She rolls down the window. “Austin or bust!” she howls.
I roll down my window, too, and take one hand off the wheel, which I rarely do. My arm hangs out the window as it slices through the warm air, and I leave town with Callie Reyes under the cover of night. I’m okay.
Callie
Thirty-Six
For the first two hours of the drive, the energy pulsing between the two of us is absolutely tangible. I navigate and play DJ while Millie belts along to old Britney Spears, Destiny’s Child, and even a little Dolly Parton, which Millie swears helps her channel her bravest self.
Around hour three, we stop for gas and a few snacks, including one of those bouquets of Tootsie Pops. I’ve made this drive a few times with my family, so I know that there’s not much but flatness and a little bit of hill country just outside of Austin, but making this drive at night feels like we’re speeding through a velvety black hole. Out here there’s nothing but the random town every once in a while, and sporadic truckers making the long drive across Texas.
As we’re pulling back out onto the road, Millie reaches for the volume to turn the music back up, but I hit the power button. I don’t want to distract her from the task ahead, but I also have something to say.
“I shouldn’t have blown up at you the way I did,” I tell her.
“But I should’ve just told you. Early on. I could’ve gotten it out of the way.”
“I can see how you would be nervous to do that, though. I’m not what you would call easygoing.”
She laughs. “Well, yes. But that’s exactly what I like about you. You’re intense, and you don’t care if other people know it.”
I laugh. “I don’t know that most people would call those desirable qualities.”
Millie shakes her head resolutely. “Do you know how many people spend their whole lives pretending they don’t care? You’re not like that.”
I sigh. “Well, I do care a little bit, I guess. I just wish I hadn’t released that list of secrets.”
Millie’s lips turn downward. “Me too. I feel awful about that, I do.”
“It’s not like those girls didn’t screw me over. They let me take the blame for the whole team. But... I don’t know. What I did... was wrong.”
“Maybe you could make it up to them,” says Millie.
I laugh. “Like how? Become their water girl?”
“I do think you’d make a really cute water girl, but no, I mean something different. Like, it sucks that the gym had to drop its sponsorship and it sucks that y’all reacted the way you did, but neither of those things are the real problem.”
“Try telling Inga that,” I mutter.
“The real problem is that the school board budgets somuch for the football team and all that’s left for everyone else is peanuts! The Shamrocks have the best competitive record of any team on campus. Y’all should have been way better funded. Frankly, it’s bull—”
“Shit!” I shout. “It’s bullshit!” She’s right. That is the real problem. I’ve been saying it for years. The whole team has. But no one would listen.
“Well, I was going to say bologna, but it is also bull doo-doo.”
“But what can I even do about that?”
“If there’s anything I’ve learned from watching local politics, it’s that decisions are made by those who show up.”
“Okay?”
“And no one shows up to school board meetings,” says Millie.
We spend the next few hours hashing out talking points if I do decide to speak in front of the school board. I’m doubtful, though. To them, I’m just the girl who trashed a local business. Why would they listen to me? When I change the subject and ask Millie about her mom, she goes quiet, which is entirely out of character, but I don’t push.
Soon we’re lowering our visors and reaching for sunglasses as we drive into the sunrise and closer to our destination.
The traffic in Austin is awful, and I’m not just saying that because I live in a town where the biggest traffic jams are caused by school zones and the rare busy drive-through lane overflowing into the street.
