Empty (6 page)

I say nothing. Dad’s anger isn’t having the desired effect. I feel limp and tired, and just want to plop in bed and disappear underneath the covers.

I shiver as misery seeps from my pores. I press the phone to my ear, but I don’t say anything. Couples and families stream by me. I watch a father and his two young daughters. The
guy’s got one girl on either side of him, and he’s holding their hands, laughing and smiling. He looks down at his children with the best expression. Love.

I want someone to look at me like that. Accept me, love me, see me.

“Don’t you answer me with one word. Do you—” There’s rustling and then Donna Dumbass says something, but I can’t make out the words. Dad says to her, “I’m fine, honey. I’m fine. She’s just, ah, being difficult.”

DD must lean in, on purpose, because I hear her clearly say to my father, “
I
love you.”

“I love you more.”

If there was any kind of sharp, pointy object within reach, it would be firmly implanted in my eye.

“Listen to me, Adele,” my father starts back at me. “Donna makes me happy. I love her, and you’re going to have to learn to love her too.”

I swallow a scream and cough loudly in his ear. On purpose.

My father clears his throat. “Just because you are overweight and angry about it, that’s no reason for you to lash out at me. I did not make you overweight.”

My stomach feels like it met the fist of a prizefighter.

“My mother even bought you all of those nice clothes.” I
hear him say to Donna, “She’s holding everything against me, even her weight.”

I wipe away a tear and whisper, “Me being fat is none of your business. I was fine before you ruined everything. You act like I don’t exist.”

“I did not call you fat, Adele. Were you even listening to me? I think me finding happiness may have something to do with your overeating,” he says.

“I . . . have to . . . go,” I choke out.

“Don’t blame me for—”

I hang up on him. On my way back to the bathroom to splash water on my face, I pray that the massage therapist uses boiling-hot oil. I want their tender, exposed skin to feel pain. Pure, raw pain. Because that is what I feel.

I eventually go back to the theater. As I slide into my seat, Cara whispers, “Jeez, Dell, did you fall in?”

“Ha-ha,” I say, and nothing more.

AFTER THE MOVIE ENDS, CARA AND I BLEND IN WITH
the crowd exiting from other movies and stream outside. Off to the left is a huge group of kids from school congregating on the sidewalk. Cara yanks me to a stop and commands, “Hold on.” I lean with my back against the building and try to look casual.

Cara is up on her toes again. “Do you see Sydney in there? I can’t see her.” She rummages through her purse for something. She pulls out her phone and talks to me as she texts. “I think we could, you know, break in with Sydney. She’s been talking to me in French class, Dell.” She looks up at me. “I just told her that we’re here.”

“Cara!” a voice squeals. Sydney materializes in front of us. Her hair is so pretty. It’s honey blond, straight, and shiny, and
I
want to pet it. I look her up and down. Cute jeans, tight V-neck tee with just a bit of her stomach showing. Sydney flashes a huge smile. “Hey, what did you guys see? She looks directly at Cara. I don’t even get a glance.

Cara bounces as she talks. “The one with the soldiers and stuff.” She turns to me. “What was the name of it, Dell?”

I shrug. I have no idea. I missed half of it, and the parts I saw were a blur.

Sydney says, “Oh my God, Cara, we saw
Robot Nation
. So stupid. The whole theater was packed. Some idiots from school were throwing popcorn and shouting, but the guy in the movie had the hottest abs.”

“Kyle Wolf?” Cara yelps. “He
is
gorgeous! I love him.”

Kyle Wolf? Who the hell is Kyle Wolf? How does my best friend love a gorgeous actor and his abs, yet I’ve never heard of him?

Sydney and Cara ping-pong back and forth about Kyle’s other hot body parts. I pull out my phone and pretend I’m busy texting someone. I wonder why Sydney didn’t tell Cara that everyone was seeing
Robot Nation
. My eyes focus on my pudgy fingers, and I wonder no more. Cara wasn’t told because those girls don’t want to be seen with me.

“Dell!” I hear from deep in the crowd.

I turn. It’s Brandon. He saddles up beside me. He reeks of alcohol.

“Yo! Dell! Sup?” he shouts.

“Nothing,” I say. God, he looks hot. With his smile and those long, dark eyelashes.

He turns around and shouts, “Chase! Cah-mere! Look, it’s Dell!”

Chase pushes through the other kids, dragging two other guys with him. Their eyes all have that glazed look. They’re shit-faced.

Chase raises his hand to high-five me and slurs, “Yo! Doooo it!” He turns to Brandon and leans on him. “Maker do it, B-man.”

Brandon’s face lights up and there’s nodding and he gives me that enormous smile. “Come on, Dell. It so funny.” He puts his tongue between his lips and blows a loud raspberry, clearly amused with his verbal mistake. “I mean,
it’s
so funny. You’re so funny, Dell.” All of a sudden Brandon’s head is on my shoulder and he’s rubbing my arm. “Please.”

My cheeks get hot. Brandon’s hand is warm on my skin. My whole body has a heat surge—blood is on the move, flowing and coursing—sending prickles up my spine. He thinks I’m funny. And he has his head on my shoulder. I can smell his spicy shampoo.

“Pleeeeease,” he begs. My nostrils are assaulted by his alcohol breath. The arm-stroking stops, and he looks me in the eye. I try to decipher if drunk-Brandon can really see me. I wonder if alcohol has the ability to make one human being see another human being. I search for any sign of this. In two seconds I realize that I can’t even lock on to his eyes because they’re rolling around in their sockets.

Cara stops her riveting conversation with Sydney about who would pay more money to see Kyle Wolf naked, grabs my forearm, and giggles. “Just do it, Dell. They’re so wasted.”

“Yeah. Wasted and hot,” Sydney chimes in.

I look over at Brandon. He’s now holding on to Chase for dear life as they drunk-teeter back and forth. They each have the biggest, stupidest grins on their faces. My face slides into a smile. I’ve liked Brandon since seventh grade, and that’s a long time. I think I fell for him when he complimented the grand slam I hit during gym. He said, because I remember it verbatim, “Hey, Dell, killer hit. You have a good swing.” He said it in the nicest voice. I remember my stomach had flip-flopped, and I’d bumbled out a thank-you. Then he smiled and bit his lip, and I blushed.

Since then, I’ve fantasized about him asking me out. He only dates the most popular girls—beautiful girls. I am not, nor will I ever be, beautiful. Even if I were thin. I think
he views me as one of the guys. Just another fellow athlete, not a girl.

Now, there’s this whole mooing thing. It’s my fault that he keeps begging me to do it. I started it. I did it in gym last year to be funny. I made fun of myself before anyone else could. What I do has a name: self-deprecation. I saw it on TV. I don’t really care what it’s called. It worked. I just never expected that I’d still be mooing for others’ entertainment.

Brandon whines, “Come on, Dell. Do it.”

I look to Cara and desperately want her to shake her head, mouthing, “No.” It would be so cool if she would tell them all to go to hell, but she’s not even paying attention anymore. She and Sydney are busy putting on lip gloss.

Cara freezes with her hand in midair, lip gloss wand clutched between her fingers. “What’s the big deal? Just do it. Everyone’s waiting.”

So I sumo-pose, I moo, and I bring the sidewalk down. Chase practically falls over. Cara and Sydney laugh so hard they dab the corners of their eyes. A few other guys imitate my moo and high-five each other.

Once he catches his breath, Brandon turns to Sydney and Cara. “We’re going to Melissa’s house. You guys wanna come?”

Before they even have a second to respond, I open my mouth. “Yeah. I’m in.”

After he walks away, Cara looks at me with eyebrows raised. “Oh my God.” Her smile tells me she’s excited. We’ve never been invited to one of these parties.
My
smile fades as we head to Cara’s car because I’m not sure if she was shocked that she got invited or because I invited myself. We’re about to make quite the party team: Beauty and the Beast.

I get my answer when she asks me if I’ll drive. “Okay, sure.” She tosses me the keys and begins a full-on texting bonanza with Sydney. In the ten minutes it takes to get to Melissa’s house, I’m privy to a whole lot of mumbling as Cara reads text after text after text. Something about a song they both love, and how hot Sydney thinks Chase is, and what she plans to drink at the party. There are even a few reactionary bursts of laughter from Cara. I’m not in on the joke. My eyes stay focused on the road ahead, and I don’t bother questioning her about anything.

I just drive.

MELISSA’S HOUSE IS FILLED WITH THIRTY OR FORTY
juniors. Most of the girls are drinking wine coolers, and the guys all have beer. Smoke wafts up from the basement each time someone opens or closes the door. I think most of the kids were drunk or high before the party started.

From my vantage point on the sofa, I witness some wild stuff. Two girls are making out, surrounded by a circle of guys. Chase and Sydney are going at it on Melissa’s dad’s recliner, and it looks as if Sydney’s going to be topless for the world to see any second. While we were standing on the sidewalk at the movie theater, she’d pulled her hair up into one of those sloppy
ponytails. Well, it’s beyond sloppy now. Half of her hair has escaped the rubber band, and she doesn’t even notice. She’s too busy slurping Chase’s face off and grinding his crotch.

Melissa, Emma, and Cara are in another corner, jumping around to the blaring music. They repeatedly smash into one another. Melissa keeps falling down, and Emma keeps picking her back up again.

Cara’s been jumping ever since we walked in. I don’t want to be mad at her. I want her to have fun. Getting invited to one of these parties has sort of been her dream since the end of sophomore year. She’s definitely having fun—I can tell by the size of her smile. She’s blissfully lost in the jumping. I’m lost here in the sofa cushions.

I know I could make the effort and join them, but if I jumped, there’d be a strong chance I’d bust through the hardwood floor and land in the basement in a heap of splintered wood and concrete. The stoners would have the laugh of the century. The party would be ruined.

Cara fits in perfectly with those girls. They all like jumping around. They all fling their hair the same way. They all dress in cute clothes. They’re all skinny and pretty.

Cara skips over and stands in front of me, breathless. “C-ome on, Dell. It’s so fun!”

“Nah, I’m good.” I give her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I’m
kind of shocked she even broke contact with them to invite me over. A twinge of relief, or maybe it’s happiness, comes to life in my heart. Cara didn’t forget me. My mouth slides into a half grin.

“Okay.” She wipes the sweat from her forehead and says, “You’re smiling, so you must be all right over here.” Cara rejoins the jumpers. I finish my beer and silently wish she’d begged me to join them. Her “okay” came way too easy. If it were reversed, I would’ve put a little more oomph into my plea. But that’s just me.

I’m on my fourth beer when I start thinking about my effed-up parents. The conversation with my father and my mother’s admission that she doesn’t “know anything anymore” play on a loop. I’m a regular ball of party-animal fun.

I’m about to get up and grab another beer when Brandon emerges from the basement in a cloud of smoke. He gives me a very slow nod and saunters over. Plopping down next to me, his head continues bobbing, like a toy. “It’s a weed fest down there.”

I scan the room. “Where’s Taryn?” His girlfriend is typically glued to his side.

“Not here. Had some shit to do with her family. Don’t care.”

“Huh,” I say. I want to tell him that he looks hot and that I like the way his black hair curls out from under his baseball
hat and how his faded T-shirt with the old-fashioned Phillies logo hugs his chest and arms perfectly. But I don’t. I haven’t had that many beers.

“Wannaseesomething?” Brandon slurs. His blue eyes are glassy and tinged with red. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Do you?”

I know how the world works. Life is not a fairy tale. I know I am double Brandon’s weight. I know he has the hottest girlfriend on the planet. I know he’s the baseball team’s star pitcher. I know he’s insanely popular. I get all of this. So how come I can picture him kissing me here on this couch?

“You wanna see something?” he repeats in my ear. The scent of his shampoo fills my nose again. I close my eyes and inhale.

It’s hard to concentrate, but I am curious. “Depends on what it is.”

“Come on, you’ll think it’s hill-freakin’-larious.” He stands, sways a little, and puts out his hand to help me up. How gentlemanly. I know better than to accept it. I do not need a trashed Brandon Levitt struggling to help me stand up. No way.