Skinny (18 page)

“The Fall Ball?” Stupid. Of course he is talking about the Fall Ball. It isn’t like we have millions of different dances. There is only one dance a semester and this is it — the biggie — and it is only a few weeks away.

“Whitney said we could go with her and her date. I mean . . . if you want to.” He’s standing so close I can see his impossibly long eyelashes batting up and down over those amazing sea-colored eyes. I feel an uncomfortable tug at my heart.

“Ummm . . .” I try to process the information. He’s really saying this, right? It’s not another one of my daydreams. I want to pinch him or me, but I don’t think that’s the right response. I’m supposed to say something. Our eyes lock, and he breaks into a slow smile.

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Yes,” I say finally, because I realize he’s waiting in front of me for an actual answer. Like there would ever be a doubt I’d want to go with him. “That sounds great.”

“Good.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, and his eyes meet mine for a long moment. I can hardly breathe. “So I’ll talk to you later, then?”

“Sure,” I mumble in a daze, and watch as he walks off down the hall. As the realization of what just happened starts to set in, I can hardly keep from jumping up and down and squealing like those girls I can’t stand. The thin, pretty ones who always gather outside the boy’s gym. Jackson. Asked. Me. Out.

Take that, Skinny.

She doesn’t respond. She misses a lot of these opportunities lately. The long silences between us are unexpected and strange.

“You want a ride home?” I’m startled by the sudden appearance of Rat at my right elbow.

“Are you actually talking to me?” I smile uneasily and try to make it a joke, but I’m not rewarded with one of the famous Rat smiles in return. We’ve shared every thing since we were five, but never an awkward pause like this one.

He finally breaks the silence. “I’m going by the community center, and I know the kids would like to see you.”

“Okay. That’d be good. Let me get my books.” I fumble around in my locker, still trying to process what just happened with Jackson. Now I also have Rat to consider. We haven’t talked in the last few weeks, and now’s my chance to say all the things I’ve needed to say to make it right. The problem is, the only thing I want to tell him right now is how Jackson just asked me to the ball. Of course, I want to tell Rat first. He knows exactly what it means to me. Everything. I just don’t think he wants to hear it anymore.

There’s so much I want to say to him, but I can’t bring myself to speak. Not yet. He starts the car, and we drive out of the school parking lot, the silence stretching out again. I’m >desperate to say something, anything, but the words don’t come, and the seconds run by.

Finally I can’t stand it anymore. I squeeze my eyes shut and blurt it out. “I’m really sorry for what I said to you. I didn’t mean it.”

Rat is quiet. I open my eyes and look at his profile. His glasses. The tiny bump on his nose. The place where the dimples would be if he were smiling. But he’s not.

“I was just scared to try out for the musical. I mean, it’s a big step for me, you know?”

He nods but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “I know,” he says.

“Of course you know,” I say. “You always know everything.”

“Not everything,” he says, and the silence stretches out again. I look out the passenger-side window and watch a balding old man walk his basset hound down the street. They turn right at the corner and we go straight. My face is a ghostly half reflection in the window, and I try to think of something more to say. I turn back to Rat and try again.

“I’m doing well in theater class. You’d be shocked to see me up on that stage.” I realize I’m talking really fast now, but I just want it to be normal between us again. Like it’s always been. “And you should see my playlist. I’m keeping up with it every week.”

“Good for you,” he says, and it’s not sarcastic, but he still seems distant. He breaks for a red light, but keeps his eyes forward on the road. I know this face better than I know my own.

My eyes search the familiar features for some sign. His eyes, his nose, and then . . . his lips.

“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, Rat.” I reach out and touch his arm lightly. He glances over at me. “I miss you.”

The light changes, and Rat pushes on the gas pedal. “I miss you, too,” he says so quietly I barely hear it, but it’s enough to make the heaviness lift off my shoulders.

“We’re okay?” I ask, as we pull into the community center parking lot. I still need to tell him about Jackson and the dance, but it just doesn’t seem like the right time. He’ll be happy for me, though. I know he will. So why don’t I want to tell him?

“Of course,” Rat says.

When we enter the center, Rat goes off in his usual direction, and I head back to the play area.

Mario glances up from a pile of blocks when I enter the room. He gives me a look, and I feel instantly guilty.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” he says. “Rat’s been here. But not you.”

I kneel down beside him and pick up one of the blocks. “I know,” I say, stacking one blue block on top of the two red ones. We take turns for a little while, stacking and rearranging colors in silence.

“Were you sick?” he asks finally, his eyes still on the pile of blocks in front of us.

“Not exactly. I had surgery.”

“What’s that?”

I think about how to explain it. “They fix your stomach.”

He squints over at me. Then he closes one eye and squints at me again. “Are your eyes bigger?”

“No. I think my face is smaller.”

“You know, I’m in first grade now. We go all day, and we don’t even take a nap.” He pushes at the bottom block on the stack, and they topple over with a crash. For some reason, it makes us both smile. “I might be gone a lot, too, you know,” he says.

“First grade is very important,” I say. “I can understand how that would keep you very busy.”

He nods, very seriously. “I’m learning how to read.”

“How’s it going?”

“It’s harder than it looks.”

I laugh.

“Do you want a cookie?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, and I do. The chocolate chip cookies on the tiny table beside us look amazing. “But I can’t eat cookies anymore.”

“You used to like cookies.” He looks at me suspiciously.

“I still like them.”

“Did the surgery make you not like cookies?”

“When I eat cookies, I don’t feel good. It makes me feel sick.”

He looks shocked. “That sucks,” he says, and I don’t try to tell him not to say that, because it really does. Reaching across the scattered blocks, he pats my hand like I’m an old lady who needs comforting.

“Where are the girls?” I ask, trying to get him off the cookie subject.

“They’re outside playing princess and they’re all mad because they don’t have a prince.”

“Not in the prince kind of mood today?”

Mario shakes his head. “What about you? Do you have a prince?”

I remember Jackson and the invitation to the dance. The dizzy, bubbly feeling returns. “Yeah, I kind of do.”

“Did he ask you to the ball?” Mario sits back on the carpet, the blocks and cookies forgotten for now.

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “He did.”

“And you said?” Mario asks, after a minute.

“Are you kidding me? He’s the prince. Of course I said yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Prince Jackson,” I say.

Mario stands up, stretching his tiny body to attention.

“Now announcing Princess Ever and Prince Jackson,” he says in his loudest voice.

I stand up, too, and curtsey in my best princess manner, my head low and my knees bent deep. When I raise my head, I’m rewarded with a giggle from Mario.

A noise behind us breaks the moment, and I turn. It’s happened again. Just like the last time I was here. Rat stands inside the door, staring at me. I meet his gaze. It’s like walking into a concrete wall. All the laughter is sucked out of me. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there but, by the look on his face, I know he’s heard about the dance and Jackson. My mind is tangled, my tongue tied.

“Jackson asked me to go to the dance,” I tell Rat.

“I heard,” Rat says. His face is quite still.

“I was going to tell you. I just didn’t have the chance yet.”

“I thought we were going to the dance together. You and me.”

“But you never asked me.”

“Did I have to?”

I look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. He is. “You don’t even like to dance,” I say. “Do you even know how?”

“No,” he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him.

“It’s Jackson, Rat,” I say carefully, “and he asked
me
.” I don’t say the rest: “And I’ve been hoping for this, waiting for this, for years.” I don’t need to say it.

“Then I guess I’m happy for you,” Rat says. “Congratulations.”

Mario leans in against my body and slides his hand in mine. I glance down at his upturned face. I know what he’s thinking by his troubled look. Rat doesn’t seem happy.

“I’m leaving now, if you want a ride home.” Rat’s voice is calm as he turns to go.

That night, I dream I lose my computer. I leave it at Jilly’s in a booth with all the popular kids and when I go back to get it, it’s gone. The night before that I dreamed I lost my iPod. The night before that: my locker. I even lose my way going to biology class and only find the room on the day of the final exam. I spend most of the night wandering around looking for what I’ve lost.

I wake up tired, like I’ve actually been walking all over town for the last eight hours instead of sleeping in my bed. The worst part about these dreams is that crazy searching feeling I have in my stomach when I wake up. A feeling that I just HAVE to find whatever it is that’s gone.

Even in the shower, fully awake, I keep trying to figure out what exactly I’ve lost and where it could be. The dream tickles at my mind like that mosquito bite I get in the summer that’s right in the middle of my back and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t quite touch it. It’s so perfectly out of reach that I can’t stop thinking about it.

It must be about the weight loss. After all, I’ve lost enough pounds now to equal one small person. Maybe that’s what my subconscious is looking for — that whole person that’s missing.

“Turn around,” Whitney commands. She stands with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

I do as she says, trying not to trip over the long blue dress that spills onto the carpet in a pool around my feet. Strappy, sparkling sandals are lying on the floor by the closet. When I step into them, the dress length will be just right for dancing.

My hair is pulled back from my face and upswept with a ton of bobby pins. Whitney has backcombed the top of it into a poufy bump, and now she leans in to push a sparkly clip into the mass of brown curls. I watch her in the mirror, astonished at the reflection.

Whitney wears a short white wisp of a dress with a deep plunge of a neckline that features her Victoria’s Secret–enhanced cleavage. Her perfectly spray-tanned legs are long and lean in four-inch silver Jessica Simpson platform pumps. Fortunately, she was more conservative when she carefully selected my dress.

I never could have dreamed I’d have a mean-girl godmother for the ball. Or that I’d be going to the Fall Ball with Jackson. I could say it a million times and never believe it. Just the thought makes my stomach do a flip. But wait. There’s more. I’m double-dating with Whitney Stone and we’re all going to the ball in a limo that Whitney’s dad paid for. The girl in the mirror smiles back at me, her dark green eyes sparkling with excitement.

Whitney’s mom knocks on the door and then pushes her head inside.

“Honey, the boys have been waiting for a while now. Are you ready?”

I slip on the shoes. They aren’t glass, but it’s just as much a fairy tale. I take one final look in the mirror and my mouth goes dry. The deep blue of the dress sets off my dark hair, making it look darker and shinier. I can see the shape of my waist. I’m not a blob of blubber anymore.

“You’re still the fattest girl in the room,”
Skinny whispers, ever so softly.

We descend each step carefully. I feel a little wobbly, but I’m not sure if it’s the new shoes or just my nerves. Whitney’s dad stands below, snapping pictures. Jackson is there waiting, corsage in hand. He’s wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit with a crisp white shirt and a red striped tie. He looks older and even more gorgeous, if that’s possible. The sight of him makes me more nervous than ever.

“Wow.” Jackson’s mouth falls open in shock when he sees me for the first time. The look on his face is just as I’ve imagined it. Only now it’s real. “You look amazing,” he says.

My hand is shaking as he slides the small spray of tiny white roses onto my wrist.

“You’re happy, right?” he asks, looking up from my hand to my face. His forehead is creased with concern.

I nod, still not able to speak.

“Pictures!” Whitney crows. “Dad, get a shot of Ever by herself. I need one for my portfolio.”

I think she’s kidding, but she’s not. I feel exposed. The camera is my nemesis. Right up there with mirrors. I smile uncomfortably and try to blend back into the background.