Better Off Friends

But sometimes a girl just needs her mother.

The wait in the principal’s office felt like forever. I had the entire time to reevaluate how I acted. I remembered once in first grade I’d been mad at this fourth-grade boy who always teased me during recess. He’d call me names and sometimes throw sticks at me.

I finally told Mom about it. I said that I hated him and I wanted to punch him in the face.

Mom said I should never hit anybody, because violence was never the answer. That hitting someone showed that you cared. And you should never give someone that kind of power over you.

But it wasn’t Keith I was mad at. Or cared about.

The door finally opened and I saw my father. I felt so guilty for having to bring him in. I never wanted to be responsible for one of those calls.

“Hey, Calley,” Dad said softly to me. He only called me this when he was worried about his “baby girl.”

Principal Boockmeier motioned for him to sit down. I couldn’t even look at my father, I was so horrified by my behavior.

“Well, I filled in your father about what happened. It seems that Levi’s and Tim’s stories matched. Keith’s seemed to be a bit more dramatic.” Principal Boockmeier pursed her lips, like she was holding in a laugh. “While I understand you were provoked, what Keith said, though unfortunate, did not warrant your response. We have a very tough policy on violence of any kind, and you did hit him. So you’ll be suspended for the rest of the week and have after-school detention for two weeks. If there are no more incidents, this will not go on your college transcripts.”

I was shocked and relieved. Thanksgiving was this week, so I was only going to miss two days. And there was a chance it wouldn’t totally mess up my record.

I quickly got up and followed Dad out of school. He stayed silent on the car ride home. I looked down at my sore, slightly red right hand.

The car stopped and Dad shut off the engine. I looked up and found us in the Culver’s parking lot.

“What …” I mumbled.

Dad turned to me, tears in his eyes. “I can’t say that was a fun call to get, Macallan. But then I heard from both Principal Boockmeier and Levi about what happened and, well … your mother was one of the sweetest people on earth. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly.”

Tears began to well up in my eyes. I’d let my father down and, worse, I’d let my mother down.

“But” — he put his hand on mine — “she would never have tolerated anybody talking crap about her family. That would not go over well. Your mother would’ve done the same thing, sweetheart. You remind me more and more of her every day, and while I might not be able to help you with everything she could, I’m so proud of you. She would’ve been, too.”

“Really?” Tears were coming out harder now.

“Of course.” Dad held on to my hand tightly. “And I know she’s looking down on you right now, probably laughing a little, and wishing she could be here with you. She’d want me to treat you to some custard for being strong and standing up for your uncle, and for yourself.”

I pictured Mom as Dad described her, and knew he was right. She’d never tolerated anybody treating Adam differently. One of the things Dad said he loved most about her when they first started dating was that she never babied Adam. She treated his younger brother like everybody else. She certainly wouldn’t have allowed anybody to speak to him, or me, that way.

“Is that a smile I’m seeing?” Dad asked.

I nodded. “You’re right. I know Mom would be proud. She’d be proud of both of us, Dad.” He seemed surprised about my confession, but I wasn’t the only person who’d lost somebody. “Let’s go get some custard.”

I’m so sorry, Macallan. You know how awful I feel about what happened. I should’ve stepped in, I should’ve punched him in the face. I can’t believe I acted like such a wimp. It really is a miracle you ever talked to me again. And I’m grateful that I’ve never had to experience your right hook.

I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t joke about that.

I’m such an idiot.

Blimey if I didn’t deserve a punch in the face.

I’m so sorry.

Moving on.

I needed to clear my head.

So I did the only thing I could think of to make me feel better.

Run.

Since football season was over, I didn’t have to worry about ru

I only had to run.

I’ll admit that catching that ball and hearing the cheering was amazing. I understand how people can get caught up in moments like that. How you want to keep reliving one small fraction of time when you felt invincible.

My dad has this friend who always makes him tell this story about a baseball game from back in high school. Every time the guy’s over, he tells it. And we sit there like we haven’t heard it a million times before. I thought it was pathetic, how you could look back on something so insignificant as one game, one play, and think that was the greatest moment in your life.

But then I totally got it.

I was THE MAN. The hero. The MVP. And all I had to do was catch a ball. One that Jacob threw with precision. Did he get the credit he deserved? Not as much as I did.

There I was on a total ego high when Macallan had to come in and crash the party.

And what did THE MAN, the hero, the MVP do? He stood there terrified and did nothing.

NOTHING.

I had to recount what happened not only to the principal, but to Macallan’s dad. He looked so upset when he arrived at school, then had to listen to me tell him how brave his daughter had been.

While I’d just stood there.

I had to tell him all the awful things Keith had said.

While I’d just stood there.

I’d never felt more like a loser in my life.

Before I really knew where I was ru

I normally didn’t run that hard when it was early winter, but I needed to get some distance from what had happened the day before.

I’d begun to walk forward to the swings when I noticed someone stretching, out over by the picnic tables. I abruptly stopped when I realized it was Macallan. She had her right leg up on the table and was bending over to stretch out her hamstrings.

Confusion swirled around whether I should approach her or walk away before she saw me.

I stepped forward. It was about time I started acting like the stud I’d been pretending to be for the past week. Or more accurately, past few months.

“Hey!” I called out to her.