“Oooo!” she said. “Is that a craft project I smell?”
I shook my head. “Are your crafty spidey senses tingling?”
She pursed her lips and pretended to be suspicious, shaking her pointer finger at me. “You can’t hide a craftinghabit from me. If you’re a secret crafter, mark my words, Callie Reyes, I’ll find out!”
I laughed. “Trust me,” I said. “None of my secrets have a damn thing to do with crafting.”
Millie
Twenty-One
I have a deep, abiding love for routines. Or maybe routine isn’t the right word? Plans! I love plans. I love opening my day planner and knowing just what to expect. Which is why I am delighted to be sitting at the front desk of the gym, doodling in the square for next Saturday.
Slumber Party Numero Three@Amanda’s?
Callie plops down on the stool beside me after putting some towels in the dryer. “That is one intense calendar,” she says.
“Slumber party at Amanda’s,” I tell her. “Next Saturday! You have to go.”
She groans and lays her head down on the glass.
I lay my head down, too, so we’re at eye level. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a I’m-a-moody-flake-and-will-let-you-know-at-the-last-minute.”
I pick up my head. “I’ll take that as a probably.”
Callie groans again.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. Callie is a generally fussy person. But today it feels like there’s just something weighing on her.
She props her chin up on her knuckles. “What does that even mean?” She doesn’t say it in a rude way, though. “I shouldn’t complain about this to you.”
“Sure you should,” I say. “Try me.”
She pulls her phone from her back pocket and silently looks something up before holding it out for me to see.
“Girls in bikinis washing cars?” I ask.
“It’s not just that,” she says, and scrolls to another photo.
A few pretty girls sit behind a fold-out table with a bake-sale sign taped to the front. “A bake sale in the school courtyard?”
She shoves her phone back in her pocket. “The state dance competition is next week. And as of last night, they raised enough to cover the deficit from the gym’s sponsorship. And...”
“You’re not going,” I finish for her. I can’t help but think it’s partly my doing.
She lays her head down on the glass counter again and shrugs. “I’m gonna have to clean this thing for the billionth time. Might as well get my face print on it.”
I laugh. “You remind me so much of Inga.”
“What? No! Don’t say that.”
“She is my aunt, you know.”
Callie sits up. “That doesn’t mean the woman isn’t totally bananas.”
“I’m sorry you’re gonna miss the dance competition,” I say.
