Big Fat Manifesto

by Susan Vaught

  Heath gives me one more kiss before Dad jerks me through security with him.

  As I'm stripping off my shoes and stuffing my carry-on into the bin for x-raying, I glance back at my cheerleaders. They're standing by the coffee shop, just outside the roped-off security section, waving like nutjobs.

  I wave back.

  For once, I don't feel tired and scared. I don't feel like I've lost before I ever start the fight.

  Maybe thafs honesty at work. Maybe It's good friends.

  Maybe It's Heath, or being more aware of my choices.

  Maybe It's all of those things.

  I don't know, because believe it or not, universe, I don't know everything—but I'm choosing to be okay with that today.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Jen Sexton, who helped me with details to make this piece as real and accurate as possible.

  I don't know what I'd do without Debbie Federici, my champion critique partner, who reads every word just after It's written and bugs me to finish what I start. Without you, my words would fall flat. Thanks also to Christine Taylor-Butler and Tara Donn, who gave me honest initial opinions—fast.

  My agent, Erin Murphy, deserves points for patience and perseverance, especially when I suddenly write unexpected books.

  Endless appreciation to my editor Victoria Wells-Arms, who tackled this piece in record time, with big fat enthusiasm that helped every big fat minute. I appreciate her and everyone at Bloomsbury more than I can say.