If somehow each person in the world is only allotted a certain amount of good luck in life, I’m scared I’ve spent all of mine tonight.

Callie

Eighteen

On Saturday, I get to work at noon for my shift with Millie, and I find Inga tapping her toe behind the counter. “I have to go,” she says the moment she sees me.

“Okay.” The door hasn’t even swung shut behind me. “You don’t want to fire me first?”

She squints at me like she’s actually considering it. “Vernon is home with the babies and they’re all sick as pigs.”

“I think the phrase is sick as dogs,” I tell her.

She shoves her sweater into her bag and hoists it onto her shoulder. “Well, you’ve obviously never seen a sick pig.”

I nearly laugh. “You’re right. I haven’t.” I glance up at the clock. Millie should be here by now. “I’ve never worked alone before.”

She pushes open the front door. “Try not to break any windows.” She points up to the camera behind the counter. “I’ll be watching.”

“Ha, ha,” I say dryly, but she’s already halfway to her car.

The only people in the gym are two older guys on the stair climbers and one dad-aged guy on the punching bags. Logically I know that nothing will go wrong, but I also hate that I’m solely responsible for this place when I’ve already done enough damage and shouldered plenty of the blame.

Those bitches. I know the one I should be most angry with right now is Bryce. But I can’t shake that this all started with the Shamrocks, specifically Melissa. I have no way of proving they were all here with me that night. The offer from Sheriff Bell to rat out my cohorts is definitely off the table anyway. But I’ve got dirt on all those girls, and I think it’s time to air some dirty laundry.

Out of habit, I pull out the glass cleaner and get to work. For all I know, Inga is watching me right now via some spy software on her phone. I wouldn’t put it past her.

It’s another twenty minutes before Millie races through the door, her hair mussed and her shoelaces untied. “Oh my gosh,” she pants. “I’m so sorry. I overslept.” But she doesn’t look sleepy. Instead her cheeks are flushed and she’s got a bounce in her step.

“No big,” I tell her.

“I was out super late last night,” she whispers loudly.

I can tell she wants me to ask her what kept her out so late. I can feel the energy vibrating off her. But I’m not taking the bait. Not after the week I had.

When I wasn’t completely drenched in guilt from the dumb thing I said to Millie in front of Mitch, I was busy being broken up with and making a very public display of it. I suffered through school on Thursday, but my mom didn’t push it when I feigned sick on Friday morning.

I cringe whenever I think about how much time I’ve spent with Bryce, and what now? It was all just a giant waste? And yeah, I feel like shit. Bryce was my first boyfriend, but somehow I was always sure that if we ever broke up, it would be me who made that decision. If what I had with Bryce was so easily disposable, who’s to say what’s real and what’s not?

But right now, the only thing I want to focus on is revenge.

Millie drops her bag behind the counter and gets busy making her rounds around the gym, wishing all three of our members a happy afternoon while she checks out all the equipment. “Callie,” she calls while she’s got her leg propped up on a weight machine as she ties her shoes. “Can you get started on these towels?”

I groan silently. “Sure thing.” I make a circle around the gym, picking up all the towels from the various hampers and taking them all back to the utility closet where the washer and dryer are located.

“I kissed him,” says Millie, like she might explode if she doesn’t say it out loud.

She startles me so much I drop the detergent into the machine, cup and all. For a fat girl, she sure is light on her feet.

I reach down into the machine for the cup. “Kissed who?” I ask, not bothering to hide my bewilderment.

“The guy I said I liked, remember? The one who wouldn’t make a move?”

“Oh, right, okay.” I faintly recall a conversation we had before her mom picked her up for that emergency dentist appointment. Most people would probably tell Millie the best way to snag a guy would be to drop the weight. And while that might be true in certain cases, I kind of also think that there are definitely people out there who might be into what Millie’s serving.

“Well, you told me I should give him another chance. So I did! And he kissed me back.”

I turn around after dumping the towels into the machine. “You’re not mad at me?” I ask over the running water.

“About what?” she asks. And then she remembers. I can see it on her face. “Oh, the gym equipment comment?”

I nod, trying to keep my face blank.

“Well,” she says, the word coming out like a sigh, “I heard you had quite the week yourself, so I thought I’d let it slide.”

I can tell from the ways her lips are pursed together that she has more to say, and I guess the nice thing would be to encourage her to talk. But I don’t need another damn lecture. Especially about some stupid joke.

The bell at the front of the gym dings. “You want to get it?” asks Millie. “I’ve got some stuff to do back here.”

I nod and shut the lid of the washing machine. “Yeah, okay.” I wait a moment. “Be there in a sec!” I call. “Um, I’m glad for you that it worked out. With the kissing situation.”

Millie beams and bounces on her toes. “Me too.”

I head out front, where I find Mitch waiting at the counter. I’m suddenly self-conscious in a way that’s hard for me to process. There’s no telling what Patrick and Bryce probably told him about me. “Hey,” I say.

He stands up a little straighter and flips his card out between two fingers. “Mitch Lewis, Esquire.”

“Very impressive.” I’m not entertained. Or maybe I am. I don’t know.

“Real talk: I don’t even think I know what ‘esquire’ means.”

It means lawyer, but rather than saying so, I just take his card.

“Hey. I didn’t see you in school yesterday.” He coughs into his fist. “I wasn’t, like, stalking you or anything. But, like, I usually pass you in the hall between third and fourth.”

I nod. “That doesn’t sound stalkery at all,” I mumble as I sit down on the stool behind the counter and pull out the box where we keep member cards to file his away. “I was feeling kind of sick. From, like, the state of my life.”

“Um, well,” he says. “I hope your life is feeling better.”

“Things aren’t looking very good. We had to pull the plug on my social life. My reputation is basically on life support.”

He grins, pushing a hand through his curls. “I’ll have my people send flowers.”

I tap my feet against the stool and smile with my lips closed. “Finally. Something to look forward to. I love watching dead flowers wilt.”

Crickets. Nothing. I sure do know how to take a conversation a step too far.

After a long bout of silence, he knocks his fist on the counter and surveys the equipment behind me. “Cool, cool, cool.”

I watch as he heads toward the weight machines. He puts the pin in his preferred weight limit for the leg machine and studies it for a minute. Without warning, he doubles back to me and knocks his fist against the counter again.

Great. More reasons to clean the glass counter. Again.

“Hey, so are you, like, okay?” he asks.

I stare at him blankly. “Are you okay?” I ask, like it’s some great comeback. I’m unreasonably annoyed by his concern. Something about it presumes that I’m a wounded bird after my big public breakup with Bryce.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just meant after everything this week.”

“It was just the one thing. So other than that super-public breakup with my longtime boyfriend, I’m totally good.”

“Cool.” He nods a little too aggressively. “Bryce is sort of a punk.”