.

“What about you?” she asks. “Got a boyfriend?”

The way she says it almost reminds me of that taunting singsong voice I’ve spent so much of my life hearing when I walk by. I watch her from the corner of my eye for a second before turning to face her. “It’s complicated.”

She nods. “It always is.”

“So we went to the Sadie Hawkins together in the fall.” I immediately feel ridiculous for spilling these details she didn’t even ask for. But once I start thinking about Malik, my brain turns into a fire hydrant that I just can’t manage to shut off. And with cleaning the gym and catching up on schoolwork, I’ve barely even been able to talk to him for the last week. “And there was a kiss. Well, a peck. But nothing since then. Nada!”

She crosses her legs, holding her chin in her hand with her elbow rested on her knee. It’s like she’s a doctor giving me her prognosis. “So it started with the Sadie Hawkins dance, which I’m guessing means you asked him. The ball’s in his court at this point.”

“Right. And we talk. But there hasn’t been any kissing. And I like the talking. But I really would prefer the kissing.”

She shrugs. “When it’s good, it’s good.”

I nod longingly as I remember that moment with Malik in the parking lot of the school, the lights above us creating little glowing pools as we stood at the edge of one. “Tonight is his family birthday party, and he invited me and my friend Amanda. So maybe something will happen tonight?”

“Hmmm.” She muses to herself for a moment. “Him inviting your friend tonight too is a major friend-zone sign. It’s been a while now since the dance, though, and you can’t just wait around for him forever.”

Oh my gosh! She gets it! “Right?” Maybe she isn’t as awful as Willowdean said.

“Give him one more shot,” she says. “But you gotta be smooth about it. Put yourself out on a limb for him just once more, and if nothing comes of it, at least you know you did everything you could.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s such bullshit the way we’re made to think that only boys can go after girls. What about what we want?”

“Yes! Why should I have to sit around and wait for him to be brave enough? Maybe I’m plenty brave for the both of us.”

Callie slinks back a little, like something about what I’ve said or my voice or something has just reminded her who she’s talking to: Millie, the fat girl. And not the cute fat girl. Not like Willowdean. I can practically hear Patrick Thomas oinking in the distance.

My jaw throbs again, and this time I wince.

“Are you okay?” asks Callie.

I hold my hand to my cheek again. “Yeah. Just a toothache. You think you’re okay out here for a minute?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” she asks.

I look at her for a moment, and she rolls her eyes. “I promise not to trash the place while you’re gone, okay?”

I nod, secretly thankful that she put it out there before I had to. I shuffle to Uncle Vernon’s office, holding my cheek. I can feel the pain all the way down to my toes. I’ve had a toothache before, but this is something different altogether. I sit down at the desk and just close my eyes for a few moments as the throbbing thrums through me like a tuning fork.

Finally I reach for the first-aid kit, but find the bottle of ibuprofen completely empty. I reach for the office phone and do what I’ve done anytime something hurts more than I can handle. I call my mom.

She answers after only half a ring. “Millie?” she asks, recognizing the gym number on her cell. “Is everything okay, sweetie?”

I don’t normally call during work, and she’s been a little on edge since the place was vandalized anyway. “I’m fine,” I answer automatically. “Well, no, actually I’m not. My mouth is throbbing, Mom.”

“Is it a toothache?” she asks. “You didn’t crack a tooth, did you? Your grandmother did that once on a piece of hard candy.”

“No, it feels worse than a normal toothache. This is more at the back of my mouth. And Mom, it just hurts so bad. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Oh dear,” she says. “That would be your wisdom teeth.”

I don’t know exactly what this means, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Let me call Dr. Shepherd.” Before I was born, my mom was one of Dr. Shepherd’s dental hygienists, and she’s never been shy about calling in a favor.

“Mama, it’s almost six o’clock on a Friday.”

“Well,” she huffs, “I don’t expect that your wisdom teeth know or care what day or time it is.”

“But I’m supposed to go to Malik’s birthday party with Amanda.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere but the dentist today. Just stay put in that back office, and I’ll be up there in a jiff with Vernon so he can lock the place up.”

The moment we hang up, I slump forward, laying my head on the desk, and the next thing I know, my mom is guiding me to her car and I’m mumbling to Uncle Vernon to teach Callie how to close down the gym and then I’m in Dr. Shepherd’s office.

The last thing I remember hearing are the words “emergency wisdom teeth removal” as I lie absolutely helpless with Dr. Shepherd’s fingers in my mouth and a bib around my neck.