This is the first time we’ve held hands at school. I try not to be giddy, because this is definitely not how I expected this first time to go, but still a little spark of delight lives inside my chest.

“I need you to come with me,” he says.

“Okay?”

Malik leads me by the hand to the AV studio, where we filmed my audition tape.

Inside, he leaves me at the center of the room while he turns on a few lights, and then he paces. I’ve never seen him like this, so intense and deep in thought.

I watch as he paces for a few moments more, and then he stops in his tracks and pulls the note I just gave him out of his pocket. I don’t know what I expect. Maybe that he’ll read it to me? Or try to give it back to me? But instead gentle, soft-spoken Malik rips my note into a million furious pieces.

My eyes widen. “What—what are you—”

“No,” he says. “This is not a note-appropriate situation. This is a conversation. God, Millie, you know I’m not built for confrontation. Did you see just then how much I had to psych myself up? I need, like, a shot of steroids.”

“Malik,” I say, suddenly finding myself a little annoyed that he’s upset that I gave him a note instead of talking to him. “All I did was present you with facts. My mom doesn’t want me to date. I can’t keep sneaking around. I didn’t get into journalism camp and she didn’t even want me to go in the first place, so I’m going back to Daisy Ranch.”

“Weight-loss camp,” he says.

“Well, yeah.”

“The camp you’ve sworn up and down that you’re done with?”

I pause for a moment and then nod as I study my sneakers far too closely.

“Millie, you love rules. It’s one of my favorite things about you. The way you find comfort in order. But whose rules are you even following?”

I throw my hands up. “You’re telling me to lie to my mom? To keep sneaking out?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is about. I mean, yeah, you’re my girlfriend, I want to see you, but you shouldn’t waste another summer at Daisy Ranch if you don’t want to.”

“Well, then what the H am I supposed to do, Malik?”

He begins to pace again. “Protest your rejection to journalism camp. Or just don’t go to Daisy Ranch! Stay home this summer. Help at the gym!”

He doesn’t know how impossible his suggestions are. “And what am I supposed to do about us?” I ask.

His voice is tiny, but his words aren’t. “Fight for us? Let me meet your mom. I’ll do whatever it takes. But we’re almost seniors, Millie. She can’t expect to run your life forever.”

He’s right. This last year has been this precarious balance of trying to be her little girl forever while still becoming a functioning adult. But I don’t know. My whole life feels impossible right now. Like one giant uphill battle. “I can’t make any promises,” I tell him.

“I can,” he says. “I promise to not give up on you and to never let you give up on yourself, Millie. And that means all your larger-than-life dreams, too. But you gotta stand up to your mom. That’s where it all starts.”

He steps forward and kisses me on the lips. It’s a silent plead. He wraps an arm around my waist, but then he pulls away too soon, leaving both of us breathless. He walks out, leaving me alone in the AV studio.

Callie

Thirty-Four

If my mother were to describe herself this afternoon, she’d say she was all in a tizzy! After school, I meet her in the front office. She grabs me by the elbow, and I have to practically run to keep up.

“Okay,” she says as she’s pulling out of the parking lot. “I’ve gotta pick up Kyla and then grab her recital costumes from Rosie Dickson. She put a rush on the alterations for us. And then I’ve gotta get dinner going somehow and get Kyla to her dress rehearsal.” She clicks her tongue. “I just hate to leave her there, but Keith won’t feed himself. Well, he will, but if he does it will be delivery pizza. And he doesn’t even order the good kind.”

Mama and I haven’t spoken much lately except for the sake of logistics. Who’s giving me rides where. Whether or not Mitch can come over. If I’ve done my chores or if I can stay home with Kyla. It’s not that I think she’s mad at me anymore. Just a little disappointed still, and that’s turned out to be harder to live with than I thought.

She glares up at the traffic light, willing it to change as she taps the steering wheel impatiently.

“I can make dinner,” I say, surprising even myself. Claudia always helped out with things like dinner and packing lunches, but I’ve never been quite so domestic.

“Pfft. It’ll be fine. I’ll just have to time it so that I’m taking Kyla while the casserole is in the oven.” She looks over to me. “Maybe with all this extra time on your hands this summer, we can finally get your driving test over with.”

“Really, Mama, just leave me the instructions. You’ve got plenty going on tonight.”

The light turns green and she takes off. After a moment of thought, she says, “I’ll write out each and every step in detail. It’s just King Ranch casserole. You oughta be fine.” She glances over to me. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

Mama runs me home and writes out detailed instructions down to every minute and measurement for her casserole. As she’s walking back out to the car to pick up Kyla, she turns back for a moment and says, “Keith won’t be home for another couple hours.” She pauses. “Callie, I appreciate this a whole lot.”

I nod firmly. “No problem.”

I keep waiting for this one big moment when she won’t be disappointed in me anymore, but maybe that’s not how you gain back someone’s trust in real life. Maybe it’s a slow, frustrating thing that takes lots of King Ranch casseroles, so I guess this is a start.

Things with Mama have gotten slowly better. Since I’m not sitting with Millie and Amanda at lunch anymore, I’m back to spending lunch period in Mama’s office. She said she wouldn’t kick me out as long as I helped her file and answer phones, which is a fair trade for me. I think she knows something’s up with me and Millie, but she hasn’t pried. (Yet.)

Today during lunch, I was sitting behind the desk while Mama ran off to the cafeteria to get a refill on her sweet tea.

The office door swung open and someone said, “I, uh, have that doctor’s note from yesterday, Mrs. Bradley.”

I stood up to see Bryce approaching the attendance desk. “Oh,” I said. “Hey.” We’d seen each other in the hallways a few times, and I even dumped a box of his sweatshirts, some pictures, and presents he gave me on his doorstep. But this was the first time we’d actually spoken.

His face turned sheet white. “Um. I was just giving your mom this note.”

I took the note from him. I wanted to say something sharp or biting, but any hate I had for Bryce is in the past, and it’s just not worth resurrecting. “I’ll pass it on.”

He nodded. “Cool. Thanks.” He was quiet for a moment. “You look good.”

“I know,” I said, without skipping a beat. Having those last words satisfied my ego in a very delicious way, but I still had one last thing to add. “I’m sorry about your phone, by the way.”

He grunted. “Time for an upgrade, anyway.”

After cooking and shredding the chicken for my mom’s casserole—can we just agree that raw chicken is just about the grossest damn thing ever?—the front doorbell rings. I sort of feel like doorbells are as useless as landline telephones. I mean, if you’re going to come over, wouldn’t you just text me? And if you don’t have my number to text me, do I even want you coming over?

All of this flawless logic is the exact reason why I let the doorbell ring eight times before I finally shout, “What? No one’s home.”

Then come three swift, pounding knocks on the door.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter as I check to make sure I’m not leaving the kitchen in a the-house-might-burn-down situation.