Big Summer(9)

“?’Scuse me,” said Lake, giving me a smile. “I’m going to use the little boys’ room.”

I wasn’t especially fond of the phrase “little boys’ room,” but I could let it slide. Lake departed, but the smell of his cologne lingered, a warm, spicy scent that reminded me of the one day I’d been a Girl Scout. My mom had signed me up with the local troop after she’d noticed, a little belatedly, that I was spending lots of time painting and knitting and reading, and not a lot of time with kids my own age. Just try it, Daphne, maybe you’ll make friends! she’d said. The troop met in an apartment building on the Upper West Side. Twelve girls sat in a circle on the living room floor and stabbed cloves into oranges to make pomanders for Mother’s Day. I’d liked that fine, especially when the troop leader had praised the spiral pattern I’d made. I’d tried to ignore the other Scouts sneaking looks at me, whispering and giggling. When the meeting was over, the leader opened her apartment door and the members of the troop went spilling into the hallway, laughing as they raced toward the elevator. “Free Willie!” one of them called. I couldn’t bring myself to turn to see if the leader was still there, and if she’d heard. At home, I told my mother that I didn’t want to go back. “It was boring,” I’d said. Before I’d gone to bed that night, I’d washed my hands over and over, in water as hot as I could stand it, so I’d stop smelling cloves on my fingers and remembering that horrible ache inside, the plummeting sensation, like I’d swallowed stones, that went along with not being liked.

I went back to the table, where Drue grabbed my arm, “OMG, he likes you!” she squealed as she did a little dance. It stung that she seemed so surprised that a boy was interested, but I was pleased nonetheless, and amused by her antics, as always.

“He’s a hottie!” Ainsley crowed.

“And an older man!” Drue shouted. “C’mon, let’s go powder our noses.”

The four of us linked arms and were on our way. I was flushed, pleasantly tipsy, feeling almost pretty in my jeans and with my cleavage. I did my business, washed my hands, checked my lipstick, and left Ainsley and Avery fussing in front of the mirror.

I stepped into the hallway. To my right was the bar, and the dance floor, by now a knot of writhing bodies, gyrating in time to the percussive thump of the bass. To my left was a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT… and Drue and Lake. My body had just registered the sight of them together when I heard the word “grenade” and saw Drue shake her head.

“Dude, do you even own a mirror?” she hissed at him. “Do you think one of the Kardashians is saving herself for you?”

Lake’s shoulders were hunched as he muttered something that I couldn’t make out. Drue shook her head again, looking annoyed. “I sent you her picture. I told you. Stop being such a pussy.” She thumped his shoulder, not a play-punch, but one that looked like it hurt.

“Grenade.” I knew what that meant in this context. Not an explosive device, but an ugly girl, upon whom a volunteer agrees to throw his own body, sacrificing himself to give his fellow soldiers a clear path to their objective: the hot chicks.

I could feel myself starting to tremble, my body vibrating with shame. I could hear Ainsley and Avery talking, but it sounded like they were underwater, their voices echoey and indistinct. But I lost ten pounds! a tiny, mournful voice in my head was whispering. But of course it wasn’t enough, would never be enough. I could have lost twenty pounds, forty pounds, a hundred pounds. It would never be enough to transform me into the kind of girl who belonged with Drue Cavanaugh.

I closed my eyes. I thought about walking home, how the cool night air would feel on my hot face. I’d leave the lights off, go right to the kitchen, and pull a pint of ice cream out of the freezer and a bag of pretzels out of the breadbox, and I’d sit in the dark, eating. I’d let the creamy sweetness and crunchy saltiness fill me, pushing down the pain and shame, stuffing me so full that there wouldn’t be room for anything else; not anger, not embarrassment, not anything. Ben and Jerry, the two men who have never let me down, I thought.

And then I stopped.

I stopped and asked myself, What did I do wrong? Who am I hurting? Is this what I deserve just for having the nerve to leave my home, to dance and try to have fun? I’m fat. That’s true. But I’m a good person. I’m kind and funny; I’m generous; I try to treat people the way I’d want them to treat me. I’m a hard worker. A good daughter. A good friend.

I was listing my other fine qualities when Lake and Drue saw me. I saw the surprise cross Lake’s face and moved my mouth into a reassuring smile. He smiled back and took my hand, leading me to the dance floor. By the time we’d arrived, the DJ had switched to a slow song, with lyrics about angels and fire and true love forever. Lake put a tentative hand on my shoulder. I thought that I could sense him steel himself before settling the other one between my waist and my bra. I imagined his internal monologue. Okay. Just a little. It won’t be that bad. Probably just squishy. Warm and jiggly, like a waterbed. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and smiled a warm smile, a smile I would have believed was full of real affection and promise. And maybe it was the booze, on top of the shame, and the knowledge that Drue was somehow involved with this mess, but I decided that for once—just once—I was not going to smile and take it.