Skinny (20 page)

Briella is at the sink when I walk in the door.

“What are you doing?” I ask her, blocking the way out.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m using the bathroom.”

“Like you’re using Rat?”

“What are you talking about?” Briella’s face gets serious. She pulls a paper towel out of the dispenser on the wall and wipes off her hands. She pushes past me to get to the trash can.

“This is about you and me. There’s no reason to bring Rat into it.” Anger surges through me. It makes me feel sharper and more alert. I whirl to face Briella.

She blinks at me like she doesn’t know what I’m saying. But she does. I know she does.

“It isn’t always about you. I like Ted,” she says. “He’s a good guy.”

I stiffen. “Why are you calling him that?”

“I think it’s time for him to leave that silly nickname behind, don’t you?”

“He likes it,” I say.

“Does he really? Do you even know?”

“I’ve asked him.”

“How long ago? Fourth grade?”

I don’t know how long ago it was. Could he have changed his mind and I didn’t know? What else has happened without me knowing?

“He asked you to the dance, Ever,” Briella says. “You were always his first choice. He told me. But you wanted to go with someone else. So why are you knocking me?”

She has a point. Not that I want to hear it. I did . . . do . . . want to be with someone else. Jackson. It’s always been Jackson.

“I just don’t want Rat to get hurt,” I say.

“Ever,” she says, “I really like him. He makes me feel smart, and funny, and something more than just pretty.”

Just pretty. That’s all I’ve wanted for so long, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to want.

I realize she’s telling the truth, and I don’t know what’s worse. Briella using Rat to get back at me or Briella actually liking Rat. My Rat. A sense of loss sweeps over me.

“I don’t want you to hurt him,” I mumble again.

“Why would I do that?” she asks, snapping her fingers in front of my face like she’s trying to wake me up. “You really don’t understand me at all, do you?”

“I guess I don’t. It’s not like we’ve exactly been friends.”

“You think Whitney is your best friend now?” she asks.

“At least
she’s
been nice to me.” I’m not sure I really believe that, but I say it anyway.

“You think she’s
nice
? You’re her makeover project. It’s getting her all kinds of attention. It’s not about you. Don’t kid yourself.”

“She didn’t have to do it. At least she doesn’t ignore me like you do.”

“You’ve never wanted to be friends with me. Fat or not. You’ve always made it clear. I’m stupid, and you can’t stand me.” Briella blinks quickly. Are those tears in her eyes?

Because of me?

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” I’m surprised at her anger. “I didn’t mean to be that way.”

“You always act like you’re better than me. You think you’re better than everyone. Rat doesn’t act like that. He’s probably a hundred times smarter than everyone in this room, but he never makes me feel dumb.”

Or fat
, I think, but I don’t say it. I do say, “You don’t understand.”

“Did you ever think maybe I want to understand? And I could, too, if you would just explain it to me.” Briella throws the paper towel into the trash. “I’m going back to the dance. Have fun with your new friends.”

“They’re your friends, too,” I say.

“I’m not so sure about that,” she calls back over her shoulder just before the door slams shut.

I stand, staring at the mirror for a long time after she leaves. My green eyes look sadly back at me. The only thing I recognize in the reflection. Who are my friends? Whitney? Jackson? Where were they when I weighed three hundred pounds? The music starts up again outside the bathroom walls. A soft melody. Right this minute, beautiful Briella is stepping into Rat’s arms. She’s where I was a few minutes ago. Right where I want to be right now.

“What do I want?” I whisper to the girl in the mirror.

A beat of silence drops into the clatter of my mind. Quiet. Not even Skinny is talking to me.

What have I done? I need to think. Stumbling out of the bathroom, I push my way through the crowd to the hallway doors. I don’t want to see Briella and Rat dancing together again.

At midnight, Cinderella ran away from the ball, leaving behind her glass slipper. The doors swing slowly closed behind me, shutting out the sound of the party, and I realize I’ve lost something far more important than a shoe.

I’ve lost my best friend.

Out in the hall, I take a couple of deep breaths, stumbling toward the junior lockers. I just need to think for a minute. The music from the dance fades away into a dull thumping in the background. I dodge a couple of giggling freshmen dragging each other back the way I just came, toward the music and the fun.

Two figures stand close to each other down by the water fountain. I blink rapidly, my mind starting to focus. Something about them is familiar. The girl is tiny. Gigi. She’s wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and tennis shoes. She’s obviously not dressed for the ball. And the boy who’s standing oh-so- close to her . . . is Jackson. Their hands touch. I hear a slight buzzing in my head.

My mind is scrambled, my stomach in knots. I can’t look away. God. How did this happen? When did this happen? Jackson reaches his hand around behind Gigi’s neck and brings his lips down to hers. It’s so easy. So natural. Like he’s done it a million times before.

My heart feels like it’s been wrapped in barbed wire and pushed deep inside me. I’m bleeding inside, fighting for every breath. It’s supposed to be me.

Gigi pulls back, laughing. She reaches up and brushes the hair from his eyes. Her fingers linger and then trace the line of his chin. Like I should be doing. Like I’ve dreamed of so many, many times. My stomach churns.

Her mouth moves, and Jackson laughs, his eyes never leaving her face. He leans in to murmur something in her hair. I can almost feel his breath on her neck. Almost. They both laugh. He pulls away, and she punches his arm playfully. It’s like she hit me solidly in the stomach. I cover my mouth with my hand to try and hold in the hurt.

“You’ll never be skinny enough for him.”
Skinny’s voice fills my mind. She’s back with a vengeance. In my ear. Hissing.

“Nothing is ever enough. You know that now, right?”

Jackson leans back in toward Gigi. He’s going to kiss her again, and I’m standing there like I’m watching some kind of movie. I back away into the lockers behind me, trying to get away from seeing what’s coming. The clang of the metal star tles them, and they jerk away from each other.

“Ever?” Jackson turns to see me standing there, but the surprise on his face is quickly replaced by guilt. “What the . . . ,” Jackson says. He clears his throat.

I turn and walk blindly away from them. I’m fighting for every breath and it’s not fair. Nothing matters now. Not the weight loss. Not the acting. Not the audition.

“Wait,” Jackson calls. “I’ll catch up with you inside,” I hear him tell Gigi.

I can’t walk away fast enough in these stupid high heels, and he catches up with me before I can turn the corner.

“Ever, please don’t go. Let me explain,” he says, touching my arm. “It was rude to be with Gigi when I came with you. I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to do to make him love you?”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Say I’m dreaming. Say I’m crazy. Tell me how I can change things.” I realize I’m shouting. I take a deep, shaky breath, and my voice drops to a whisper. “How can I change me . . . any more?”

He closes his eyes for a minute, rubbing his fists against the closed lids. Then opens them. “It’s not you.” He says the thing everyone says when they break someone’s heart.

“Of course it’s you.”
Skinny’s voice is gloating in my ear.

Jackson shakes his head. “It was Whitney. She likes you, and she wanted you to have a chance to go to the ball.” His voice trails off as his eyes meet mine. “She thought you deserved to have a good time.”

“He only feels pity for you. They all do.”

Shame washes over me.

“Whitney doesn’t
like
me. She just wanted a fix-up project and you’re the perfect accessory.” I smile bitterly.

“This thing with Gigi . . . it all just happened. I’d already asked you and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. . . .” He gestures toward the gym door. “. . . Or make Whitney mad.”

Jackson is a coward. “Please leave,” I whisper. “Please just leave.”

He walks toward the open gym doors and the music. I stand there watching him leave and know I should be doing something. Walking away. Something.

“Wait,” he says, turning back to face me. “Why did you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Liking me.”

“Why do you think that?” I ask, confused.

“We were friends. More than friends. You kissed me. Then every thing stopped.” He shrugs with embarrassment. “I just wondered what happened. You started looking at me like . . . you hated me.”

“He’s lying. He’s the one who stopped liking you. Remember?”

“Just like the look you’re giving me.” He points at my face. “Like you can’t stand anything about me.”

I didn’t hate him. Far from it. I hated the voice I heard in my head. Skinny’s voice. But Skinny was the one who told me the truth, right?

“I never stopped liking you,” I say quietly.

“Then why did you stop calling? Why did you stop coming over?”

“Because you’re fat and ugly. Nobody likes someone like you.”

I try to focus. Skinny’s voice is talking over Jackson’s. I can’t listen to them both at the same time. They are saying different things. One of them is lying. But which one?

“I tried to talk to you a couple of times. But it was like you couldn’t hear me,” Jackson says.

“And now you like Gigi,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says, looking me directly in the eyes. “I do. I’m sorry.”

Don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry. I look down at the tips of my fancy pointed black shoes, blinking frantically. No glass slippers, just a glass heart shattering into a million slivers of regret. This isn’t the way the fairy tale is supposed to end. Everyone knows that.

“Alone. Alone. Alone,”
Skinny chants in my ear.

Jackson puts a hand on my shoulder, and I look up. I search his face for the boy I walked with through the snow, but he’s gone. He’s been gone for a very long time. Maybe he never even existed. Prince Charming is just a character in a childish fairy tale of my own making.

His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. The chanting is so loud. I concentrate. Focus.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jackson asks me again.

“Sure,” I say, because what does it matter if I say something different?

“Gigi and I never meant to hurt you.”

“Oh, brother! Like that’s supposed to make you feel better?”
Skinny yells in my right ear. I wince, and Jackson frowns down at me.

“I should go,” he says. I nod, and he leaves me standing alone in the empty hallway. All my plans. Gone. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I walk away down the hall, my head feeling disconnected from my body. The music and laughter from the party inside the gym seems far away, like a television left on in a different room.

I stagger through an open door. It’s the theater. The place where I’m supposed to have my biggest triumph. I stumble down one of the side aisles toward the front of the stage, sinking into one of the seats in the first row. The lights are all on, but I’m in the dark.

I should laugh, really. It’s funny, right? Jackson liked me all along, and I threw it away. I screwed every thing up by myself.

And then I went and did all this, thinking I could win him back. The surgery. The new clothes and hair. The drama class. Everything. For what?

“You are still fat and ugly. None of it mattered. You don’t matter.”
Skinny is here, too, and she isn’t whispering. Her voice echoes through the empty auditorium.

“You will always be alone. Your father has Charlotte. Your mother is gone. There is no one for you.”

It was never about Jackson. I was in love with a memory, so unreal and fleeting it doesn’t even matter anymore. The truth slashes into my mind. It is about me . . . and Skinny. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Skinny is haunting me like a ghost, chasing after me like a shadow. She won’t quit saying her horrible words, her lips to my ear.

“Stop.” My voice is shaking, the tears flowing freely from the edges of my eyes. I’m standing on a cliff, the rest of the world beneath me. I’m broken and I’m never going to heal. I cry until my throat is empty.

Skinny is waiting just offstage. Behind the curtain. I feel her. I hear her breathing there in shallow little horrible rasps. She’s farther away, but her voice is even stronger. Unmistakable. She’s no longer tiny and fluttering around to whisper in my ear. Solid and life-sized, she’s standing just behind that stage curtain. A shiver of fear runs up the nape of my neck.

“If only you were skinny like Gigi. Then he would love you,”
Skinny hisses from offstage.
“But you will never look like her.”
Her whispers crawl around inside my dress. I swallow, hard.