Skinny(53)

“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.





Chapter Eighteen





“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.