Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 6

  “Tell. Me. Everything!” she yells, dragging me down the hall and into her room.

  I do. I don’t leave out a detail. I say it so fast, the words just come tumbling out, and I feel like I’m reliving the moment all over again, and I can’t stop smiling.

  “I can’t fucking believe it. I mean, I can—you’re amazing—but this is what you’ve been waiting for, and I’m so, so happy for you!” Amelia says, throwing her arms around me and squeezing. I squeeze back until I remember the flower.

  “Oh, and!” I dig into my purse and pull out the rose. The single, beautiful red rose with the ribbon that says my name, and I hold it out in front of Amelia’s face. “He gave me this, too.”

  “Just one rose, huh? Guy couldn’t spring for more?” Sid asks. I realize he’s been in the doorway of Amelia’s room this whole time.

  “Oh, come on, Sid. This is sweet!” Amelia says.

  Sid grunts in reply. “Hmm.”

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  “What?” Amelia asks, giving him a look.

  “Nothing,” he says, shrugging.

  “If you have something to say, Sid, then say it.” Amelia stares Sid down as he crosses his arms. “Seriously. Out with it!”

  He licks his lips before he speaks. “It’s just that, from what you’ve told me, this is kind of a big deal. The guys do a huge thing or whatever to ask the girls, right?”

  “Yeah, and?” Amelia asks.

  “Just wondering why he didn’t do something like that. Why he bought one rose and called it a day. Why he waited till he and Charlie were alone. And why he didn’t bother asking till the very last minute.” Then he looks at me. “I think the guy’s an ass.”

  I consider this. Not the he’s-an-ass part, because yeah, obviously Sid hates Cal since he knows Cal is into Amelia, but the rest of it. I look at Amelia, who is shooting wide-eyed, how-dare-you vibes over to Sid.

  “Charlie doesn’t like being the center of attention,” Amelia says, though it doesn’t sound super convincing. “She wouldn’t have wanted a big proposal in front of everyone.”

  “That is true,” I admit. The attention would have likely sent me into a panic attack. I’d honestly have assumed the ask-out was a huge joke.

  “And Cal waited until the last minute last year, too, because he knew he could. Cal is so full of himself, he totally gets off on keeping everyone on the hook waiting to see who he’ll invite. It’s a thing. I swear it’s a thing,” she says.

  “You trying to convince me or yourself?” Sid asks.

  “Stop it, Sid!” Amelia says. “Don’t ruin this.”

  Sid shrugs again. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. I’m just saying.”

  Amelia bites at her lip. The worry line between her brows betrays her, and I feel a pang. Like Sid, there is a piece of her that can’t believe this is true.

  Part of me is hurt and the other part of me can’t blame her; hell, if I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed it, either. But it did happen, and it’s arguably one of the best things to ever happen to me. I look away, wordlessly packing the rose back into my bag.

  “No! Just don’t even listen to him, Charlie!” Amelia says. Then she scowls at Sid. “God, why do you have to be so negative?”

  I don’t want them to fight on my account. “It’s okay,” I say. “He does have some good points.”

  “No, he doesn’t, and you don’t have to pretend like he does,” she says, eyeing him.

  Sid holds up his hands in defeat. “I’ll get out of your hair. Meeting up with some friends, anyway.” He leans down to give Amelia a kiss, but she won’t kiss him on the mouth, so he settles for the cheek. Then he grabs his coat and he’s gone.

  “He’s wrong, you know,” Amelia says.

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “No, Charlie. He is. He’s wrong about a lot of things. Like, one time, he was convinced that Tina Fey was the blond one and Amy Poehler was the brunette. Con-vinced. We had to Google it.”

  I smile a little at that.

  “Another time, he swore on his life that Froot Loops used to be spelled Fruit Loops, and I told him, ‘They use the circular pieces of cereal to make the goddamn O’s, Sid. How could that have ever been true?!’”

  Okay, at that, I laugh.

  “And!” Amelia is clearly pleased that I’m amused. “Just recently, he told me that the moon landing was probably all a hoax because his idiot best friend said that on the original broadcast, they accidentally left a Coca-Cola can on set. The moon landing, Charlie. He doesn’t think the moon landing happened!”

  We’re both laughing now, and I start to feel better.

  “I love the guy, but sometimes…he’s just plain wrong,” Amelia says.

  “Clearly,” I say, smiling.

  “Cal went out of his way to ask you to the dance. He bought you a flower. He tied a ribbon on it. He wrote your name!” she says. “Your name! Not my name! Not someone else’s name! Your name. Because it’s you.”

  “Me,” I repeat.

  “Yeah, Charlie. You. Charlie. Charlotte goddamn Vega!”

  I’m getting amped again.

  “He asked me!” I say.

  “Yes!” Amelia shouts. “He asked you! He leaned up on a locker all cool-like, and he smiled his dazzling smile.”

  “And his dimples were so, so cute, and he came in real close to me, and he touched my shoulder, and he asked me!”

  We squeal some more.

  Then Amelia clears her throat and says, “So, on to the really important stuff.” A dramatic pause. “When are we going shopping for a dress?”

  My heart drops. “Oh—I think my mom’s taking me, actually,” I lie.

  At that moment, the music in Amelia’s sister’s room reaches an unnatural volume, and Amelia’s face changes. “Tess, if you don’t shut that shit off, I’m going to murder you!” she screams.

  “I wouldn’t have to make it so loud if you weren’t being so loud!” Tess shrieks back.

  In an instant, Amelia is off her bed and out of the room, no doubt about to shout at Tess for being a brat.

  But I’m grateful for the abrupt end to the discussion.

  I love Amelia. But I can’t go shopping for a dress with her. I’d have to shop at a plus-size store, and I’ve actually been careful never to go to one with her before.

  So this is one adventure I’ll take on alone.

  Chapter Eight

  I’ll admit that I’m timid when I step inside the plus-size dress store to shop for my first-ever formal gown.

  I shop here all the time, but today feels different. Bigger. (Ha.) More important. I’m shopping for a dress to go to a dance with a boy.

  For a while, I wander around, feeling completely overwhelmed. There are so many options. Sweetheart? Halter? Short? Long? Pink, black, blue? All I know is I refuse to get one that exposes my arms; I’m way too self-conscious for that.

  Yeah, yeah. The #fatfashion comm would be like, What the fuck, Charlie? Don’t say that shit.

  But then I’d be like, Guys, I live in the nasty, judgmental Real World, and that means I still sometimes think not-great things about my body. Sorry.

  It’s not just unique to me, even. Most girls, no matter how hard they try, have some feature they’re insecure about. Maybe it’s just human nature; there’s a reason everybody uses filters, right? Even Amelia insists she has chicken legs. I want to smack her every time she says it, but she fully believes it. There is nothing more infuriating than a privileged skinny person being embarrassed about their body. It’s like they won the body lottery and they can’t even appreciate it.

  Still. For Amelia it’s her chicken legs and for me it’s my arms. It wasn’t always this way; there was a time when I was younger where I didn’t think much about my body aside from whether it could help me climb a tree or how far I could run without stopping, but things happen.

  In middle school, I wore a sleeveless shirt on an especially hot day. One of my classmates, Rian, looked at
my arms and said, “Wow, you’ve got some huge arms! They’re bigger than mine!”

  After that, I stopped wearing sleeveless clothing.

  I’ll also probably want a dress that isn’t too form-fitting. I can thank my mom for that one. Once, she and I were on vacation, and we had someone take a photo of us in front of a statue; when we looked at the photo to make sure we both liked it, she quickly assured me she’d crop it at my chest. “I know what’s it like,” she said, giving me sympathetic eyes. I had actually felt kind of cute in that top up until that moment.

  At least I like my legs, which is why I tend to opt for dresses or skirts. Flaunt what you’ve got, right?

  So, okay: sleeves and flowy and maybe on the shorter side. But there are so many choices! Ahh!

  I must look as lost as I feel, because the woman behind the counter makes her way over to me and introduces herself as Divya. She’s beautiful—long black hair that reaches her waist, impeccable cat-eye makeup—and she’s wearing a retro plum dress. She’s also fat like me, so I can only assume she’ll know how to suggest something I like.

  “What can I help you find today?”

  “I’m looking for a dress to my school’s dance. I’m, um, going with this guy I really like, so I’m hoping for something kind of…nice.”

  “The dance?” she asks, and I nod. She smiles wistfully. “Lucky girl. And lucky boy.”

  I smile and tell Divya what I’m searching for but admit I’m a novice, and she reassures me I’m in good hands. She takes a look at me and then starts picking out a few things that might work, insisting her selections will look good with my body and skin tone. She tells me we’re lucky to be brown because we look good in every color, and that feels nice.

  Divya starts a dressing room for me and even hangs around near it when I’m trying on the first dress. Normally, I hate that, but I need someone in my corner for this and I just trust her. I come out and look at myself in the three-way mirror.

  “Well?” Divya asks. “How do you feel?”

  I gaze at myself skeptically. “Weird,” I admit.

  “Then that’s not it. You should feel like a goddess. On to the next!”

  It goes like that for a bit, and after I’ve tried on nearly a dozen dresses, there is one that brings me pretty damn close to that goddess feeling.

  Divya sighs when I step out of the dressing room. “That color! It’s made for you.”

  “You think?” My eyes fall on the emerald dress my reflection is wearing. It’s lace with a sweetheart neckline and flares at the waist. The lace continues over my neck, shoulders, and arms to make three-quarter-length sleeves. It really is lovely.

  And honestly? My body looks kind of good in it. Those legs!

  Maybe I don’t feel exactly like a goddess (whatever that means), but I do feel pretty in this, especially when Divya helps me pin my hair up and pairs it with some pearl earrings and some green sling-back heels.

  I take it all (and wish I could take Divya, too).

  When I get home, my mom is doing yoga in the living room. While she’s in downward dog, she spots me in the doorway and wrinkles her nose when she notices my shopping bag. She’s made a vow never to step foot in a plus-size store again.

  “Shopping trip?” she asks.

  “Just for a few things,” I say, tucking the bags behind my back.

  “Get anything good?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll get you out of that store someday.” Mom switches to the hare pose. “In fact, why don’t you join me?”

  I actually like yoga, but I pass and head to my room instead, where I pull the dress out and hold it up to my body, marveling at the smooth, shiny fabric and the way the jewel tone looks against my skin.

  I find myself daydreaming of the dance ahead: me, in this gorgeous dress, all done up, swaying along to the music under the twinkling lights with Cal…

  But then—without warning—I imagine Brian?

  Truth be told, I’ve been finding myself thinking of Brian and his adorably crooked smile more often than usual. When he asked me about Jake’s the other day, I don’t know. It just made me wonder.

  So I don’t have much trouble picturing myself enveloped in his strong arms, savoring the faintest hint of his cologne, which maybe I’ve taken notice of, and enjoying the way he towers over me, tall and big and handsome, somehow making me feel petite.

  Just for a second.

  The absolute best part about daydreams is that you can have it all.

  Chapter Nine

  A three-day weekend (thanks, professional development days!) leaves me with far too much time to think. It’s during this time that I begin to wonder: Did Cal really ask me to the dance? I have an excellent imagination, and I find myself fretting that this whole thing might have happened completely in my head.

  Or worse: Did Cal ask me but as some kind of…joke? Maybe at Tony’s encouragement?

  These kinds of thoughts plague me, so, back at school on Tuesday, the first thing I do is try to catch Cal at his locker before classes start. He’s alone—no Tony in sight—which I’m supremely grateful for, so I march right up and tap him on the shoulder.

  He turns. “Hey, you.”

  “Hi.” I’m less giggly and doe-eyed, more terrified and wide-eyed now. I can feel my heart beating in my fingertips.

  “What’s going on?” Cal asks.

  I take a deep breath. “Right. So. I just wanted to check in after our conversation on Friday. About the dance.”

  “What about it?” Cal asks this with a smile that starts to make me feel a little better.

  “Well, I—I wanted to make sure you didn’t change your mind.”

  “Change my mind?” He laughs. “No. I haven’t changed my mind, Charlie.”

  Relief washes over me, and I smile. “So we’re still on, then?”

  “Of course we are. You’re good with that, right?” Cal asks. “Because if it’s too much to ask…”

  “No! I’m down. I’m so down,” I say. “And excited! And honored!”

  Cal chuckles. “Okay. Great. I think it’ll be a really good time—all thanks to you,” he says, shutting his locker and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t you?”

  I nod. “Yes. It’ll be a really, really good time. I can’t wait!”

  My insides are jittery with the realization that Cal Carter really did mean to invite me to the dance. This might just be the greatest day of my life.

  I feel like skipping to English.

  And to every other class.

  And to work.

  And during work—which is fine, because today is the office’s early Valentine’s Day party (which I’d totally forgotten about). An amazing day at school and I only have to work for part of the afternoon and then I can totally check out and eat desserts I didn’t have to make? Yes, please!

  But first, I stroll up to Dora and smile obnoxiously big, bouncing on my tiptoes. I have to tell her my good news; she grew up in this town, knows how big of a deal the dance is, and knows all about my crush on Cal—and I know she’ll freak.

  “Well, someone seems happy,” she says. “Is it because of the Valentine’s Day party? I baked those chocolate raspberry cupcakes you like!”

  “You did? Man, if I was smiley before, I’m even smilier now!”

  “So what’s the real reason you’ve got that big ol’ grin on your face, dear?”

  “Oh, no reason,” I say, looking down at my nails like I’m not about to share good news. “You know, just that Cal invited me to the George Washington High School Annual Football Awards Ceremony. No big deal.”

  She leaps from her chair and throws her arms around me. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so happy for you! How wonderful!”

  “So, so wonderful!” I say, beaming.

  Dora pulls away from the hug with a huge grin on her face. “Good for you, honey. Now, tell me more!”

  So I do: how he asked me to go with him; the dress I bought; how I envision us slow dancing. She listens
intently. Before I know it, she’s telling me all about the best ways some of the football players asked out their dates back in her day—and then, suddenly, Nancy has asked for everyone’s attention and we both realize it’s time for the Valentine’s Day party.

  Dora and I walk over to where Nancy is standing, wearing a white sweater with sequined red and pink hearts and some dangly red earrings. A group has already formed around her, including the folks from the warehouse. I spot Brian and wave.

  “As many of you know, I love Valentine’s Day,” Nancy begins. “It has always been my favorite holiday, and it took on even more meaning when I met the love of my life, Gary, during a Valentine’s Day party at a mutual friend’s house decades ago. That’s why we’re so excited to share our love for the holiday with you all. And this year, Gary and I are trying something new: we’re thrilled to be hosting today’s festivities in our brand-new RV out in the parking lot!”

  I briefly wonder how our office of thirty will fit into an RV, but I’m so enthralled by Nancy’s love for the holiday and the way she looks at Gary and how great this day is going that I just roll with it.

  Tish makes a beeline for Dora. “Can’t wait to get a little buzzed,” she says with a wink. “Come on!” She grabs Dora’s hand and drags her outside.

  I trail behind, pulling my pea coat tighter against the cold air and pausing for a moment to marvel at the RV ahead. It’s shiny and massive and there are Valentine’s Day decals decorating all the windows.

  “It’s…huge,” Brian says, suddenly standing next to me.

  I laugh. “Bigger than my house, I think.”

  “Seriously. Shall we?” I nod and we start to walk toward the RV.

  “So apparently there’s drinking at this thing,” I say, leaning toward Brian and keeping my voice down. “Tish was talking about getting buzzed.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Day drinking? This group?”

  “I know, right?”

  “Wow. Who’d have thought these people had such a wild side? Boozing in the middle of a Tuesday? At work? In an RV? In the name of love? Damn, I kind of dig it.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m all in on this,” I say, climbing up the RV steps.