While I wait outside the school for Callie, I text my parents to let them know I’m running a little late. My mom responds with a frowny face and promises she’ll leave a plate for me in the fridge.

I watch my clock as ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Just as we’re approaching the thirty-minute mark and I’m getting ready to turn off the car and go in search of her, Callie sprints out the main entrance and straight for the van.

I lean across the console to hold the door open for her. “Hey!” she pants. “Sorry. Couldn’t find my, uh, geography workbook at first.”

“I hope you found it.” I don’t bother hiding the annoyance in my voice.

She holds both thumbs up. “All good.”

As I approach the light at the end of the street, I take the turn opposite of my house and head into the older part of Clover City, where Callie lives. I’m a little peeved with how she just took her sweet time looking for her book, but I’m determined to be her friend. “So, now that dance team is out of the picture,” I say, “what are you gonna do when you’re done working off your debt at the gym?”

She squirms in her seat a bit and glances in the side-view mirror at the empty road behind us. “Well, I guess I’ll try to get my job back at Sweet 16. They let me take off the last few months for the competitive dance season.” She sighs. “The employee discount on clothes was pretty great.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

“But I don’t know. I guess you could say everything was sort of riding on dance. I thought maybe it’d get me into college and—I know this is crazy—but I thought I could try dancing for a professional sports team. Like with the NBA or something.” She rolls her eyes. “Those girls are barely paid anything, but I would’ve made it work somehow. And sometimes you even get to travel with the team.”

“That would’ve been pretty amazing,” I say.

“Well, that dream is sort of shot. It’s not like I can go to another high school or something. We just have the one.”

“So was dancing your passion? Like, the thing you want to do no matter what?”

She thinks about that for a long minute. “I’m really good at it. It was nice to have built-in friends . . . if I can even call them that anymore. And I liked being a co–assistant captain and telling people what to do. I like being looked at—that sounds gross, but I don’t mean it like that. I just—”

“You like the spotlight?” I offer.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Well, if you’re open to other options, I’m sure there are lots of things you’re good at that would include bossing people around and being the center of attention.”

She taps her pointer finger against her lips. “Well, that makes me sound like a bitch.”

I laugh a little.

She shrugs. “But I’ve never really been bad at anything either.”

Most people would mistake Callie’s honesty for ego. And trust me. She’s got plenty of ego. But there’s something more to it. Something that feels like self-awareness. And I like it. Because I think maybe Callie would probably admit her flaws in the same way she recognizes her strengths.

She shimmies her shoulders, like she’s shaking off whatever thoughts she’s just lost herself in. “What about you? You gonna work at this gym your whole life or what?”

I tap the brake as we roll up to a stop sign. I turn to her as the car in front of me waits to go. I’m not ashamed of my dreams. But something in me has always felt like the more people you share your hopes with, the flimsier they become. Suddenly everyone else is poking holes in your future until there’s not much left to hope for at all.

“I have plans,” I finally say.

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” I say. “I have plans.”

“And what exactly do your plans entail?”

I pull up in front of Callie’s house and put my parking brake on. After unbuckling my seat belt, I turn to face her. “It all starts this summer. The first domino in my plan.”

And then my plans spill from my mouth like a faucet turned all the way on. I tell Callie about the broadcast journalism camp at UT Austin this summer and how I’m going there after graduation, too. I tell her my five-year goals and my ten-year goals and my lifetime goals. I tell her absolutely everything.

And then I sit back and wait for her reaction.

“Wow,” she says, but her tone is hard to decipher, like she’s impressed but doubtful. “You really do have plans.”

“So what do you think?” I know she’ll be honest with me.

“What do I think?” she sputters nervously. “Well, I’m not, like, some professional future-plans analyzer, but it sounds . . . good?”

“Just good?” I ask, trying to mask my disappointment.

“Well.” She pauses. “I don’t really know much about TV anchors or anything like that, but I bet it’s a really tough industry. And you’re . . .” She waves her hand around like she might just magically find the right word.

“And I’m what?” My voice carries some bite.

“Well, you’re on camera all the time, right?” She looks down at her feet and swallows loudly. “People are just super shallow.”

“You don’t think I can be on camera?” I ask, my voice cracking. I knew that bringing this up to Callie was a gamble. But her doubt hurts. I know that in the world of TV, I will face this same hesitation at every turn, so I do my best to numb myself to it. But still, I feel it. I can’t help it. Disappointment washes over me until I’m just submerged in it. I close my eyes and exhale, counting to five.

“That’s not what I said.” Her voice is quiet.

I open my eyes and turn to her, doing all that I can to quiet my feelings. “Sometimes it’s about what you don’t say,” I tell her. “First you were surprised to know that I knew how to work all the equipment at the gym. Maybe it’s equally shocking to learn that I want to be on the news.”

She shakes her head. “You should do whatever you want, okay?” She pulls her backpack into her lap. “What does it even matter what I think? It’s not like we’re friends.”

I hold a breath in to stop the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. Who am I kidding? I can’t numb myself. I feel it all. Every dang thing. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess we’re not.”

She hops out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

I wait for her to go in through her front door, but she’s halfway up the sidewalk when she turns around and raps her knuckles on my window for me to roll it down.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, wiping away an angry tear.

“Listen, Millie.”

Here it is. The moment where she tells me to face reality. To grow a thicker skin. Fat girls don’t report the news. I shake my head. I’m done hearing from people like her about what they think I’m capable of.

She drops her backpack in the grass and says, “I actually think you’re really fucking cool. And that’s totally not what I expected to think about you. My whole life is a mess right now, so maybe I’m not the person you should be listening to, but I think you can do anything you want. I don’t say things to make people feel good. I say them because they’re true.”

I’m taken aback. It’s one of those rare moments in my life when I actually have no words. “Thank you? I think?”

“You’re welcome,” she says gruffly. She scrubs her hands over her face. “And I’m sorry about what I said at the gym awhile back in front of Mitch, and I’m sorry if I looked like I doubted you today just now. But people are assholes, Millie.” She points to herself. “I am an asshole! And . . .” She takes a deep breath. “I guess my first instinct was to discourage you because . . . well, I guess I wanted to protect you from assholes like me. But that just made me an even bigger asshole, because I shouldn’t be standing in your way. I should be telling you to do whatever the hell you want.”

“Which means we’re friends?” Doubt rings in my voice.