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Millie
Lo breezes into the library like one of those girls from a teen movie. Her blonde hair is flowing effortlessly around her, she has a pep in her step, and her smile is glowing as she glances around the library. That is, until she sees me, then she freezes and crosses her arms across her chest.
“Are you ready?” she asks in a clipped tone.
“Sure, just let me grab my things,” I say. I’ve been in a good mood today. We parted on good terms despite our fight this morning, and I feel like I’m finally starting to get the hang of everything at work. I was hoping she would have had time to calm down and forgive me since I last saw her nine hours ago, but I can see now she’s determined to stay angry for the long haul.
I go outside and see that she’s in the passenger seat—her day of freedom is over. I sit down behind the wheel and say, “Let’s go get some ice cream.” She rolls her eyes in response. Who gets mad about ice cream? Isn’t it a universal peace offering or something?
We drive to the ice cream parlor and place our orders through the drive thru. She gets strawberry with brownie pieces, and I get mint with brownie pieces. Brownies have always been our go-to dessert, and it seems we can’t get away from it even for ice cream. We park and watch the traffic drive by on the road.
“Can you please tell me what has been going on with you? I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong,” I say. I’m scared to move or even breathe. I hear her take a few deep breaths and then some sniffling. I slowly turn my head and see that she’s crying.
“The first day of school was awful. They were so mean,” she says. I put my cup of ice cream down on the dashboard and lean over to rub her back and run my fingers through her hair like I know she likes.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I walked in really late, obviously, and some boy in my homeroom could tell that I had been crying. He pointed it out to the entire class. By the end of the day, half the school was talking about how I’m an emotional mess who cries all the time. And then they made fun of me because I had to ride the bus home,” she mumbles the last part.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, and I really mean it. She should not have had to deal with that. I want to punch that boy in the face. “What’s that boy’s name?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says.
“I don’t understand, though. You rode the bus home in Harris, and no one cared.”
“Millie, I rode the bus, like, twice. I always had a ride with friends. And even the few times I did have to ride the bus, it didn’t matter all that much because I knew everyone. No one knows me here. They don’t care about me.”
Jameson’s suggestion pops into my head, but I don’t know if I should mention it to her. I don’t want her to think that I’m pressuring her to get a job or that I really need her to get one like I needed her to before. I want her to know that it would be for her and only her.
“I want to ask you something, but I want you to know that it’s only if you want to. Do you want to get a job so you can help pay for a car…your car?” I ask.
“Really?” she turns to me and asks. Her tears are replaced with a huge smile. “You’d let me get a car?”
“Well, of course.”
“Oh my gosh, yes! I have to text Lexi!” She pulls out her phone and starts sending out rapid-fire texts to her best friends back in Harris. How does she do that? My fingers cannot move that fast. Her phone is blowing up with all of her friends texting her back with silly GIFs. It turns into a giggle fest in my car as she shows them all to me.
We eat our half-melted ice cream, talking about nonsense. She does finally tell me the bully boy’s name—Daniel Ashby—and Lo makes me vow not to track him down and hurt him or his feelings. I crossed my fingers, though, so he better not mess with my girl again. I’m glad to have my sister back. And I’m also glad that I’m no longer in high school. I’ve never been good at dealing with drama.
Millie: Do you know of any place that’s hiring? I have a 16-year-old who wants a job!
Jameson: I’m assuming y’all talked and she has forgiven you?
Millie: Yes. She wasn’t really mad at me, per se.
Jameson: Good. I’ll keep an eye out for places hiring. By the way, my mom, a very loud woman who looks nothing like me, might corner you at some point and ask you to come over for dinner. I just wanted to warn you, because she’s crazy.
It took me hours to get up the nerve to text Jameson tonight. I don’t want him to
think I’m needy. I mean, I totally am. He’s sort of my only friend in Waverly, at the moment. I think I could be friends with Tess and Hannah at the library, but it hasn’t felt as effortless as it does with Jameson. I don’t have to try to find things to talk about with him. And Jameson isn’t thirty-six weeks pregnant and tired and irritable like Tess. Hannah’s sweet but a bit on the quiet side.
I’ll have to make more of an effort to get to know the two of them. My only friend can’t be my insanely attractive neighbor. A girls’ night might be in order. Lo could invite a few girls she’s met at school.
I realize I’ve been lost in thought and shoot a text back to Jameson. I retype it three times. When did I become so silly over a friend?
Millie: Ha! Thanks for the warning!
Jameson: Is Millie short for something?
