Unpretty: An Unloved Ones Prequel (2 page)

And the worse thing is, even though I've stopped here accidentally, I find myself actually wanting to go inside. There are free samples at the counter. And the woman behind the counter, even from inside the store, she notices me. She's the only mall employee that has been friendly to me so far. She's a little plump herself. Not as big as me, but larger than Sarah. I wonder if she's gained weight since working at this store, and then I feel terrible.

Even fat people judge other fat people. Maybe we do it because we’re so used to judging ourselves.

"Come on," Sarah says, taking me by the hand. "Have strength. We've got the beach to slim down for."

She says this encouragingly, not in a snide or catty way like some girls might. The main reason we get along is that I don't feel that Sarah judges me for being fat. She never brings it up, and seems oblivious to the fact that I might not want to wear a swimsuit in front of half the school at the beach during spring break, or that I might not have a date for any school dance ever, or might not ever talk about boys because I would be too embarrassed if it ever got out that I liked a boy. If the boy found out, that is. I don't want him to have that moment of disgust where he realizes someone like me likes him.

We continue through the mall, and I know where we're going now. The feeling of dread is rising in my stomach. We're going to return the dress.

My stomach gurgles. I was so nervous about returning this dress that I've been eating like crazy all day. I even asked for a bathroom pass twice today just to visit the vending machines. We're not allowed to chew gum in class, which really isn't fair because I would never leave it under a seat or on the floor. I don't want to leave any evidence behind. But the chewing helps with the nervousness. And when I can't chew gum in class, my only option is to chew food. (I even have teachers that don't let you chew gum but
will
let you eat crackers. How backwards is that?)

But all that food today was even too much for me. My stomach is unhappy, filled with junk.

We approach the store, and I feel like we walk in a little more quickly than we walked into the thin store. Sarah doesn't want anyone to see us going into the fat girls' store, and I don't really blame her.

Here in this store, the mannequins are all about Sarah's size. I notice that even here they want to show off their clothes in the smallest possible size. I have never seen a mannequin my size. It makes me sick to even picture it, to have some resemblance of me that I couldn't hide. But at the same time, I recognize that it's unfair. Even in the fat girls' store they try to glamorize thin.

Sarah heads to a corner of the store and starts sifting through the sale rack. This is a more boutique store than Lane Bryant or Torrid. This is for when fat girls have special occasions. I walk up to the counter, and set the shopping bag down, and then lay a crumpled receipt on top of it. I plaster on my smile, and stop breathing all together as I wait for the sales girl to turn around.

She's thin. The sales girl is thin. It makes my stomach hurt.

"How may I help you?" she says cheerfully, looking me straight in the eye.

I find I cannot maintain eye contact, and look down at the bag. I place a hand on it, and notice my chubby fingers as I talk, and take my hands away. "I need to return a dress."

She nods, and then starts to open up the bag. "What seems to be the problem?" she asks, and to my horror she flaps open the dress as if she's opening garbage bag. It's a hideous dress: pale purple with zigzag patterns, made all the more ridiculous by its enormous size. Why do they only make cute clothes for thin people?

She holds it up to herself, as if trying it on in front of a mirror, and then quickly realizes it's more than triple her width. Something in her face tenses as she folds the dress back up and sets it on the counter.

"Nothing's wrong with the dress," I mumble. "It just doesn't fit."

She looks at the receipt. "Did you try it on?"

My jaw tenses. "Yes. But it doesn't fit anymore."

"Do you want to exchange it?"

"No." I don't tell her that I'd
love
to exchange it,
if
they had a larger size. But they don't. I am now too fat for the fat girls' store. My only option left is to order online. "Just cash back, please."

She presses a few buttons on her register, and then looks back to the dress. She does a double take, and then lifts the collar of the dress to peer inside.

"The label is missing," she says confusedly.

My blood runs cold.

I forgot.

It's such a habit that I forgot.

"I cut it off," I whisper. It doesn't even sound like my voice.

The sales girl looks up, her brow wrinkled. "But why?"

I seriously think I might shit my pants. I want to reach forward and yank the dress out of her hand, telling her to forget the whole thing as I run out of the store. But staring at her, looking at the enormous dress without a label, it's like a bad dream where you want to scream and run but you can't move. I can only watch helplessly as she fumbles with the fabric in confusion, finding the little threads that poke up like weeds from within the collar, evidence of where I disfigured the dress.

My voice is emotionless. I am speaking like a sleepwalker. "I do that with all my clothes."

The girl looks at me with a sort of revulsion, as if instead of labels she’s found out I've been cutting off butterfly wings and puppy dog tails. It's even worse having her look at me like that, so I am forced to explain. I speak as quietly as I can. I would die if Sarah heard me too. I can tell a stranger, because I can make it a point never to return to this store or this mall again. But I don't want Sarah to find out. She’d never look at me the same again.

"Because," I whisper, "I don't want anyone to know my size."

It takes her a moment, but to the girl's credit, she gets it and her face melts into a look of pity. I am on the brink of tears. "Oh," is all she can say. She looks down at the dress. I know she's debating whether or not to break the rules. "I really can't take it back," she says. "I may lose my job. I might be able to give you store credit, but if this doesn’t fit, honestly, I’m not sure if anything else will either."

I am not even paying attention. I am helping her stuff the dress back into the bag. "I understand," I say, my voice breaking. "Thank you.”

I don't know what I'm going to do. I used up half my savings on this dress. It was on sale, and I can't get it enlarged and I can't afford a new dress. What will I tell Sarah? I can’t go to the beach with her now.

Maybe I can fall and break something. Or hurt myself somehow in a way that looks like an accident.

I take back the bag and shove the receipt into my pocket.

"I'm sorry!" the sales girl calls out as I rush over to Sarah. She turns and takes one look at me, and sees right away that I'm upset. I'm so grateful that instead of asking what's wrong, she puts an arm around me and leads me out of the store. She keeps her arm around me as my shoulders quake and I fight back the tears.

"They wouldn't take it back," I tell her.

"Didn't you have the receipt?"

"It was on sale," I lie. "She can't take it back."

"Maybe if you call corporate?" she suggests.

"My mom would find out."

She's silent. She knows that would start another of my mom’s enforced diets.

We walk through the mall and to the parking lot, and climb back into her car. It groans under my weight as I sit down, and I reach my breaking point. I start to cry. Sarah starts the car, and we head home.

I hate myself more than ever. There’s no way left to hide the fact that I’m huge and I’m hideous. None of my old tricks are working anymore. I’m just too fat.

By the time we reach my house, I've got my tears under control. "Thank you for going to the mall with me," I say.

"Of course." She looks at me. "Are you going to be okay?"

I nod without thinking about it. I don't want her worried about me. "I just wish I still fit in the dress."

She perks up. "Hey, Kathy! You totally can. You've got a week. We can go on a diet
together
!" She's all excited like it's the best idea ever.

I don't want to break her enthusiasm. She really doesn't understand how much bigger I am than her, and I don't want to say anything that might break that ignorance.

She beams. "I'll get into the red skirt, and you'll fit back into your cute beach dress. How does that sound? We've got a week."

I force a smile. "Okay."

"You'll really try this time?" she asks. "No cheating?"

"No cheating!" I say as cheerfully as a person in a commercial. I sound completely fake to my own ears, but Sarah doesn't notice.

There’s no way I can do this. She doesn’t even know how much weight I’ve gained since I bought that dress.

To fit in it again, I’d have to lose forty-three pounds.

“Do you promise?” she asks.

I nod. “I promise.” What else can I say?

She does a little dance in the driver's seat, and I sit with my smile so tight my jaw is hurting.

"Okay," she says, returning to reality. "One last thing. Close your eyes."

I look at her, and she groans.

"Kathy! Close your eyes. And no peeking!"

I close my eyes and wait patiently with my arms folded across my stomach as I hear Sarah bend back and rummage through some papers in the back seat. She finds what she is looking for, and returns to the front. Then I hear the flick of a lighter. My eyebrows go up, and Sarah chides again about "No peeking," and I wait some more.

A moment later, Sarah says, "Okay. Open your eyes."

I do, and held out before me is a homemade cupcake with neon blue frosting. A pink candle is lit in the center.

"Happy Birthday!" Sarah screams. "I know you're sixteen and not one," she says, gesturing to the flickering candle, "but it's a
cupcake
. There’s only so much room."

I laugh, utterly surprised, and she starts to sing "Happy Birthday To You." I've been so stressed about returning the dress that I completely forgot about my birthday. No one else has remembered so far today either. Until now.

"Oh, Sarah!" I cry—and I mean, really cry. The tears are back, and I lean over and squeeze Sarah's body around the middle in gratitude. She stops singing. I can feel her gasping for breath, and I let go. I reach out for the cupcake and stop. She sees my hesitation, and her expression softens.

"One cupcake won't make a difference," she says. "Besides, it's your birthday. The diet can start tomorrow."

I smile, so grateful to have a friend like Sarah. I blink back the tears, and reach out for the cupcake again.

She pulls it back. "Wait!" she says. "You have to make a wish first."

I raise an eyebrow, and she giggles. I don’t want a wish. I want to eat the cupcake.

"It's tradition!" she insists.

I relent and drop my hands. I close my eyes to concentrate.

I don't really believe in wishes, but after all she's done for me today, I feel I owe it to Sarah to try.

"What do you want most?" she prompts, helping me to think before the candle burns out. “What would make you happy?

What do I want? I don’t even have to think about it.

I wish I were thin.

I open my eyes and blow out the candle.

Chapter Two
 

The smoke curls up into the low roof of the car, and Sarah hands me the cupcake. She starts the car and tells me she'll see me at school tomorrow. I thank her again for the cupcake, and lumber out of her small car. She doesn't wait until I get to the door because my mom's car is in the driveway. Sarah’s car vrooms down the street, and I shuffle the shopping bag and my cupcake as I unlock the door.

We have a small house, but since it’s just my mom and me, that’s all we need. My dad Hank lives in New Jersey, and we have an okay relationship, even if I don’t see him beyond holidays and the occasional summer trip.

The house is cluttered with junk, and when I come in, I hide my shopping bag behind a few packages by the front door. I don’t want to answer any questions.

I have to pass through the living room to reach my room, so there’s no avoiding my mom on the couch. I can see her the moment I walk in, her face outlined in the blue flickering glow of the TV. A bowl of popcorn is in her lap.

My mom is thin. I don’t know how she does it; I’m pretty sure she eats more than I do, and I’ve never seen her exercise. Some people are just lucky. Her jawline is sharp, but her nose is bigger than mine, and tonight she’s wearing her old glasses instead of her contacts. Her hair is also lighter than mine, a medium brown with thick frizzy curls. I don’t know where I got my straight black hair. My dad’s hair is blonde.

I turn on a light as I walk by and steal a glance at what she’s watching. It’s the closing credits of
America’s Most Wanted
.

“You know you’re not supposed to have sweets,” she says, not taking her eyes away from the screen.

“I know,” I say. I don’t want to have a fight. We can’t seem to talk without fighting anymore. I’m only stopping to give her a chance to remember my birthday.