The good news, though, is that school is nearly over, and while Daisy Ranch isn’t what I had in mind for this summer, maybe it will give me a chance to reset and somehow remember the things that are most important to me.

After doing my opening duties at the gym, I pull up outside Amanda’s house to pick her up for school. It’s the end of May, which means the end of the school year is so close, I can practically taste sunscreen.

I turn up the radio to some bouncy pop I know she’s sure to love. I can fake smile the whole way to school so long as I don’t have to talk.

Amanda hops into the passenger seat, and over the music, she shouts, “My parents finally said yes to two weeks at soccer camp! Me, the Kansas plains, and tons of balls!” She pauses. “Soccer balls! Not, like, actual balls.”

I give her two thumbs up and a huge grin before taking off down her street. I’m happy for her, I swear. Amanda’s wanted to go to this camp for years, and it’s not a cheap thing either. But I have to blink aggressively until the sting of oncoming tears is gone. I’ve told Amanda about the Callie situation, but I just can’t bring myself to tell her about the rejection letter. Something about saying it out loud makes it too real.

When we finally make it to school, and I put the van in park, Amanda hits the power button on the radio, enveloping us in silence.

“I better get in for the announcements,” I say.

She hits the lock button on the door. “Not before we talk.”

“I really can’t miss this. It’s an obligation.”

“Millie, I don’t know what the heck is up with you. It’s like some kind of alien has taken over your body and he got the cheat sheet on how to impersonate you, but he’s failing miserably BECAUSE HE’S A DAMN ALIEN.”

I clasp my hands together, my palms slick with sweat, but I say nothing.

“What’s the deal?” she asks.

I shrug. “I really have to go.”

“All right, listen, you’re my best friend. You are literally the only person who I would give my last piece of pineapple-and-ham pizza to even though I really don’t want whatever other kind we ordered. I’ve tried really hard not to be weird about the Callie thing.”

“The Callie thing?” I ask. Is she mad at me too? I guess in a way Amanda also lost a friend when Callie stopped hanging out with us.

“Ya know,” she says, “you basically replacing me with a super-hot ex-Shamrock bad girl. I thought maybe it was like some weird phase, or that once you guys had been friends for a while longer . . . it wouldn’t feel so intense, but . . . and I’m sorry that y’all had a fight, but, like, hello? I’m still here.” She points to herself repeatedly like a flashing sign. “Your longtime BFF is still totally here for you, even if you treated her like hand-me-downs for a few months.”

First, I’m shocked. Replace Amanda? I could never replace Amanda. She is one of a kind. I couldn’t find a match if I searched every corner of the earth. But then slowly I begin to see it from her perspective . . . and oh my word. I’ve been an awful friend. “Amanda,” I finally say. “No, no, no. I could never replace you. I never meant for you to feel that way.”

She shrugs and gives me this sad half smile. “I get that you didn’t mean to, but I still felt that way. Hannah thinks so, too.”

“Hannah too?” That stings.

She nods. “It was like watching you trade up for the newer model who didn’t have an LLD.” She motions to her shorter leg. Then she pauses. “Or wasn’t asexual.”

I gasp. “I would never.”

“I just figured with you going to your hotshot broadcast journalism camp and with your new BFF that you didn’t really need me, and I don’t want that. So I need you to start being mindful of the friends you do have. The ones who aren’t mad at you over a thing that was their own damn fault in the first place.”

The way she says it, that the whole thing at the gym was Callie’s doing, eases the guilt I’ve been carrying. I should’ve told Callie that it was me who identified her, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t guilty. But none of that matters now. Amanda’s here and Callie isn’t. Amanda’s always been here. “You’re right,” I say. “I just really loved being friends with Callie. She was funny and way different than what I expected, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t force someone into being your friend.”

Amanda sighs. “I really did like Callie. Even if she sort of stole my best friend.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “And about broadcast journalism camp . . .” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t get in.”

Amanda gasps. “What? How is that even possible? You are literally the most qualified person to do everything ever.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, but they were not interested in Millicent Michalchuk.” Even though, deep down, I know they took one look at that audition tape and that was it. They didn’t see my talent or charisma. They saw the size and shape of my body.

Amanda’s nostrils flare and she growls a little bit. “Well, I don’t know if I can fix journalism camp, but I can try to fix at least one thing that’s gone wrong.” She pulls her phone from the front pocket of her backpack.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Calling in the troops.”

As I sit in AP Psych, waiting for the final bell to ring, I read over the note I wrote Malik one last time. I’ve carried it in my backpack for over a week now, but I have to give it to him, and I have to do it today. Waiting any longer feels selfish, especially after talking to Amanda and learning about how she felt like I ditched her. I know this will hurt, but it will only hurt more if I wait.

Malik,

First, I want you to know that I think of you as one of the most important people in my life. The time we’ve spent together has felt like a dream I never thought could come true.

Unfortunately, though, my mom doesn’t think I’m ready for the type of relationship we have. I’ve tried sneaking around and it’s just not something I can do anymore.

Also, I didn’t get into the University of Texas Broadcast Journalism Boot Camp. I can’t say for sure why, but I think I have a hunch, and it definitely wasn’t because of your amazing directorial skills. You made me look better than I could have ever imagined. I guess this means I’ll be headed back to fat camp this summer.

I hope we can stay friends, though, and that you’ll keep in touch while you’re visiting family. You are one of my most favorite people.

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.