When Mr. Prater isn’t looking, I shoot off a quick text to the one person I know has carried the weight of a truly painful crush.
ME: I’m having a CRUSH-911.
She responds almost immediately, which surprises me, even after all this time, because I’ve always felt like she’s way too cool for me.
WILLOWDEAN: Operator. What’s your emergency?
Callie
Fourteen
Life without a cell phone is a desert without water. It’s killing me.
I literally asked Kyla to play Scrabble with me the other night. (For the record, I won. Obviously.) The only lifeline I have to Bryce is school, and my mom’s been checking in on me in every single class. The woman is a hawk.
I stand behind the counter at the gym wiping down the same spot of glass over and over again to give the appearance that I am indeed very busy. Millie and her uncle are doing some routine maintenance on the weight equipment. Today, Tuesday, is her first day back since her emergency wisdom-teeth removal, and I nearly hugged the girl when I saw her.
While she was gone, I was left to finish my training with Inga. She tried to fire me four times, despite the fact that she’s not paying me, and even made me go stand outside in the giant muscle suit while I waved around a big NEW MEMBERSHIP SPECIALS sign. When I asked her why, she said I was breathing too loudly.
The bell above the door chimes and, shockingly, acustomer walks in. I nearly jump off my stool and recite the greeting Inga drilled into me. “Hi, welcome to Down for the Count. Are you a member or a first-time guest?”
The guy—tall and broad and on the huskier side—clears his throat before responding. “Uh, yeah. I’m not a member.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Millie rush over to the desk beside me.
My brow wrinkles for a moment as I try to place his face. Rosy cheeks, soft blue eyes, and a few acne scars on his chin. His blond curls have a reddish undertone, and something about his face feels boyish. “You’re in my grade, aren’t you?”
“Mitch, right?” Millie pipes in. “I think you know my friend Willowdean.”
His already bright cheeks turn a deep shade of red. “Uh, yeah.”
Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch.I squint. There it is! “You’re on the football team! With my boyfriend! Bryce. I knew I recognized you.”
Mitch has always been that big dopey guy who tags around with Bryce, Patrick, and all the other guys from the team. I don’t really know him, but now, stuck in this gym and phoneless, I feel like freaking Ariel fromThe Little Mermaid. I nearly scream, “I want to be where the people are!” Like this big burly dude is some kind of lifeline to my previous life.
But instead I just bite my bottom lip while Millie gives him the lowdown on all of our membership packages.
I take his cash as he pays for the first three months of his membership.
He looks at the cash longingly as I deposit it into the register.
“We appreciate your business,” I say, “but the way you’re looking at this cash, I sort of feel like I’m forcing you to pay a parking ticket.”
“A birthday gift from my dad,” he explains. “So I can get in some extra training before next season when the weight room at school is closed.”
“Senior year,” I say. “Surely you’ve had some scouts interested.” Unlike Bryce.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Guess so.”
“Well,” says Millie, “we’ll laminate your card while you work out and hand it back over before you leave. Towels are in the locker room and on the wall by the punching bags. My uncle Vernon—Vernon, wave!”
Vernon offers a quick wave but doesn’t look up from his duties.
Millie smiles sheepishly. “He’s a certified trainer and offers one-on-one sessions as well. If you need help operating any of the machinery, just ask Vernon or me for assistance. Callie here is still a newbie.”
I chuckle. “You’re a pro on the workout machines?”
I expect Mitch to laugh, too, but his lips turn into a straight line.
