I feel the heat rise up my neck and explode into my cheeks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, pulling my English book out of the bottom of the stack and slamming the door shut.
“Jackson Barnett. You like him. Very interesting.”
“Very funny is what she means,” Skinny breathes in my ear.
“He’s way out of your league. You know it and she knows it, too.”
“Whitney!” Briella yells from down the hall. I’m grateful for the interruption. “Are you coming or not?”
“Just wait a sec,” Whitney yells back. She shoves a blue scarf into my hands. “Wear this tomorrow with the flowered shirt. If you need help tying it, see me before school.”
Without another word she runs off down the hall to meet Briella. They link arms, giggling, and disappear out the door.
I yank open my locker again and throw the stupid scarf inside.
“Like that’s going to help. Now you’ll just be a huge blob of lard with a pretty blue scarf tied around it.”
I smash the locker door shut and lower my forehead down to the cool metal.
“Somebody’s not having such a good day.” Rat stands by the water fountain, watching my little temper tantrum. He wears a faded red T-shirt that says coca-cola on it and blue jeans. He looks solid and real. “The new look isn’t a success?”
“It’s going fine.”
“That’s a sarcastic response, right?”
“People say I look different.”
“You do look different.”
“But I don’t feel any different,” I say, wrapping my arms around my books and leaning back against the locker. “On the inside.”
“Here,” Rat says, with a flash of a brilliant Rat grin. He hands me a flyer on green paper. “This might help.”
I look down at the black-and-white drawing of a princess. Beneath the picture are the big, blocky typed words:
TRYOUTS FOR THE FALL MUSICAL: RODGERS AND HAMMERSTEIN’S CINDERELLA!
They’re going to put on Cinderella. I feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. It’s my dream role. I know every song, every line by heart. I can recite every bit of dialogue, and every part in the play, from memory. I could blow everyone away, even Jackson, by taking center stage and singing the role of Cinderella. One performance, one night, and no one would ever feel sorry for me again. But then Rat knows that. He’s been the only one listening.
It’s perfect. So why does that green piece of paper in his hand terrify me?
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I demand.
His smile falters for a moment, but then he continues, “This is what we’ve been working for, right?”
“I can’t. Are you crazy?”
“Why not?” he asks. “What’s stopping you? You have to sign up for drama class, but you still have time to change your schedule.”
“It’s impossible. Crazy. You won’t get it. Everyone knows that.”
She’s stopping me. Skinny. Because I’m wanting something. I’m hoping. I’ve learned the hard way, hoping is never a good thing. It’s all Rat’s fault. He caused this.
“Stop pushing me. You’re always trying to control everything.”
“I just thought you would like it.” He’s watching me, puzzled.
“That’s your problem, Rat. You think way too much about me.” I shove him out of the way and head down the hall toward my next class. I don’t look back. I don’t want to see the hurt on his face, but it doesn’t stop me from shouting one last thing back over my shoulder. “Why don’t you do a little make-over project on yourself for a change? You’d be the perfect experiment. But wait, they don’t have surgery to fix geeks, do they?” I ignore the openmouthed stares of the two freshmen standing outside the counselor’s office. Guilt sears instantly through my brain, but I don’t stop walking away. I don’t know what I like and don’t like anymore. I used to like M&M’s and eating. I used to like Jackson. I didn’t like Briella’s friends. Now everything feels topsy-turvy.
“You’re a freak.”
I catch my reflection in the glass doors as I walk past the library. I don’t recognize her.
“Good job, fatty. Now everyone hates you.”
If I could I would drown my guilt in a huge bag of M&M’s, but now I don’t know what to do with the bad. I can’t eat it away anymore.
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve always hated lunch in the school cafeteria. Not only is a fat girl eating a great opportunity for hilarious comments, but living through the hierarchy of where to sit every single day is just torture. It’s like walking a gauntlet that, in my case, usually leads to a table over by the trash cans with a bunch of science geeks and other misfits.