When people seek revenge, they almost always make one big mistake: they go too big. They go for elaborate detail over precision. Not me. Covering the main hallway with green flyers listing the girls’ secrets was simple enough to do, but also lethal enough to sting.
When Keith drops me off in the morning, I walk into the front hallway to find chaos. For the first time in weeks, I feel like normal Callie. Maybe even better than normal Callie.
Melissa is ripping flyers out of hands as fast as she can. The final bell before first period rings, and not a single person in the hallway even makes a move to budge. Right now this place is like the last day of school. For one brief moment, the students have realized they outnumber the faculty and no amount of yelling or coercion on the part of Principal Armstrong and Vice Principal Benavidez is making any bit of difference.
I see Sam a few feet behind Melissa, her arms crossed as she shakes her head furiously.
I give her my most dazzling smile and wave. Oh yeah. This feels good.
And then, because the universe is on Team Callie today, I spot Bryce a few feet away. His head is bowed, and if he had a tail, it’d be between his legs. He makes brief eye contact with me before elbowing past a few guys to get into the restroom. This whole display is a nice reminder for him. His name might not have been on this list, but I’ve got enough dirt on Bryce to make a list every week for the rest of the school year.
Someone yanks on my elbow and I whirl around, prepared for a fight.
“Oh,” I say. “Hey, Mama.”
My mother wears a long white sundress with a turquoise shawl. Her red lips are almost as intense as her gaze. “Come with me. Now.”
She digs her red claws into my arm and drags me to the faculty bathroom in the front office. Once the door is closed and locked, she holds up a green flyer for me to see.
For the first time, doubt quakes in my stomach. “What?” I ask.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t do this.”
I cross my arms over my chest and inhale deeply. “Mama, every one of those girls hung me out to dry. They’re all just as guilty as I am.”
Her nostrils flare, but there’s not much she can say to dispute that.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask, my voice sounding more like a squeak. I was already suspended for what happened at the gym. What’s next? Expulsion?
Her lips spread into a thin line. “There’s no way to prove who did it,” she says. “And it’s not like you damaged any property this time. I think Armstrong and Benavidez are more concerned about damage control at this point.”
“Great!” I say. “Can I go to class now?”
“No!” she snaps, and waves the list in my face. “I did not raise you to do shit like this, Callie. Not only did you violate the trust of these girls, but you broke your oath as a Shamrock.” She reaches for the doorknob. “What a hurtful thing to do. I’m so ashamed.”
Mama leaves me there in the faculty bathroom, and that high I was riding when I first got to school has evaporated completely. I want so badly to stick to my guns. Those girls screwed me over. They had it coming. But the regret rising up my throat like bile is too much to ignore.
I brace my hands on the porcelain sink and give myself a long look in the mirror. They deserved it. I say it over and over again until I almost believe it.
Since my very public breakup with Bryce and getting booted from the Shamrocks, I’ve spent my last few weeks of lunch periods in my mom’s office. But today she’s kicked me out, which should come as no surprise. She swears it’s tough love. I swear it’s rude.
I carry my lunch and hurt feelings out to the courtyard adjacent to the cafeteria, and for the first time in my life, I search for a place to eat. Today has been . . . interesting. While there’s been some talk about who penned the list and even a few knowing glances, everyone seems more concerned with what’s on the list rather than where it came from. Of course I know there’s a chance of my secret getting out, too, but at this point, I don’t have much left to lose.
With only six weeks left in the school year, our very short-lived Texas spring is melting away in favor of much more summery weather. It’s the time of year when people are starting to get restless and rowdy. Girls (many of whom I once called friends) are spread out on the grass, soaking up the sun, while many of the guys are roughhousing with one another and playing with their food more than actually eating it. And of course a select few Shamrocks are missing in action as they assess their own personal damages.
The moment the door to the cafeteria swings shut behind me, I feel like all eyes have turned to me. No one makes a move to invite me to sit with them. Instead, they all wait to see where I dare land.
And then Millie—mother-freaking Millie!—stands up at the table where she and Amanda sit in a shaded corner that’s often left alone, because with the giant tree, you run a real risk of being shit on by a bird. She waves me over with both hands.
I scan the courtyard once more quickly as I recall the conversation I had with her just last night outside my house after I wallpapered the main hallways. And then I remember painting Amanda’s nails over the weekend. I like both of them. A lot. And that feeling leads to a twinge of embarrassment, which angers me more than anything else.
I roll my shoulders back and stand a little straighter, and then I walk straight over to Millie and Amanda’s bird-shit table.
I block out all the whispers and all the looks. I’m Calista Alejandra Reyes and I’m untouchable, dammit.
“Y’all mind if I join you?” I ask the two of them when I reach their table.
Millie grins, and Amanda puts down the book she’s reading and says, “That would be de-lightful.”
Later that day, as I’m walking to seventh period, Patrick Thomas stops me in the hallway. Mitch isn’t far behind him.
“I’d be careful at that lunch table you chose today.”
I tilt my head to the side and decide to briefly humor him. “Oh yeah. Why’s that?”
He snorts like a pig. “Millie might get confused and think you’re her second course.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look at him for a long moment. “Patrick, someday when we’ve all moved on and graduated, you’ll still be here in this town, cracking the same old jokes. The only difference is no one will be laughing, because eventually everyone you know will learn what I’ve known all along.”
“Okay,” he says, taking the bait. “And what’s that, Miss Hot Shit Callie?”
“You’re a bully, and no one likes a bully. No one. You’ll have no one left to laugh at your horribly unfunny jokes. And another thing: Millie will achieve more with her baby toe than you’ll do with your entire life, so you can rinse your damn mouth out, because you’re not even worthy of speaking her name.”
I hear a couple of ooooooos from other students, and I walk away, brushing shoulders with Mitch. “Time to find some new friends,” I tell him, without stopping for a second.
By the end of the week, sitting with Millie and Amanda at lunch is no longer newsworthy. Sure, I still get a few funny looks, and every single Shamrock practically hisses when I come within six feet of her, but it’s not like any of those people are rushing to invite me to sit with them, so I officially give zero shits.
And not for nothing, but the more my mom notices me settling into a groove with my new friends, the more she eases up on the whole grounded thing. She hasn’t even brought up the Shamrock flyer incident since Wednesday night, when she told me one last time how disappointed she was. In fact, I’ve even started riding to work with Millie after school. We stop at Sonic (I get a watermelon cream slush and she gets a cherry limeade slush), and then Millie takes me home when we close at seven.
That Friday after school, as we settle into work with our Sonic drinks, Mitch walks in wearing navy-blue athletic shorts and a gold Clover City High phys ed T-shirt.
“Hey,” I say. “Welcome back.”
“I was wondering if you still worked here,” says Mitch.
“What? I’m here every afternoon.”
“Ahh, well, I know that now. I’d started coming in the morning before school, but Millie—hi, Millie!”
She peeks her head out of the office and not so discreetly winks at me. “Heya, Mitch!”
He grins widely. “Anyway, Millie let me know that you only work after school and sometimes on Saturdays.”
I glance back at the office, willing my eyes into lasers. “Did she now?”
“Well, now that I know your schedule, I can plan my week accordingly.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” he says. “The workout burn just isn’t quite as good if I can’t watch you rolling your eyes at me from the front desk.”
I squint but can’t help the slow smile spreading across my face. “Well, my eye-rolling abilities are well worth rearranging your entire week for. I mean, no one rolls eyes like I do.” Digging my fists into my hips, I make a big show of rolling my eyes just for him.
“Ah, there it is,” he says. “They should list that as part of the membership benefits.”
I laugh and then say, a little quieter, “I don’t think I’ll be sticking around here for that long.”
He doesn’t press me for more information, but I’m not ready to be done talking just yet. “So,” I say, “you listen to my advice?”
“What advice was that?” he asks.
“About finding new friends.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, Patrick can be an asshole, but you know how it is.”
I look up at him, forcing him to look me right in the eye. “Actually, no. I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.”
“Right,” he says. “Yeah, well, Patrick is . . . I don’t know.”
“That’s one way of describing him.”
“Hey, you said you don’t work every Saturday, right?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Well, what about this Saturday?” he asks.
“As in tomorrow?”
“She has the day off!” shouts Millie.
I whirl around. “I do not.”
She peeks her head out again. “Yeah,” she says. “You do. I just gave you the day off.” She turns to Mitch. “She’s spoken for Saturday evening, though.” And then she disappears back into the office.
I sigh. Guess I’m in store for another slumber party this weekend, where only two out of five people can stand breathing the same air as me. With the way my mom is looking at me these days, it’s better than staying home. “Well, I guess I’m off, but I’m technically grounded.”
His brow wrinkles. “I can take a hint.”
Guilt sinks into my chest. But I didn’t genuinely want to go out with him. Did I? “I really am grounded,” I say.
“Nah, it’s cool,” he says, and walks off to whatever piece of equipment is farthest from me.
Great. Keep pushing people away, Callie. There are plenty in your life to spare.
After he leaves, Millie rushes out of the office. “Oh my goodness!” she squeals. “He asked you out!”
“I’m grounded,” I remind her.
She waves me off. “Puh-lease, your mom wants to unground you so bad. I can smell it. Yesterday when I was in the office for morning announcements, she asked me all about Saturday night and she said you came home in a . . .” She holds her hands up in air quotes. “‘Not bad mood.’ I really think she’s very invested in your social life and is concerned for you and how well you’re adjusting to post-dance-team life.”
I sputter with laughter. The girl sounds like she’s recapping the plot of a movie. “And you got all that from a ‘not bad mood’?”
She nods with authority. “I speak Parent fluently.”