Ellen elbows her in the ribs.

Hannah laughs. “Millie made us come.”

“We wanted to,” says Amanda. “So here we are!”

“You’re going to do great,” Millie says, giving me two thumbs up.

I look at the five of them. These girls were never the friends I asked for, but they’re definitely the friends I needed.

“Nice outfit!” calls Hannah as I’m walking down the aisle.

Without my mama even noticing, I give her the middle finger behind my back. And then I turn around and smirk at her.

Mama and I sit in the front row, in the seats marked for members of the public who would like to speak during the open forum.

The budget meeting is long and boring. Who knew it cost that much to fund a cafeteria? And why is everyone always trying to take money away from libraries? Aren’t books sort of the reason we’re even in school at all?

Finally, Laurel Crocker, an old white man who always matches his cowboy hats to his boots, wears expensive blazers with starched jeans, has never taught a day in his life, and who also happens to be the president of the school board, bangs his gavel. “And now we’ll take the required twenty minutes to hear input from the citizens of Clover City.”

The only other person here to speak stands up, a short, graying woman who has the horrible sense to wear a turtleneck during June in West Texas. “I would like to speak on behalf of abstinence-only education in the classroom.”

Someone behind me groans. My bet is on Willowdean or Hannah.

I catch Mama discreetly rolling her eyes. As someone who’s had to sit through sex ed in Clover City, I can attest that we don’t need to make it any worse than it is. As it stands, the teacher treats the diagrams like a game of Pictionary because he can’t bring himself to say the word vagina out loud.

The woman drones on for another five minutes, detailing obviously made-up statistics and a few Bible verses before she takes her seat again next to Mama.

“Do we have anyone else before this meeting is adjourned? Perhaps someone who would like to speak about something relevant to the topic of the meeting?” asks Mr. Crocker.

I stand, and my boots click against the linoleum as I walk to the center of the room. I steady myself at the podium and reposition the microphone.

“My name is Callie Rey—”

Feedback from the microphone shrieks and echoes, interrupting me. Everyone groans from the intrusive noise.

“Try taking a step back, hon,” Laurel suggests.

“I’m not your hon,” I almost find myself saying out loud. But I take a step back and start again. “My name is Callie Reyes, and I am a former member of the Shamrocks. A legacy member, in fact. My mother was on the team that won Nationals in 1992. You may have heard of me. For good and bad reasons. Um . . .”

I lose track of my thoughts for a moment and glance down at myself. I look ridiculous in this uniform. There’s probably lipstick on my teeth, too. For a second, I glance back and catch sight of Mama, who winks at me. A couple rows back, Millie is smiling and giving me thumbs-up.

I turn back to the microphone.

“You’ve got about six minutes left,” says Mr. Crocker.

Great. Not only do I have to be profound, but I’m being timed as well. Millie would know just what to say. She’d say something meaningful and important. Something that would almost sound emotionally manipulative coming from anyone else, but from Millie it would be nothing but sincere.

I sigh into the microphone. For as much as I love Millie, I’m not her. I’m Callie. Prickly and uncomfortably honest.

I try again. “I’m here today because for as long as I can remember, the Shamrocks have had to seek outside funding for everything from costumes to travel. I understand that the school district isn’t a money tree, but when we lost our sponsor a few months ago, we were pissed.”

“Language,” warns Mr. Crocker.

“Sorry, sir.” I clear my throat. “We were very upset. I was the co–assistant captain at the time, and I had sunk my whole life into that team. So yeah, I was upset. And because I was so angry, I did some things I regret, like vandalizing a local gym, which I’m sure you’re aware of. Y’all and Vice Principal Benavidez made the decision to remove me from the team, and I can’t blame you. What I did was wrong. But what I can do now is to help fix the real problem.”

Mr. Crocker chuckles. “The real problem?”

No, sir. You will take me seriously. “Yes,” I say defiantly. “The real problem. The real problem is that the Shamrocks are the most winning team from Clover City of all time. We hold the most District and State titles. And we hold the only National title in the whole city. In fact, we’re the only team that has ever been to Nationals. And! We’ve been four times.” My boots clack as I double back to my empty chair and grab the folder I brought in with me, which Millie helped me compile in a rush. “I brought all of the statistics here with me for you to see.”

“Well,” he says, “I’ll admit that’s rather impressive.”

“But, sir,” I say, “what’s not impressive is our budget. I’m all for rolling your sleeves up and doing some good ol’-fashioned fund-raising, but the Rams, our football team, is allotted a budget twelve times the size of ours, and you’re even building them an indoor training facility.”

Behind me a few people clap, and I think I know just who they are.

“So, Mr. Crocker, today I stand before you wearing my Shamrock uniform for the very last time, and I ask you to consider where you spend taxpayer dollars. I daresay the Shamrocks have more than proven themselves worthy.” I nod to him and the rest of the board. “Thank you for your time.” I step forward and place the folder in front of him, which not only includes Shamrock stats, but also the team’s budgetary needs, thanks to Melissa.

“We thank you for speaking up, Ms. Reyes, and we’ll be sure to consider this as we finalize next year’s budget.” He bangs his gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”

I twirl on my toes, and Mama is right there to meet me. She holds my face like she would when I was a little kid and she’d squish my cheeks together, except this time without the squishing. “Callie Alejandra Reyes, I am so damn proud of you.”

There’s so much between us that’s unsaid, but this feels like a good first step.

Just two weeks after the last day of school, and it’s already time for us all to see Millie off. Amanda hosts a pool party in her backyard the night before.

Millie wears a bright-yellow high-waisted bikini swimsuit with a ruffle top. She’s lying out on a lawn chair beside Malik with huge red heart-shaped sunglasses pushed up the bridge of her nose. Willowdean, in her bright-red polka-dot swimsuit, is canoodling with Bo on the tiny bench built into the deep end of the pool, while Hannah sits on her girlfriend Courtney’s shoulders as they battle Ellen with Tim on her shoulders in a game of chicken.

I sit on the steps in the shallow end with Mitch (whose amazing swim trunks look like the Texas state flag, by the way) on the steps above me so that I’m resting between his legs.

I’m actually 100 percent twinning with Millie today and wearing the exact same style and color of bikini that she is. Her idea, of course. She had tried to get all the girls to join in, but I was the only one who agreed. But I agreed to go all in on the whole obnoxious twinsie thing. I guess you could say I’m pretty accustomed to wearing identical outfits with at least twenty other girls, so the idea of matching bikinis seemed sort of normal to me. Millie mostly marveled about the fact that she found the same thing in both our sizes.

Amanda steps down into the pool beside us, presenting us each with multicolored plastic beads and neon shutter sunglasses. “Much better,” she says.

“You didn’t look festive enough!” Millie yells from across the yard.

Mitch swaps his neon-green sunglasses for my neon-yellow pair. “Feeling very festive right about now!”

“Amanda,” I say, “it’s not that I like you only for your pool, but I also hope you invite me over all the time this summer to go swimming.”

“Your wish is my command! As long as you can deal with my brothers.”