A week into June and two days into summer vacation, Mama pulls up in front of city hall and parks in a two-hour parking spot.
I reach for the door handle. “I thought you were just dropping me off.”
She chuckles. “If my baby’s gonna address the school board, I’m gonna be there to watch.”
She checks her lipstick in the rearview mirror and holds it out for me. “You want some?”
“Sure.” I don’t know if lipstick will do much to make these old farts listen to me, but I’ll try anything at this point. I pull my mirror down and carefully apply.
Mama tussles her hair to add volume and shuts the car off. “Showtime.”
When Millie dropped me off after our truly epic road trip, Mama was doing the dishes before bed. She pulled a plate of food from the fridge labeled CALLIE and sat with me as I ate. Finally, as I was finishing up, she asked me where I’d gone and why. When I explained, she sat there for a long moment and finally said, “Two weeks grounded.”
And that was it. That was the cost of doing business.
I decided to take a page out of Millie’s book and let my clothes do some of the talking, which is why I’m wearing my white Shamrock uniform with matching white boots. I ditched the hat, though, because some heads were made for hats, but mine was not, so I opted to just wear the bun I’d normally don beneath the hat.
But I needed more than clothes. I needed facts. For those, I went to someone who I still can’t believe texted me back.
ME: I know you probably never expected to see me pop up in your phone again, but I need your help. First, I need to say that I’m sorry. I should never have shared everyone’s secrets like I did. I was mad and I felt betrayed, but that wasn’t right.
She left me hanging for a good long time before texting me back.
MELISSA: Why should I even consider helping you?
ME: It’s for the Shamrocks. I swear.
MELISSA: Keep talking.
For the rest of our interactions, Melissa was all business. She didn’t even acknowledge my apology, but she did help me gather the facts and research I needed.
Inside the town hall meeting room, sitting in the middle row, I find Millie, Amanda, Hannah, Ellen, and Willowdean. “What are you guys doing here?” I ask.
“Couldn’t let you embarrass yourself alone,” says Willowdean.
Ellen elbows her in the ribs.
Hannah laughs. “Millie made us come.”
“We wanted to,” says Amanda. “So here we are!”
“You’re going to do great,” Millie says, giving me two thumbs up.
I look at the five of them. These girls were never the friends I asked for, but they’re definitely the friends I needed.
“Nice outfit!” calls Hannah as I’m walking down the aisle.
Without my mama even noticing, I give her the middle finger behind my back. And then I turn around and smirk at her.
Mama and I sit in the front row, in the seats marked for members of the public who would like to speak during the open forum.
The budget meeting is long and boring. Who knew it cost that much to fund a cafeteria? And why is everyone always trying to take money away from libraries? Aren’t books sort of the reason we’re even in school at all?
Finally, Laurel Crocker, an old white man who always matches his cowboy hats to his boots, wears expensive blazers with starched jeans, has never taught a day in his life, and who also happens to be the president of the school board, bangs his gavel. “And now we’ll take the required twenty minutes to hear input from the citizens of Clover City.”
The only other person here to speak stands up, a short, graying woman who has the horrible sense to wear a turtleneck during June in West Texas. “I would like to speak on behalf of abstinence-only education in the classroom.”
Someone behind me groans. My bet is on Willowdean or Hannah.
I catch Mama discreetly rolling her eyes. As someone who’s had to sit through sex ed in Clover City, I can attest that we don’t need to make it any worse than it is. As it stands, the teacher treats the diagrams like a game of Pictionary because he can’t bring himself to say the word vagina out loud.
The woman drones on for another five minutes, detailing obviously made-up statistics and a few Bible verses before she takes her seat again next to Mama.
“Do we have anyone else before this meeting is adjourned? Perhaps someone who would like to speak about something relevant to the topic of the meeting?” asks Mr. Crocker.
I stand, and my boots click against the linoleum as I walk to the center of the room. I steady myself at the podium and reposition the microphone.
“My name is Callie Rey—”
Feedback from the microphone shrieks and echoes, interrupting me. Everyone groans from the intrusive noise.
“Try taking a step back, hon,” Laurel suggests.
“I’m not your hon,” I almost find myself saying out loud. But I take a step back and start again. “My name is Callie Reyes, and I am a former member of the Shamrocks. A legacy member, in fact. My mother was on the team that won Nationals in 1992. You may have heard of me. For good and bad reasons. Um . . .”
I lose track of my thoughts for a moment and glance down at myself. I look ridiculous in this uniform. There’s probably lipstick on my teeth, too. For a second, I glance back and catch sight of Mama, who winks at me. A couple rows back, Millie is smiling and giving me thumbs-up.
I turn back to the microphone.
“You’ve got about six minutes left,” says Mr. Crocker.
Great. Not only do I have to be profound, but I’m being timed as well. Millie would know just what to say. She’d say something meaningful and important. Something that would almost sound emotionally manipulative coming from anyone else, but from Millie it would be nothing but sincere.
I sigh into the microphone. For as much as I love Millie, I’m not her. I’m Callie. Prickly and uncomfortably honest.
I try again. “I’m here today because for as long as I can remember, the Shamrocks have had to seek outside funding for everything from costumes to travel. I understand that the school district isn’t a money tree, but when we lost our sponsor a few months ago, we were pissed.”
“Language,” warns Mr. Crocker.
“Sorry, sir.” I clear my throat. “We were very upset. I was the co–assistant captain at the time, and I had sunk my whole life into that team. So yeah, I was upset. And because I was so angry, I did some things I regret, like vandalizing a local gym, which I’m sure you’re aware of. Y’all and Vice Principal Benavidez made the decision to remove me from the team, and I can’t blame you. What I did was wrong. But what I can do now is to help fix the real problem.”
Mr. Crocker chuckles. “The real problem?”
No, sir. You will take me seriously. “Yes,” I say defiantly. “The real problem. The real problem is that the Shamrocks are the most winning team from Clover City of all time. We hold the most District and State titles. And we hold the only National title in the whole city. In fact, we’re the only team that has ever been to Nationals. And! We’ve been four times.” My boots clack as I double back to my empty chair and grab the folder I brought in with me, which Millie helped me compile in a rush. “I brought all of the statistics here with me for you to see.”
“Well,” he says, “I’ll admit that’s rather impressive.”
“But, sir,” I say, “what’s not impressive is our budget. I’m all for rolling your sleeves up and doing some good ol’-fashioned fund-raising, but the Rams, our football team, is allotted a budget twelve times the size of ours, and you’re even building them an indoor training facility.”
Behind me a few people clap, and I think I know just who they are.
“So, Mr. Crocker, today I stand before you wearing my Shamrock uniform for the very last time, and I ask you to consider where you spend taxpayer dollars. I daresay the Shamrocks have more than proven themselves worthy.” I nod to him and the rest of the board. “Thank you for your time.” I step forward and place the folder in front of him, which not only includes Shamrock stats, but also the team’s budgetary needs, thanks to Melissa.
“We thank you for speaking up, Ms. Reyes, and we’ll be sure to consider this as we finalize next year’s budget.” He bangs his gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”
I twirl on my toes, and Mama is right there to meet me. She holds my face like she would when I was a little kid and she’d squish my cheeks together, except this time without the squishing. “Callie Alejandra Reyes, I am so damn proud of you.”
There’s so much between us that’s unsaid, but this feels like a good first step.
Just two weeks after the last day of school, and it’s already time for us all to see Millie off. Amanda hosts a pool party in her backyard the night before.
Millie wears a bright-yellow high-waisted bikini swimsuit with a ruffle top. She’s lying out on a lawn chair beside Malik with huge red heart-shaped sunglasses pushed up the bridge of her nose. Willowdean, in her bright-red polka-dot swimsuit, is canoodling with Bo on the tiny bench built into the deep end of the pool, while Hannah sits on her girlfriend Courtney’s shoulders as they battle Ellen with Tim on her shoulders in a game of chicken.
I sit on the steps in the shallow end with Mitch (whose amazing swim trunks look like the Texas state flag, by the way) on the steps above me so that I’m resting between his legs.
I’m actually 100 percent twinning with Millie today and wearing the exact same style and color of bikini that she is. Her idea, of course. She had tried to get all the girls to join in, but I was the only one who agreed. But I agreed to go all in on the whole obnoxious twinsie thing. I guess you could say I’m pretty accustomed to wearing identical outfits with at least twenty other girls, so the idea of matching bikinis seemed sort of normal to me. Millie mostly marveled about the fact that she found the same thing in both our sizes.
Amanda steps down into the pool beside us, presenting us each with multicolored plastic beads and neon shutter sunglasses. “Much better,” she says.
“You didn’t look festive enough!” Millie yells from across the yard.
Mitch swaps his neon-green sunglasses for my neon-yellow pair. “Feeling very festive right about now!”
“Amanda,” I say, “it’s not that I like you only for your pool, but I also hope you invite me over all the time this summer to go swimming.”
“Your wish is my command! As long as you can deal with my brothers.”
“Where are they, anyway?” I ask.
“My mom bought them a new video game so they’d leave us alone.”
“Good woman,” I say.
“She’ll need all the pool breaks she can get with her new work schedule!” calls Millie.
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Either come over here and be part of this conversation, or stay over there and flirt with your boyfriend.”
Her cheeks are nearly bright enough to match her lei.
“She’s really good at multitasking!” yells Malik. “Flirting with me and butting into your conversation at the same time.”
She swats at him playfully.
“I approve!” I say.
Tim crashes into the water, falling from Ellen’s shoulders as Hannah and Courtney whoop victoriously.
“I can’t believe the elusive Courtney has finally made an appearance,” says Willowdean as Tim surfaces and dunks Ellen.
Hannah hangs on Courtney’s arm like a koala, both their chins skimming the water as they move toward the deep end. It’s the most affection any of us has ever seen her express. Ever.
“Oh,” says Courtney. “Don’t be fooled.” Her bleached hair is nearly white and spreads in the water like tentacles. “Hannah tries to keep her social circles like her food. Separate and never touching.”
“No fun!” says Amanda.
Courtney turns to her. “Thank you!”
Hannah rolls her eyes but can’t stop herself from smiling.
Tomorrow is my first day back at the gym. Vernon agreed to let me take on Millie’s shifts, and, most surprising of all—it was Inga’s idea. I’ve already started to pitch them some ideas about student discounts and a few other things we can do to grow membership over the summer so that maybe I can stay on in the fall.
Millie calls it a night early, since she and her parents are leaving town way before sunrise, and even though I’m not grounded anymore, I’ve got an early curfew until my mom says otherwise. As we’re all saying our good-byes, I run back inside for my bag to get the small going-away gift I made her. Yes, made her.
Just as I’m about to walk outside, my phone chirps.
I expect it to be a text from my mom, asking when I’ll be home, but instead I find an email.
From: [email protected]
Word is the district is upping our budget for next year. It won’t be much, but it’s more than we had. Thanks for what you said at the budget meeting.
Melissa
Clover City High School Shamrock Dance Team Captain
I laugh to myself a little. I can appreciate the fact that she went out of her way to use the official team captain email address. Serious alpha-dog move. Maybe she’ll make a good captain after all.
I don’t know if Melissa and I will ever be friends again. It’s hard to say if what we had was strong enough to salvage, but after the last few months, nothing surprises me.
I run out the door barefooted into Amanda’s front yard, where Mitch waits for me. I stand in front of him with his arms wrapped around me.
“You got it?” he asks, eyeing my bag.
I lean against his shoulder. “Yup.”
Millie makes the rounds, saying good-bye to everyone, including Amanda—they share some kind of secret handshake and a tight hug—until it’s just me.
Hesitantly, I reach into my bag. This particular gift is not what I would call my best work. “You better not laugh. Hold out your hands. Close your eyes.”
She does as I say with a wide grin.
It took me six hours, three trips to the Crafty Corner, and a binge of the first few episodes of Parks and Rec on Millie’s advising. (She swears I’m the Ann to her Leslie.) But in the end I created the world’s shittiest cross-stitch. It’s no bigger than the size of my palm, and in simple black thread, it reads AUSTIN OR BUST.
Millie opens her eyes and gasps, swinging an arm around my neck. “Oh my goodness! It’s perfect! Did you make this yourself?”
I nod.
“I witnessed the whole painful thing,” says Mitch.
Millie giggles and claps her hands together. “I love it!”
I beam, blinking away a few fresh tears. It wasn’t so long ago that I was chanting “SAN FRAN OR BUST!” with all the Shamrocks. I’ll make it to San Francisco one day, I know I will. But for now it feels just as sweet to see Millie off to Austin.
I hold both her hands. “Message me every day. Promise me.”
“At least twice a day,” she swears. “And I want pictures of my nephews when you see them.”
“If I can get close enough without them biting.”
She laughs before pulling me close for a hug. We stand there in our matching bikinis, two girls whose friendship was never meant to be, but it is. It really is.
I watch as she and Malik get into the van and drive off toward Malik’s house, where they’ll have their own private good-bye. I certainly hope it involves lots of kissing.
I lean back against Mitch’s chest. Something tells me my night will end in some kissing, too. I don’t know if I’ll end up with a happily ever after, like in one of Millie’s rom-coms, but I am definitely happy for right now. And that feels pretty damn good, if you ask me.