I zone out for most of the hour, but I can’t look away when during a morning workout at the school track, Priscilla’s trainer pushes her so hard that she throws up all over the bleachers—just in time for the entire boys’ soccer team to bear witness.
After that, Priscilla’s trainer moves things to a local gym. But the girl refuses to go inside. The trainer loses it, calling her all kinds of names. “I’ll feel so alone,” Priscilla says between sobs. “Have you ever walked into a building that is dedicated to being everything you’re not? I want to be healthy, but I also want to be happy.”
In the end Priscilla loses twelve pounds. Her trainer claps for her at her final weigh in, but you can see the disappointment in her eyes. The credits roll and as they do, the captions tell us that six months later, Priscilla is still committed to a healthy lifestyle but has come to terms with the fact that her weight will be a lifelong struggle for her.
If El were here we’d talk about how ridiculous it was that this was even considered entertainment.
“Well,” says Mom, “that was inspiring.”
I have nothing to say that she would want to hear. “I’m going upstairs. Are you done down here?”
She takes the remote and switches over to the evening news. “No, no. I’ve got piles of things to do before tomorrow’s pageant board meeting.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Night, Dumplin’.”
Upstairs, I stand in front of Lucy’s door for a moment too long before going to my bedroom. I unplug my phone from the charger and find that I have zero messages from Bo. Plopping down on my bed, I hold the Magic 8 Ball he gave me in both hands. I have too many questions to ask only one, but I shake the ball three times and check for an answer. Outlook not so good.
My phone buzzes.
ELLEN: Just got off work. You okay? You were weird after the mall.
I settle for a lie because I’ve already told too many to stop now.
ME: I’m fine. Just the pageant taking over my house. Boobs up! Ass out! So annoying.
ELLEN: Gross. Want me to come over?
ME: I think I want to sleep.
ELLEN: Cool. Tim bought massage oils. Is that trashy?
I think about this for a second.
ME: Not unless they smell like cotton candy. Y’all are disgusting. Night.
SIXTEEN
Yesterday’s pulsing anger is now just a sad frustration. I have no reason to think Bo owes me anything.
Kisses behind a Dumpster and in the parking lot of a condemned school don’t amount to anything. If that’s all that we are—those shadow moments and a bag of gag gifts—then how foolish of me to think I deserved anything of him.
This is the conversation I have with myself on my drive to work.
I drop my stuff in my locker and weave through the kitchen as fast as I can. I take orders as quickly and efficiently as possible, not even bothering to glance up at customers. Bo stares holes into my forehead as he sets sandwiches beneath the heat lamps or covers sandwich wrappers in unnecessary stickers, something that always wins a smile from me. But I stay diligent, with my eyes narrowed on anything but him.
I can feel the change between us, thick and palpable, but Marcus and Ron treat us no differently, because, to them, nothing visible is out of place. My little summer world is caving in on me and I am the only witness. This is what happens, I think, when a secret turns into a lie.
After the dinner rush, the entire kitchen is a mess, like there was some kind of take-no-prisoners food fights. When Ron asks for a volunteer to restock the condiment bar, I gladly offer.
I wait for the door of the supply room to shut behind me, but when it doesn’t, I know why.
“Hey,” says Bo.
I don’t turn around.
Pulling from different shelves, I begin to assemble a stack of supplies to take out front.
“Hey, listen,” he says. “I was going to tell you.”
I hear him take a few steps and his breath is on my neck. He covers my hand with his and his skin is dry from the plastic gloves he wears in the kitchen, but still, he absorbs me.