“This has nothing to do with Luce, all right? She’s gone and it’s no thanks to the way she lived her life. I wish you wouldn’t idolize her so much.” Her eyes fill with tears that don’t quite spill. “She’d still be here, you know. If she’d just lost the weight.”
My body is the villain. That’s how she sees it. It’s a prison, keeping the better, thinner version of me locked away. But she’s wrong. Lucy’s body never stood in the way of her happiness. As much as I will always love Lucy, it was her own decision to stay locked up in this house.
“I was a big girl, too. You know that. Me and Luce both were.”
“I’ve heard it, okay? I’ve heard all the stories about how you trimmed down before high school. Good for you. You entered a small town beauty pageant and won. Quite literally your crowning achievement. Forget college or getting a job that doesn’t require you wiping old people’s asses. Never mind that. Because you slimmed down enough to score a fake-ass crown! You must be so proud.”
A tear trickles down her cheek and she says, “Well, I think that’s more than you can say for yourself.” She wipes away the tear.
“Lucy was more a mother to me than you’ll ever be.”
Her lips squeeze together. “No work. No going out. Not until your school suspension is over. I’ll be home at six.”
I take off upstairs and Riot follows at my heels. On my bed, I curl up on my side and listen to the sound of my phone vibrating against my desk as I get text after text. All from El I assume. I take the Magic 8 Ball from where it sits on my nightstand and hold it with all of its answers to all of my unasked questions tight to my chest.
TWENTY-FOUR
I stay in my room all day. Our old pipes notify me as Mom begins to do the dishes after work, and the floorboards announce her as she climbs the stairs. Before locking herself in her own room, her shadow hovers at mine, darkening the gap between the closed door and the floor.
Riot stretches his legs, pushing his paws against my chest, before jumping off the edge of my bed and rubbing himself against my bedroom door. When I don’t move, he meows, letting me know that his sympathy has run short.
I crack my door and let him out as I flip on the light.
In the mirror, I find a drooping and smudged version of myself. I grab a pen from my dresser and jot down a note on my forearm to call Alejandro and tell him I won’t be in for the next couple days. Judging by my first few shifts, I don’t think my absence will be such a burden.
Careful not to make any noise, I navigate my way downstairs in the dark and swallow down a tall glass of water in three gulps. It feels silly, but my mother has conditioned me to need water any time I cry. That was always her remedy. Calm down and have a glass of water, Dumplin’. Like, I might need to refill my well of tears before I run out.
Upstairs, the Magic 8 Ball lies on my bed, right where I left it. My phone vibrates, so I pick it up.
ELLEN: Oh my God. Are you okay?
ELLEN: I’ve called you like eight times and you know I hate talking on the phone. CALL. TEXT. SMOKE SIGNAL. MORSE CODE.
ELLEN: Is it true about Patrick Thomas? I told Tim to kill him.
ELLEN: He said he might after dinner.
ELLEN: Okay. Really freaking out now.
Fine, I type. Just—
I stop and hit the damn call button because all I want right now is my best friend. The phone doesn’t even make it through a full ring before she picks up.
“Holy shit. Oh my God. Holy shit.”
“Hey,” I offer, my voice scratching against the receiver.
“Are you okay? What even happened?”
I sigh into the phone and it feels so good to not be chastised for it. Then I tell her. I tell her about Mom calling me Dumplin’ in front of the carport, with all the freshmen and Patrick Thomas standing around, waiting for the first bell to ring. I tell her about the incident in the hallway, and how I’d never been made to feel so small for being so large. She curses and coos and does all the things that make calling her the right decision.