So we just went on. And maybe we would have gone on forever if it hadn’t been for Jett.
Jett and I had discovered each other in July, when three generations of my family had gone on vacation, compliments of my rich grandfather, to Sea Pines, this ritzy resort on Hilton Head Island, off the coast of South Carolina. I had a sexy new white bikini, and right after we’d checked in, I put it on and went to the beach.
By pure chance Jett Anston, who was a year ahead of me at Forest Hills High, was a summer lifeguard there.
We had seen each other around school, but we didn’t know each other, exactly. I knew about him, though. Jett’s move to Nashville the year before had been reported in The Tennessean. Not because of him. Because of his mother, Anastasia Anston, the sculptor. Her famous piece, Embrace, a huge marble abstract of a mother, father, and baby, was in the permanent collection at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Now she was artist-in-residence at Vanderbilt University.
Jett was an artist, too. I had seen his watercolor that had won the Metro schools art contest—a homeless man playing a battered guitar as a plain little girl looked up at a huge billboard of gorgeous Shania Twain.
I’d never met anyone like Jett before. He wore his self-confidence like an old shirt: comfortable, a perfect fit, no need to impress anyone. He had a ponytail—all the other guys I knew had cut theirs short. He wore cowboy boots—every other guy wore sneakers or work boots.
His parents had named Jett after the character James Dean had played in the movie Giant, and Jett seemed like a character out of a movie: quiet, mysterious, deep. Tall and very thin, dark-haired and dark-eyed, he wasn’t nearly as gorgeous as Danny. But he had this … thing. This intensity, this heat. Like he was looking right through you, seeing you naked, finding out all your secrets.
And you liked it.
Jett had already been at Hilton Head for three weeks when I got there. He’d lifeguard by day, and at night he’d draw. I was told this by another lifeguard, Heather Something-or-other, who also told me that she and Jett were a couple.
As in “hands off.”
But that night it was me, not Heather, Jett invited to walk with him on the beach. We built a driftwood fire and Jett drew my portrait by the light of the flames, his beautiful, slender hands flying over his sketchpad while I wondered what those hands would feel like on me.
Then Jett talked me into playing piano for him in the resort center. After that, we went back to the beach and talked. I lost all track of time; I didn’t care.
We were still there when the sun came up.
Nothing mattered but me and Jett and the total perfection of being in his arms.
The first time he kissed me that night, I knew. Danny was over. Jett was the one I had been waiting for.
By the time school started, we were madly in love. All my friends thought I was crazy, giving up Danny for Jett. Even Mrs. Armstrong felt that Jett was not helpful to what she called “a winning pageant image.” I loved Jett too much to care.
The only really bad part had been breaking up with Danny. He cried, which made me cry. I hated myself for hurting him, but not enough not to do it. So, when Danny told everyone he had broken up with me—to save his own rep, I suppose—I was glad. No one would hate me for us ending.
As Danny smiled at me, Jett’s arms were still securely wrapped around my slender waist. “Hi, Danny,” I said.
“So, you look great,” Danny said.
“Thanks. Where’s Candy?” I knew he was dating a cheerleader, Candy Bingham.
“Around here somewhere,” he said vaguely. He thrust his hands in the pockets of his dinner jacket. “It looks great in here, huh? And how about the band?”
Jett snorted back a laugh. Well, the whole homecoming thing was pretty funny, I had to admit.
Through the magic of aluminum foil and thousands of tiny white Christmas-tree lights, the high-school gym had been transformed into Moonlight on the River. Danny and the other class officers had picked the theme for the homecoming dance. But the band had been picked by a vote of the entire student body—including that large percentage who thought that homecoming was the stupidest idea in human history and would not be caught dead there on a bet.
By the time the class officers had figured out that voting should have been restricted to homecoming-dance ticket holders only, it was too late.
It was Moonlight on the River, with the Sex Puppets.
Jett thought the whole thing was hilarious. But then, he was only at homecoming because I’d wanted to go.
“The band is great,” I told Danny.
The Sex Puppets finished one song and began a new ballad. “So, mind if I dance with Lara?” Danny asked Jett.
Jett held his hands up to Danny. “Hey, man, she can answer for herself.”
I didn’t know what to say. It felt as if everyone’s eyes were on us, watching to see what I would do.
I turned to Jett. “Would you mind?”
He smiled. “I think I can risk it.” He kissed me on the temple and walked away.
I moved into Danny’s arms. Some people around us started buzzing. Lara and Danny again. What did it mean?
“This reminds me of old times,” Danny murmured.
“But you’re with Candy now.”
“Yeah. And you’re with the brooding artiste.”
“He doesn’t brood.”
“Yeah, right,” Danny muttered. We danced silently for a minute or so. “I still can’t believe you fell for that.”
“Danny, let’s not have this conversa—”
“What, you think he’s so cool, so much better than me?”
“I don’t think that,” I assured him. “I … I can’t explain it. And I never meant to hurt you.”
Danny sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“You look really pretty, Lara,” Amy Caprice said, dancing by with her boyfriend.
“I love your dress,” I told her. “Good luck tonight.”
She smiled at me, and Danny pulled me closer. “You really meant that, didn’t you?”
“Sure,” I said as I tried to mean it. “Maybe I’ll win next year.”
“You’re the most beautiful, nicest, sweetest girl in this school, and everyone knows it,” Danny said, his voice low. “Hey, I voted for you.”
I smiled up at him, and he pulled me closer. I closed my eyes and for just a moment enjoyed the comfortable, safe feeling of being in Danny’s arms again. But then the music ended and there was Jett, next to me.
“So, see you,” Danny said.
“See you.”
He walked away into the crowd.
Jett took me into his arms. “You miss him?”
“No.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Jett said.
“I know that. But he’s not you.”
As we swayed to the music I felt Jett’s arms tighten around me. They didn’t feel safe like Danny’s did. They felt like something else I couldn’t name.
Someone bumped into my back so hard that we stumbled.
“Sorry,” the girl mumbled.
It was Patty Asher, the fattest girl in our class. She wore a red velvet dress that fell tentlike over her massive form. She was hurrying toward the gym door.
“Geez, take up some space, why don’t you!” Lisa yelled after Patty’s retreating form.
“What a pig!” Blake said.
“God, did you see her?” Lisa asked. “That dress! I didn’t know velvet could stretch that far!”
Some people around us laughed as the Sex Puppets finished their song and took an intermission.
“Give the girl a break, huh?” Jett said.
“Girl?” Blake echoed. “You mean tub! Tub-o’-love, baby!”
More laughter.
“Y’all, come on,” I chided them softly.
Jett turned to Blake. “That make you feel special, putting her down like that?”
Blake scowled at him. “What’s your problem?”
“Y’all,
just forget about it,” I said quickly. “Patty must have a lot of problems, the poor thing.”
“Who’s she here with, anyway?” Amber asked, her arms around Blake’s waist.
“Probably one of the faggot geeks from the drama club she hangs out with,” Blake said with disgust.
I had gotten to know some of those “faggot geeks” when I’d played the piano for the school musical, Bye Bye Birdie. I kind of liked them, and I hated to hear anyone make fun of them, or of anyone else, for that matter. Pageants had taught me to appreciate all kinds of people.
“Oh, look, there’s Patty’s boy-toy, Mr. Studly!” Blake said gleefully.
I turned around. Blake was pointing to Chris Zeeman, a tall, thin, effeminate guy who hung out with Patty. He’d been the stage manager for Bye Bye Birdie.
“Oh, Chrissy!” Blake called to Chris in a falsetto, his wrist limp. “Having fun, sweetie?” He made kissing noises in Chris’s direction.
Chris pretended he didn’t hear Blake, but his face turned bright red, so I knew that he had.
“Blake, you really—” I began to protest.
“He was only joking, Lara,” Lisa insisted.
“Let’s take a walk,” Jett suggested, his jaw set hard.
I said good-bye to my friends and we walked away, hand in hand.
“They’re only fooling around,” I told Jett. “Blake is wasted, or he wouldn’t say those things.”
He gave me a cool look. “Yeah, right.”
“They don’t really mean anything by it,” I insisted. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s right, because it isn’t—”
“They’re jerks,” Jett said.
“Yo, Jett, lighten up, dude!” Blake said, walking unsteadily over to us, his arm around Amber.
“Hey, have you guys seen Andy?” Molly asked, pushing through the crowd to get to us. I noticed how cute she looked in the black chiffon A-line dress I had helped her pick out. It hid her big hips, and the rhinestones around the neckline drew attention to her face.
“Last time I saw him, he went out the fire exit with a bunch of guys and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s,” Amber said. “They rigged it so the alarm wouldn’t go off.”
“Gee, no wonder I love him so,” Molly said sarcastically. “Lara, come with me to the bathroom?”
“Sure.” I turned to Amber. “Want to come?”
“Can’t,” Amber said. “If I let Tiger here out of his cage he’ll fall in love with someone else.”
“In lust, maybe, babe, not in love,” Blake slurred.
“Come on, big guy, it’s black coffee for you,” Amber told him, leading him in the direction of the buffet table.
“That guy is a major-league butthole,” Jett said.
“Nah, he’s a pretty typical butthole,” Molly sighed. “You don’t realize it because you’re some kind of highly evolved guy-mutant. You want to know what most guys dream about? Miss February.”
She made kissy lips with her mouth and batted her eyelashes. “Hello. I’m Bambi,” she said in a breathy voice. “I weigh nothing, and I’m built like a bud vase with two basketballs balanced on top. I’m a Scorpio, and my hobbies are nuclear fusion and oral sex.” She linked her arm through mine. “Ta-ta!” she called, waving over her shoulder at Jett as she pulled me toward the girls’ bathroom.
“You crack me up, Mol,” I told her, laughing.
“You realize that Jett is, like, light-years beyond any other guy in the entire school,” Molly said as we pushed open the girls’ room door. “I mean, I actually believe that he’d love you even if you were slightly less perfect looking than you are.”
“Looks have nothing to do with real love,” I told her.
She gave me a look. “I know you don’t believe that.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said.
We checked our reflections in the mirror. Someone had scrawled BLAKE POOLE WANTS FATTY PATTY BAD! on the mirror in red lipstick, and some of the letters covered Molly’s reflected right cheek.
Molly puffed out her cheeks. “I look like a cow.”
“You don’t. You look cute, honest.”
Molly kept staring at her reflection. “Too bad Fatty Patty isn’t in here. Next to her, even I look thin.”
“I thought you had to pee,” I reminded her.
“Nope.”
“Then why are we in here?”
“What am I supposed to do, stand around like an idiot while my so-called boyfriend is outside getting wrecked?” She sucked in the skin below her cheeks. “Maybe I need that cheekbone surgery,” she continued, “where they suck the fat out and it gives you high cheekbones like Kate Moss.”
“Mol, you don’t need surgery.” I pulled a tiny perfume vial out of my satin purse. “If you come over three afternoons a week, and we work out together, you’ll see a huge difference in no time.” I spritzed her wrists with perfume, then mine. “But you have to really work out, not just watch me do it.”
“I hate working out,” she said. “it’s so much work.”
“Molly,” I said, “you make your own reality.”
“Every time you say that, I want to hurl,” Molly said.
“Because you know it’s true.”
The bathroom door opened, and Jennie Smith, a willowy girl with long, shiny brown hair, sailed in. She had on a white dress with the middle cut out. I knew for a fact it cost over six hundred dollars because I had seen the price tag on it at the Paris Shoppe.
“Lara, honey, I heard about Denise Reiser and I am just so thrilled for you!” she cried, her voice dripping honey. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight, then air-kissed me in the vicinity of my left cheek. She ignored Molly completely.
Jennie Smith was the richest, thinnest girl in our class. We were supposed to be friends, but the truth was, I didn’t really like her much. Still, the pageant motto had been drummed into my head: be sweet to everyone. Besides, Jennie had a lot of power. And she was one of those girls who could turn on you at any moment.
“I don’t think I’ll win, Jennie, but thanks,” I told her. “Amy Caprice is—”
“I heard Amy Caprice has herpes.” Jennie checked out her narrow reflection in the mirror.
“Really?” I asked. “That’s terrible!”
“Well, maybe it’s just a nasty rumor.” She grinned maliciously. “I mean, who would be wicked enough to start a rumor like that?”
“Could it be … you?” Molly asked brightly.
Jennie gave her a cool look, then turned back to the mirror. “I just hate myself. I was so bad. I ate, like, four of those little fruit tarts on the dessert table!”
“Oh my God, you—you farm animal!” Molly cried in mock horror. “You’re going to go up to a size three, for sure!”
Jennie looked Molly up and down. “Did you know our beloved principal just busted your boyfriend?”
“For what?”
“He and some of his friends came in staggering around, and a pint of Jack fell out of his pocket.”
“Oh, great, just great,” Molly said. “I gotta go save him, Lara. Come find me.” She dashed out the door.
Jennie smoothed her hair and shook it back off her shoulders. “I don’t want to toot my own horn, Lara, but I did manage to talk a bunch of people into voting for you.”
“By starting a rumor about Amy?” I asked her.
“Would I do a thing like that?”
I didn’t answer. I smiled instead. “It was so sweet of you to get people to vote for me, and—”
“It wasn’t easy,” Jennie said, “what with you and Danny breaking up, and you and The Mouth—”
“Molly’s great.”
“Please.” Jennie fixed her lipstick and checked for mascara flecks under her hazel eyes. “I don’t mean she’s a total loser like Fatty Patty or something. But she’s not exactly in your league, and she could be what keeps you from getting queen, no matter how hard I worked to help you.”
“Molly’s my best friend,” I said quietly.
Jenn
ie shrugged. “Whatever. I’m only telling you because I love you to death, Lara. Hey, whatever you do, don’t let me eat anything out there, okay?”
“I’ll watch you like a hawk,” I promised.
“You’re a sweetheart,” Jennie said, air-kissing me again and sailing out the door.
Behind me, a toilet flushed. I was surprised. I didn’t think anyone else was in the bathroom.
But someone came out of one of the stalls.
It was Patty Asher.
I just stood there, trying to think of something to say to Patty.
I’m sorry?
My friends didn’t know you were in here?
If you’d just go on a diet no one would be able to humiliate you like that?
Patty walked over to the sink and turned the water on. But something was wrong with the faucet and water shot out in every direction, spraying the entire front of her dress.
“Damn!” she swore. She looked like she was going to cry.
I reached into the wall dispenser for some paper towels, but it was empty. A few used ones swam in dirty water on the floor, under the row of sinks.
Patty plucked a Kleenex from her purse and was about to dab at her dress when I stopped her.
“Don’t do that!”
She stopped, the tissue an inch from her sopping dress.
“Tissues on wet velvet are a disaster,” I explained. “They leave little balls of gunky white fuzz that sort of fuse to the velvet.”
“Great,” she groaned.
I looked around, trying to think of a solution. My eyes lit on a hot-air dryer on the wall, which was supposed to be used to dry your hands. “Stand under this.”
I pressed the On button and Patty stood under it, awkwardly aiming her massive stomach toward the warm airflow.
“It’s working, I think,” she said, looking down at her dress.
As she stood there under the hot-air nozzle, I couldn’t help noticing just how overweight she was. Although she had beautiful long brown hair, her brown eyes, which might have been pretty, were sunken under twin cushions of fat. She had two extra chins quivering under the first, and no neck to speak of. Her shoulders, which weren’t all that broad, blossomed into a huge bosom. Below that, her waist exploded into an inner tube of fat, which sat on top of an even huger roll of flesh.
Life in the Fat Lane Page 3