There's Something About Sweetie(35)

“Pfft. More like the money they have is going toward the guys’ football team,” Suki grumbled.

Sweetie rolled her eyes. “Yeah. We all know that’s true.”

Kayla nodded. “Exactly. Well, I thought maybe we could take matters into our own hands. It just came to me, watching Piggy’s Death Rattle on the stage and how many people came out to just spend a night doing something different, you know? Like, how many people did we meet who had never even listened to their music but just wanted something fun to do on a Saturday night?” she asked Izzy and Suki.

“About ten,” Izzy said.

“At least ten,” Suki added.

“Right.” Kayla turned back to Sweetie, who still didn’t get what the big idea was. “So my plan was this: What if the four of us host a band night at Roast Me, that coffeehouse on Eighth Street? We could get the local high school bands to come out and play for exposure. If we charge, like, five dollars a head, we’d easily get the money we need for our jerseys.”

“But would Roast Me really agree to it? A bunch of high school bands playing there?”

Kayla grinned. “They already have.”

Sweetie stared at her. “What?”

“Yeah, I know someone who knows someone whose dad owns the place. And he was totally on board to let us have the place. More food and drink sales for him, plus his daughter’s in a band too, so we just had to agree to let her band play.”

Sweetie shook her head, completely in awe. “Kayla, how the heck do you do it?”

Kayla laughed. “Black-girl magic.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” Sweetie said. “So when should we do this band night thingy?”

“We were thinking a few weeks from now,” Kayla said.

“That should give us enough time to get everything together and let people know about it.” Suki popped her grape in her mouth and looked at Izzy. “So should we tell her now?”

“Tell me what?” Sweetie asked, cocking her head. She didn’t like the look on her friends’ faces.

“Um, so we’re not just getting other bands to play at Roast Me …,” Izzy said, gnawing on her thumbnail.

“We want to play a set too.” Suki took a breath. “Andwewantyoutobetheleadsinger,” she added in a rush.

Sweetie stared at her. We want you to be the lead singer. “Guys … no. I … no. I can’t sing in front of a bunch of people.” Just thinking about it made her hands damp and her armpits itch.

“Why not?” Izzy whined, turning the word “not” into stretchy, elongated taffy. “Come on, Sweetie, you have a beautiful voice!”

“We’re all going to be up there with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kayla said. “I’ll be on the guitar, Suki’s gonna play the drums, and Izzy’s going to be backup vocals.”

“It’s not that.” Sweetie took a bite of her dosha and chewed morosely. She hated feeling this way. But it just … She couldn’t help it. “I can’t go in front of all those people onstage.”

“You’re not shy when you’re running in front of all those people,” Suki said, frowning. “And newspaper sports reporters.”

Sweetie looked around at her friends’ kind, loving faces. No matter how much they loved her, no matter how much they tried, they just couldn’t understand. They were all extremely thin, conventionally attractive people. Everyone always told them how gorgeous they were, how fit, how toned.

Whereas Sweetie … Sweetie had been the butt of more fat jokes than she cared to remember. Her own mother had told her, from when she was in elementary school, that her number one aim in life was for Sweetie to lose weight. Everywhere she looked, Sweetie saw the markers of success as thinness, youth, and wealth. In that order. Movies never had fat heroines. Catalogs didn’t regularly stock clothes for people her size.

Izzy, Suki, and Kayla never had to answer questions about how they could run so fast, because they were thin. No one ever assumed Sweetie could run. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had to prove herself worthy every single second of every single day, over and over and over again. It was exhausting. Why the heck would she want to spend her weeknight, her own time off, up onstage so people could make fun of her? So they could judge her and ridicule her, just because she was fat?

“Running’s different,” she said finally. She didn’t say running was her lifeline. That she needed it more than she needed to not be judged. It was who she was. “I’ve been doing it so long that I can tune everyone out. But I couldn’t do the same thing with singing.” After a pause she pushed on. “You guys can’t understand what it feels like to be …” She sighed. “To be fat and have to put yourself out there. There are a million things I’m always worried about, even just agreeing to go out on a few dates with Ashish. Will he be repulsed when he puts his arms around me and feels back rolls? What’s he going to think when I order food in the restaurant? And then being up onstage? What if someone sneaks alcohol into Roast Me? Do you know how mean drunk people can be to girls who look like me? They won’t be listening to me. They’ll be looking at me, indignant that I felt I had any right to go up onstage in front of them all. I’m going to be like a target up there, just waiting to be hit.”