The color drains from Millie’s face, but her voice is defiant when she says, “Yes, actually. I am.”
“Okay.” It was a joke. The girl can barely get through asentence without giggling, but suddenly she’s taking herself seriously?
Mitch clears his throat again. “Well, I guess I better get my dad’s money’s worth.”
Without a word, Millie takes his card to the back office to be laminated as Mitch adjusts one of the leg machines.
I sit down on the stool, and something about my whole body feels heavy. It’s guilt. It settles into my stomach and turns to concrete. What I said to Millie was dumb, I know. But it was funny! I mean, any other guy in Mitch’s crowd would have totally laughed.
I watch as Millie walks back up to the front desk.
I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say.
It doesn’t matter, though, because before I even have a chance to form a word, she slaps the card down on the counter and says, “Don’t forget to give him a welcome bag.”
“I won’t.” My voice squeaks.
I should’ve said I was sorry. I know that. But something inside me rears up, and I find myself somehow annoyed instead. It was just a dumb joke. And probably way more mild than what she’s used to hearing. She should just get used to it. The world is a tough place. Especially for people like her. She could at the very least get a sense of humor.
Everyone stands out in some way. It’s not like I don’t get upset every time some stranger thinks I’m not white enough or not Mexican enough or when someone thinks I’m Kyla’s babysitter and not her sister. Millie needs totoughen up, and I say that as someone who has had to do the same.
The next day at school, while I’m walking from English to World History, Bryce rushes up behind me and kisses my neck. I shriek from the shock and because I am super ticklish.
“Bryce!” I yank his arm and pull him up beside me. “What the hell are you doing? My mom has eyes in every crevice of this place.”
“I miss you.” He pouts.
“I miss you,” mimics his friend Patrick as he passes us in the hallway with Mitch close behind.
Bryce laughs and flips him the bird.
“Eat shit, Patrick!” I call.
Mitch offers a slight smile, and I nod my chin in his general direction. Yesterday I was thrilled to see him, but we’re not the kind of people who would actually acknowledge each other in public.
“You could come visit me at work,” I tell him.
“That place stinks,” he says. “And where would we have any privacy?”
“Well, maybe you could just power through the smell and maybe—just maybe!—we could hang out for a little while without you stuffing your hands up my shirt?”
He grunts. “You’ve never complained in the past.”
“Well, that was before my whole life was one giant prison sentence.” I squeeze his hand. “What have you even been doing without me?”
He lets go of my hand as the hall is about to split in two different directions. He bites down on his lip, and for a moment, I see him the way I did on the first day of tenth grade. My knees feel like Jell-O and I have to stop myself from pulling him into the handicap bathroom across the hall.
“I’ve found ways to keep busy,” he says.
A brief panic weighs on me. I trust Bryce, but I know every day I’m grounded is another day our relationship is at risk. It’s time to get creative. I stand up on my tiptoes and give him a soft, closed-mouth kiss. My mama and her snooping abilities be damned!
“I’ll figure something out. I promise.” One more kiss. “I swear!”
Millie
Fifteen
I follow Willowdean up the steps leading to the second story of her house.
