Slight shock registers on Patrick’s face as I take deliberate steps toward him. I think of him making oinking noises outside of Millie Michalchuk’s car. I remember how he decided that Amanda Lumbard’s corrective shoes made her look like Frankenstein. No one stands up for themselves to Patrick Thomas. Not even Hannah Perez, who is as rough around the edges as they come. The guy gives you a nickname and it sticks. But I won’t be called Dumplin’ by him. Nope.
Patrick is totally unprepared when I knee him square in the nuts. His expression transforms, all the blood draining as it heads south. He howls, but it’s more like a small screeching dog. I clap my hands over my mouth.
I’m as shocked as he is. I had pictured it in my head. I saw myself walking up to him, shaking my finger in his face as I told him what I really thought of him. But then my body took over and this primal defense mechanism, said, No, we will not stand for this.
Mitch pulls me back by my shoulders. Teachers swarm the scene, and I’m carted in the opposite direction.
This is probably bad.
TWENTY-THREE
My mother is livid. And mortified. And many other things. But I have stopped keeping count.
Her fingers squeeze the steering wheel so tightly that I’m surprised her nails don’t pop off. After leaving Mr. Wilson’s office, she walked to the visitor parking lot like it was a race. I ran to keep up.
We drive home in silence. Mom barely slows the car as she turns into the driveway and comes within inches of the fence.
The car isn’t even in park and I’ve got the door open and am off for the backyard. I slide the glass door shut behind me even though she’s only a few feet behind.
I plop down on the couch and it’s mere seconds before Riot is curling into a circle in my lap.
“You’re grounded.”
My mother has never grounded me. Ever. No spankings. Nothing. I’m no angel, but I’ve never really done anything worthy of punishment.
I pick Riot up and place him on the cushion next to me before standing. I don’t want him to get in the crosshairs of whatever is about to go down.
“For what?” My voice is too big for our house. “For biting back after some guy called me that hideous nickname you’ve been calling me my whole life?”
She wraps her arms around her waist and shakes her head. I notice a rash of white hair at her temples that I’ve never seen before. “You’re being so sensitive about this.”
“Maybe, Mom, you haven’t noticed, but this is about so much more than that dumb nickname. You’ll never come out and say it, but I know you can’t stand that your daughter looks like this.” My arms flail wildly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb. I see it every time you turn on a weight-loss show or tell me about your friend who lost a ton of weight on the latest fad diet or when you inventory our pantry every time you come home to make sure I haven’t eaten the whole goddamn thing.”
Her chin quivers and the possibility of her crying at this exact moment fills me with rage. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I say, every syllable perfectly even. I don’t know how much truth there is to that, but I can’t imagine that fifteen or even fifty pounds would change how much I miss Lucy, how confused I am by Bo, or the growing distance between me and El.
“But that’s what you think ’cause you don’t know better. You’re missing out on so much.” She takes a step toward me. “Boys and dating. That kind of stuff.”
I scrub my hands down my face. “You have got to be kidding me. News flash, Mom: a man will not cure my troubles.”
“I just—” She stops herself.
“Mom, I do want to date. I want to have boyfriends. I deserve that. Even if you think that I don’t.” I want for it to feel as true as it sounds.
She throws up her hands. “You’re doing what Luce used to do when we were girls. You’re taking my words and turning them into something else.”
My head shakes back and forth without hesitation. “No, Mom. All Lucy ever did was show you how ridiculous you sounded.”