Skinny (21 page)

The truth is I could have had everything. I lost Rat to Briella, and I ruined things with Jackson. It wasn’t about Gigi. I did it. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault. Skinny has it all wrong, but she’s not listening.

“You’re a hippo. A fat cow. An elephant!”

She’s yelling now so loudly I can’t hear anything else. I clap my hands over my ears and lower my head to my knees. Shutting my eyes tightly, I breathe carefully in and out, in and out. For a moment, all I can hear is my own breathing. Like I’m underwater. Or already buried deep underground. Six feet under.

“Stop it,” I whisper, but she refuses to listen.

“Fat. Huge. Ugly. Hideous. Pitiful. Alone,”
she chants.

I open my eyes and stand, facing the darkness waiting there in the shadows of the stage.

“Shut up,” I say louder, but my words come out through gritted teeth. My hands are clenched tightly at my sides. It’s now or never.

“Come out here where I can see you.” My voice is stronger now as I wipe the tears away from my cheeks with the back of one hand. She can’t stay in the dark anymore. It’s time we came face-to-face.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,”
Skinny chants softly.

“I want to see who . . . what . . . you are.” I walk up to the front of the stage, waiting. My pulse jumps wildly in my throat.

“You don’t need to see me. Just listen.”
Skinny’s voice comes from the shadows.
“You’re a big, gigantic whale. Listen. . . .”

Wait. Something huge and powerful stirs in my brain. Like an elephant charging out of the jungle. Everything is changing except for Skinny. She’s been my one constant — the nagging fairy godmother whose voice led me down this path.

“Elephants don’t back down,” I say, “and I’m not afraid to see you.” Slowly, with my thoughts, I pull her out into the light and onto the stage. And I see her.

Finally.

My mouth falls open in surprise. She doesn’t look like some cool, goth Tinker Bell. She is me. But not me. I blink to clear my eyes, but the image doesn’t focus. It’s like looking into one of those warped mirrors in a fun house. Her mouth is slack, no sign of emotion. Her eyes stay fixed on the floor. I put my hand out into the space in front of me and she ripples away like touched water. She still doesn’t look up at me, her eyes hidden beneath lowered lids, but the shadowy figure mirrors my movement.

“Your arms are so fat they shake when you point to something,”
Skinny says, but it is a soft voice that twists away into the air. I can barely hear it.

“You aren’t looking at me,” I say, and she starts to blur even more, her edges spinning away into the dark space of the stage.

“How do you even know what I look like?”

She is silent.

“Look at me!” I command her. “Tell me what you see.”

Slowly, she raises her head, and the monster steps out of the closet. Her eyes are opaque and milky white with no life behind them. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Skinny is blind.

“You lie!” I choke on the words. The realization makes my head spin. Skinny bases every thing on appearance, all her horrible whispers, but the truth is, she can’t see anything at all.

“You lie,”
she mimics back to me in a singsong voice, but she keeps crumbling away, breaking into pieces. I can see through her to the other side. She is nothing.

“Stop it. Stop.
STOP!
” I yell at the disintegrating creature in front of me. “It’s your turn to listen to me. I’m done believing what you say. I’m so much more than what you’ve made me.”

“You made me,”
she echoes. Her voice is shaky, confused, but for once I hear the truth. If I made her, then I can change her . . . me. There’s a crack there. I have to push harder. I’ve been the one feeding Skinny all along, but now it’s time for me to make the choice. Her or the rest of my life?

“I am a good person. I can sing beautifully,” I say carefully. “I am . . . pretty.”

“Well, you are thinner than you were.”
Her voice sounds hesitant.

That’s right. I can change. What. She. Says.

“I am pretty. Say it.” I point at her with a shaking finger.

“You look okay in the dress.”

“No, I look
pretty
. Say it.”

But she can’t say anything because, just like that, the fading image in front of me flickers and vanishes. It’s time for the princess to say good-bye to her fairy godmother. Skinny isn’t standing on center stage, or sitting on my shoulder, or talking in my ear. Skinny only exists inside my own head. She is part me that is big and proud. And a singer part of me that people would love to hear. And a daughter part of me that misses her mother and loves her father. And maybe, there’s a friend part of me, too.

I need to talk to Briella.

How was the dance?”

My dad is waiting up when I get home, sitting in a chair with his reading glasses on, but there’s no book in sight. “You’re home early.”

“The limo driver gave me a ride. Whitney’s dad paid him for the whole night, so he was just waiting around,” I say.

Dad’s eyebrows rise in question. I’m not ready to talk about it just yet, so I change the subject. “Any weird criminal news? I could use a smile right about now.”

“Walter Johnson crashed the La-Z-Boy chair he converted into a motorized vehicle — complete with stereo and cupholders — into a car outside Lurlene’s Lounge.”

“He really got it to move?”

“Oh, definitely,” Dad says. “It was powered by a lawn mower motor and had a steering wheel, headlights, and even an antenna.”

“Impressive.” I kick the high heels off and lean over to rub one aching bare foot.

Dad continues, “Walter’s not arguing the fact he was ‘extremely drunk,’ he just wants his La-Z-Boy back.”

“Well, he did go to a lot of trouble.” I finally smile.

“Ahhh. There it is. That looks better,” Dad says and pats the chair beside him. “Come sit down and tell me all about it.”

“The dance was okay,” I say.

“That doesn’t sound too wonderful. What happened, peanut?”

“Oh, Dad.” I squeeze into the big, overstuffed chair beside him, and he puts his arm around me. “Things just didn’t turn out the way I thought they would.”

He pulls me in a little tighter but doesn’t ask for any more explanation. After a few minutes he says, “When one door closes, another one opens.”

I laugh. “That’s what Mom used to always say.”

He smiles and pats my shoulder. “She’d be so proud of you. You know that, right?”

“I hope so.” We sit there, both remembering. “Sometimes I just wish I could see her, and I want her to look happy. Not like she looked the last time I saw her,” I say, before I have time to think. The sadness washes over his face, and I’m sorry the minute that long-unspoken wish comes out of my mouth.

“You always made us both so, so happy,” he says, blinking rapidly from behind his reading glasses. “And that’s always what we wanted for you . . . happiness.”

“I know, Dad,” I say, patting his leg. “Don’t worry. I’ll get there.”

I rest my head on his shoulder, and we sit like that for a while, not talking. His arm feels good.

“That dance must have been a real dud for everyone. Briella’s home early, too.” Dad finally breaks the silence.

“She’s home?” I ask, surprised, and he nods. “I need to talk to her.” I struggle to get out of the deep chair, but I lean back over to kiss Dad on the forehead.

“Night, peanut,” he says.

I don’t go straight upstairs. I need a moment to think about what I want to say to Briella. Maybe a glass of water will buy me the time I need to figure it out.

When I enter the kitchen, Charlotte is sitting alone at the table drinking a steaming cup of coffee.

She glances up at me. “Want me to make you something?” she asks.

“No,” I say, getting a glass down out of the cabinet. I glance over at her while I’m filling it up with water from the front of the fridge. She stares straight ahead, sipping the coffee silently.

“Everything okay?” I ask, sitting down in the chair across the table from her.

She sniffs loudly. “I’m just being silly,” she says. “She’s fine, you know.”

I nod like I know what’s she’s talking about, but when she glances across at my face she must realize I’m confused.

“I miss Lindsey. She called tonight from school,” Charlotte says, putting her lipstick-stained mug down on the table. “She said she might stay on campus over the summer. Take some summer classes.”

“Summer’s a long time away. You never know. Things can change.”

“She’s so busy with every thing. She might even get a part-time job.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she believes it.

“She’s so grown-up. It seems like yesterday she was just a baby. Such a beautiful, happy child. Always laughing. Always making everyone else smile. She grew up so fast and now she’s gone.”

“She’s not gone. She’s just not here.” I’m surprised at the despair on Charlotte’s face. Lindsey’s just away at college. She’s three hours away. It’s not like it’s forever.

“You don’t understand.” Charlotte stirs her coffee. “She left me,” she finally says. “It’s not just about going to college. She’s been so distant for so long.”

Lindsey and I never talked much, but if I had the chance now I’d tell her that moms are a very hard thing to lose. “She’ll be back,” I say, and pat Charlotte’s hand awkwardly on the tabletop, searching for the right words of comfort. “For Christmas and weekends.”

“It won’t be the same.” Charlotte smiles sadly. “She’ll never
live
here again.”

I realize I never knew Lindsey enough to miss her. Charlotte never knew my mom, either, but we are both grieving.

“I’m sure she misses you, too,” I say. “She’s just too cool to admit it.”

Charlotte beams at me. By her expression, you’d have thought I’d given her a thousand-dollar shopping spree to Macy’s. I feel guilty and make a mental note: Be nicer to Charlotte. We have some things in common.

“Thanks, Ever. I needed to talk to someone.” She stands to put the empty mug in the sink.

“Sure,” I say. “Anytime.” Hearing Charlotte seems a little easier without Skinny’s constant voice in my head.

Upstairs, I knock on the partially open door, making it swing into the room a few more inches. Briella lies on her bed, texting on her phone. Roxanne is on the pillow beside her. Both of them look up at me at the same time. Briella’s blond hair is scraped back into a ponytail and the only sign of the dance is the pile of pink dress on the floor by the bed. Her face is scrubbed clean, but her eyes are red and puffy. She’s been crying.

“Can I come in?” I stand in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. She could say no. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Yeah,” she says, and puts the phone over on her nightstand. I’m not sure what Briella’s thinking, but Roxanne looks really sad. She thumps her tail once in greeting.

“Why is Rox in here?” I ask.

“She’s in trouble. She ate half of Charlotte’s Chinese silk scarf and turned the couch pillow into feather confetti,” says Briella, “but she’s really sorry.”

Roxanne thumps her tail twice in agreement, dislodging one lone feather, then puts her head back down on the pillow with a woeful sigh. Briella brushes away any remaining sign of tears, but we both know they were there minutes before.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Can I sit down?”

Briella pats her bed in response, and I sit. I don’t know where to start.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” She bites her bottom lip, her eyes darting over to the phone on the nightstand. “My dad isn’t coming on Saturday. He just texted me. Not a big surprise.”

“I’m sorry, Bri. He’s the one missing out.”

She looks at me like she’s trying to tell if I’m being sincere or not. I can’t blame her.

“I know how you feel,” I say, but nobody really knows how anyone else feels. I know that now. “I mean, not exactly, but . . . I miss my mom. Every single day. And I wish she was here in my life, like you wish your dad was here.”

“Your mom didn’t leave you on purpose.” Briella stares at a spot on the bedspread in front of her.

“No, but I still know what it feels like to lose your parent. No one can fix it, and I’m really sorry.”

“I thought when I moved in we’d be friends, but you never wanted that.” Me, friends with Briella? That’s what she wanted? Listening to Skinny all these years has cost me more than I ever knew.

“I’ve been selfish and . . . blind,” I say quietly. What a hypocrite. I felt like nothing, but I made every thing all about me. I looked at the world around me through Skinny’s unseeing white, opaque eyes. Including Briella. “I didn’t see what you were going through. You were here in the same house, and I didn’t even know.”

Briella raises her pale blue eyes, bright with unshed tears, to meet mine. I watch one single tear slip out and slide down her cheek, but she doesn’t try to hide it this time. Her eyes search my face and, when she finds the truth she’s searching for, her shoulders relax. I finally see a small, crooked smile.

“Thanks,” she says, twisting a strand of her long hair around and around one finger. “So, what happened at the dance?”

“Jackson doesn’t love me.” I dive right in, my voice pinched and tight.

“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

I guess everyone knew but me.

Briella takes a breath, and looks over at me. “You can’t make someone love you. No matter what you do.” Something about the way she says it makes me think she’s not just talking about me and Jackson. It’s about her father, too.

“I did it all for him,” I say, but now I’m not sure.

“Did you?” she asks. I have no idea what she is talking about. Or maybe I do. This isn’t about Jackson anymore.

“It’s okay if you like Rat,” I say, but the words hurt coming out. It’s definitely not okay.

“That’s good,” she says, “because I do like him. He’s smart and kind.”

“I know,” I say, feeling like my heart is being chewed up by Roxanne.

“And funny.” Okay, just keep kicking me when I’m down.

“And he likes me, too. He never makes me feel stupid.”