Skinny(66)

Kristen is called next. For a minute, I don’t think she’s going to get out of her seat.

“You can do this,” I whisper, and give her a push to get started.

She stumbles up the stairs and to the microphone.

“Tell us about yourself,” Ms. DeWise says.

“I can tell you that I’m really scared to be here,” says Kristen, and the audience laughs. She looks surprised at the reaction, but that’s all it really takes. After a few minutes, and a quick monologue and song, she’s practically running back to her seat. Her face is flushed with excitement and her curls bounce with every step.

We slap high five as she sits down beside me again. “Good job!” I whisper.

My name is called, and I go up the side steps to the stage. I look back over my shoulder for Briella and Rat. My stepsister waves and gives a thumbs-up. I stop mid-step. Rat nods his head slowly, up and down, encouraging me. This is it. I step up onto the stage.

Walking slowly into the spotlight, the audience is instantly blacked out. I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before . . . Ms. Davies. Are you new to this school?” I recognize the disembodied voice as the bow-tied choir teacher.

“No,” I say.

“Have you been involved in our choral program?”

“No.”

“How about theater? Taken any classes?”

“Yes,” I say. “One.”

“Tell us about yourself.” This time it’s Ms. DeWise’s voice.

I clear my throat. I’m going to say something I’ve never said in my whole life. Something I’ve been terrified to tell anyone.

“My name is Ever Davies, and this time last year I weighed three hundred and two pounds.”

There is a long silence from the blackness behind the lights. I start talking, but it’s not the monologue I’d planned from Beauty and the Beast. It’s something altogether different and unrehearsed, but it pours out of me as though I’d practiced it for years.

“I’ve lost over a hundred pounds, and there’s no one in this room who can play Cinderella like I can. You might think I don’t look like a princess, but she and I have a lot in common. Look at me.” I raise my arms from my sides and turn around slowly in the spotlight. I welcome all the eyes. “Take a good look. You see, Cinderella and I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and not recognize the reflection. We know what it’s like to change.”

I face the audience again. It’s so quiet behind the lights, I almost think there’s no one there. Then comes the sound of someone nervously clearing a throat. They’re all still out there, waiting for what I’m going to say next.

I lean in to speak directly into the microphone. “I’ve learned a few things about being a real-life Cinderella, though. Sometimes a prince isn’t that easy to recognize. And everyone has good parts and bad parts to them, no matter how good or bad they may seem on the outside. Cinderella isn’t all good, and the stepsister . . .” I wish I could see Briella in the audience.

“The stepsister isn’t all bad.”

The silence stretches out again, and I wait. I hear the slight rustle of restless movement beyond the footlights, and I think about who is listening to me and watching me from the rows of seats. Even though I can’t see them now, I know exactly where they are. On the left is the sophomore boy who made oinking sounds every time I walked down the hall; in the center is Tracey, the girl whose big speech I interrupted by breaking a chair with my huge body. At the back is my new “BFF,” Whitney, who believes I owe all my newfound popularity to her. Gigi is sitting with Jackson three rows in front of her, holding hands. Then, of course, there’s Briella and Rat.

Ms. DeWise finally speaks. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I say, “I’m a really good singer.”

Finally, the choir teacher asks, “So what are you going to sing for us today?”

“ ‘Listen’ from Dreamgirls,” I say. I picked the song carefully.

I knew what I wanted to say. I knew exactly what would take away the jitters. I just had to sing it.

“Start whenever you’re ready.”

I take a second. Shut my eyes and focus. Then I nod for the pianist to the start the introduction. The piano begins to play, and I come in a little late, but I catch up quickly. The pianist is good, which helps. She slows to match my pace. I stand very still. No choreography. I let the music fill up my body and my mind. The lyrics are engrained in my brain. I don’t think about them. It’s time. I start to sing, and I feel the wave of audience response come over the stage toward me. It’s happening. I hit the first high note. Clear, pitch-perfect. It’s the only thing I do that’s effortless. Weightless. The music opens the door, and every thing in me that could be possible pours out. It is my anthem.