Keith nods. “We, uh, appreciate you coming over and not just picking her up at school and making a scene of things.”
“Oh Lord, yes,” Mama chimes in.
That is possibly the only thing that could’ve made this worse. Me getting arrested at school, with me making a scene in the attendance office.
Sheriff Bell nods and scoots his chair back, putting his broad khaki-colored sheriff hat back on.
“I trust y’all will be keeping an eye on Callie here until I have more information.”
“Of course,” says Mama as Keith shakes the sheriff’s hand. “The girl is so grounded, she’s halfway to the center of the earth.”
Keith walks the sheriff out to the front of the house, where his police truck is parked. The door shuts behind them, vacuuming out all the air in the house.
Mama turns to me.
I can feel her getting ready to unleash.
“What were you thinking?” she asks, her eyes dry now and her voice low and angry. In this moment, nothing about her red lips is sweet and familiar.
“I didn’t start it,” I tell her honestly. “And it really was just supposed to be TP and eggs. Just a dumb prank.”
Mama shakes her head furiously. “That is the exact reason why you should not have gone! These things always get out of hand. Christ, baby. You should’ve told someone. Stopped it somehow. I’m raising you girls to be leaders, not followers.”
“We didn’t mean to do any real damage. I swear.”
“Callie, it does not matter what you meant to do. Only what you did do. You’ve worked so hard for the dance team to make it this far, and now it’s all over for you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
It’s all over for you.Her words ring in my ears. My hands begin to tremble, and I can feel every muscle in my body tense as it tries to suppress tears.
The front door creaks as Keith lets himself back inside, pulling me back into the moment.
“Does that mean anything to me, Mama?” I’m shouting now. My eyes begin to burn as I blink away tears. I use the heels of my hands to wipe them away. “This means everything to me! And yeah, I wish it hadn’t happened, but if you think I’m ’bout to cower ’round here with my tail between my legs like some kind of poorly trained puppy—well, then you don’t know what the hell kind of daughter you raised.”
She crosses her arms over her chest with Keith standing a few steps behind her. “No phone. No Bryce. I will take you to school, and you will leave with me when I’m done with work. I will call Sam, Melissa, and Mrs. Driskil to let them know you will not be at practice.”
I knew it was coming. I knew that when the woman said I’d be grounded, she meant it. And still every word hits me like a perfectly placed punch, but one specific thing stings the most. “I can’t just miss practice,” I tell her.
“Oh, can’t you?” She rests her fists firmly on her hips. “You did this. You had every chance of making it toNationals. I would have loved nothing more than to see my daughter follow in my footsteps. You could’ve been a legacy.”
Where’s my tearful mother now? Suddenly this has nothing to do with me.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” she continues, “but in this house we do not commit crimes and expect things to go back to normal. There will be consequences, and one of yours is that you are grounded from the dance team until further notice. I will always be a Shamrock, but above all, I am a mother.” She holds a finger up to stop me from responding. “And I will arrange for you to apologize to the vice principal, the principal, and later on, the school board. We will apologize to the owner of the gym as well. That is your punishment. For now. Until we hear more from Sheriff Bell. And for the record,” she adds, “I know exactly what kind of daughter I raised, and whoever you are right now is not it.”
I push past the both of them to stomp up the stairs. All the tears I’d tried to hold back are falling freely now. Mascara burns my eyes and runs down my cheeks.
Mama follows me, stopping at the bottom step. “Phone,” she says.
I turn on the landing and throw the dumb thing down the stairs.
Millie
Seven
Me, my mom, Inga, and Uncle Vernon all sit around my mother’s breakfast bar on Saturday morning with the twins in their carriers on the counter. The moment one of them stops crying, the other starts, like they’re tagging each other in and out of the ring.
My mother coos at a sobbing Luka. “He does that howl you would do when you were a baby, Vernon. Just crocodile tears. It’s a wonder you never fried your vocal cords.”
“Ah,” Inga says, “so this is his fault. I was a good baby, you know. Slept and ate. Slept and ate. I was a dream. But no, they had to inherit their father’s temperament.”
