Fat Chance, Charlie Vega
Page 1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2021 by Crystal Maldonado
All Rights Reserved
HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
Printed and bound in December 2020 at Maple Press, York, PA, USA.
www.holidayhouse.com
First Edition
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Maldonado, Crystal, author.
Title: Fat chance, Charlie Vega / Crystal Maldonado.
Description: First edition. | New York : Holiday House, [2021] | Audience: Ages 14 and up. | Audience: Grades 10-12. | Summary: Overweight sixteen-year-old Charlie yearned for her first kiss while her perfect best friend, Amelia, fell in love, so when she finally starts dating and learns the boy asked Amelia out first, she is devastated.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020015942 (print) | LCCN 2020015943 (ebook) ISBN 9780823447176 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780823448906 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Self-esteem—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. Friendship—Fiction. | Overweight persons—Fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. | Mothers and daughters—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.M346954 Fat 2021 (print)
LCC PZ7.1.M346954 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020015942
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020015943
ISBN: 978-0-8234-4717-6 (hardcover)
To Bubby, Papaya, and Obi,
my three hearts that walk outside my body,
and to every Fat brown girl out there—I see you.
Chapter One
I imagine being kissed about a hundred times a day.
The tense moment just before the kiss, when they look right at me like there’s no one else in the room. The way they caress my cheek, maybe put their hand on the small of my back. To be so close to someone I care about, someone I like or maybe even love, feeling the warmth of their skin near mine, would be magic. They smell good, and I can almost feel their lips on mine, even before they’re there. And then they are—soft, gentle. And I forget who I am, just for a second. I forget everything else.
I forget that I don’t always have the right thing to say. I forget about comparing myself to my best friend. I forget about the issues with my mom. I forget how badly I wish I were a size two.
I forget it all.
Except for that kiss.
And it’s not so much the who. It’s more about the what. The kiss. A kiss. To be kissed.
It’s the stuff my dreams are made of.
But it hasn’t happened yet, and I’m beginning to think it never will.
At least, not like this—not the way my best friend, Amelia, and her boyfriend, Sid, are kissing up against my car.
I should be mad at them, and normally, I would be. But for right now, I’m kind of okay with the show.
That’s how pathetic I am.
Like, it should set me on fire that Amelia and Sid are kissing as if I don’t even exist. And yeah, that part is kind of annoying. But also, it just sends me spiraling off into my own thoughts about kissing and boys and I’m feeling wistful and alone and find myself missing something I never even had.
I honk the horn.
Amelia finally pulls away from Sid, shooting me an apologetic glance but smiling and giggling. She and Sid whisper to each other, then kiss once more, and Amelia finally starts to get into the car.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says as she slides into the passenger seat. “I’m a total jerk. I know.”
“You’re not a total jerk,” I say, pulling onto the road and heading toward my house. “But you think you could say goodbye before I pick you up? It’s kind of weird to have to watch.”
I leave out the part where their kissing basically makes me have an existential crisis.
“Next time, I promise.”
“Sid always leans right up against my car like it’s his,” I say. “I know my car is a piece of shit, but it’s my piece of shit.”
I’ll admit that I get easily annoyed at Sid. He’s a senior at another school, and I think he’s a little too vain, too aloof. Amelia is kind and giving and warm, and Sid is just sort of there. He’s nice enough to me, which is good, but he’s just…underwhelming. Like, in a slacker-who-smokes-pot-all-day kind of way that doesn’t seem to align well with Amelia’s popular-and-pretty-with-a-million-extracurriculars vibe.
He is hot, though. Super hot. All muscles and a beard a teenager probably shouldn’t be able to grow. I’ll give him that. Amelia says he treats her well and that it’s nice to have a boyfriend at another school because she doesn’t feel suffocated and it gives her a break from everything, so fine. I deal.
“I’m sorry, Charlie, for real. I’m just lucky to have a friend who’ll put up with that and still give me a ride home.” She smiles and bats her long eyelashes at me. I grin. “So, how was work?” she asks.
“I spent the afternoon putting together a hundred marketing packets for some trade show next week,” I say. I work part-time as an office assistant at a small, family-run business that sells medical products, mostly to hospitals. “So, totally riveting, as you can imagine. How was Sid’s?”
“If I were lighter-skinned, you’d be able to tell that I’m blushing just thinking about it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. Let’s leave it at that, all right?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel weird or anything. Lots of people have never been kissed.” She shoots me a sympathetic glance, and now it’s me who’s blushing. Acknowledging my virginal lips out loud makes it so much worse. I’ve mentioned this to her before, and yet…
“Yep.”
We’re quiet for a sec, but I relax a little when she pulls out her phone, eager for a subject change. “Did you look at the video I sent you earlier?”
“Which one?” I ask. Truthfully, Amelia and I send each other about a hundred things a day—some of it’s just us talking back and forth, but a lot of it is trashy or hilarious things we find online. “Oh, wait! The one of the sleepy puppy who falls off the couch?”
“Yes!” She squeals and the sound of the little puppy snoring fills the empty space in the car. “It’s sooo cute. I’ve watched it ten times already, I swear. Look, look—he’s about to do it!”
At a perfectly timed red light, I lean over and watch as the dozy puppy droops right off the couch, and we both erupt into giggles.
“God, we should totally get a dog,” I say.
“Right? We could share him—”
“Or her,” I interrupt.
Amelia corrects herself, though I know she’s probably playfully rolled her eyes at me from the passenger seat. “Or her. Some days that cutie could be with me, other days with you. It would be the most well-loved pup ever.”
As we pull up to my house, a single-story white ranch with my dad’s beloved Puerto Rican flag dangling from the porch, I point to my mom’s Audi in the driveway. Then I sigh. “Puppy would have to live with her, too, though.”
I had been not-so-secretly hoping that my mom’s job as branch manager at the local credit union might keep her late so that she wouldn’t be home yet, but now that I work, too, that’s not always the case.
“We could go to my house instead, if you want.”
“We’re already here.” I pull the keys out of the ignition. “Plus, she’ll be pleased to see her favorite daughter.”
I mean Amelia and she knows it, so she gives me the finger.
We head inside. I’m immediately hit with the sweet scents of apple and cinnamon, and without stepping into the kitchen, I know a candle is burning on the windowsill. It’s Mom’s favorite to light because it “goes with the theme,” meaning the red accent wall and carefully placed apple knickknacks on most of the oak surfaces.
“Mom, I’m home!”
“Charlotte, I’m right here. There’s no need for yelling!” my mom calls from the other room. She’s yelling, too, though.
“Amelia is here,” I say, tossing my keys onto the side table next to the door.
The tone of Mom’s voice changes immediately. “Oh! Amelia!” she says, and she’s suddenly in the living room to greet us. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing yoga pants, a fitted athletic top, and sneakers, signaling she’s likely on the way to the gym. She kisses my cheek, then Amelia’s. To Amelia, she says, “So good to see you. Don’t you look beautiful! Special day at school?”
I glance at Amelia, but I don’t really need to to know that yes, she does. She always looks beautiful. She has flawless dark skin that never blemishes and curly black hair that never seems out of place. She’s tall and thin and everything looks good on her and it’s completely unfair but also, like, if anyone deserves to be that flawless, it’s Amelia.
“No, nothing special today,” Amelia says, glancing down at her retro-chic outfit—a fitted black turtleneck and tights under a curve-hugging spaghetti-strap dress—with a shrug.
“See, Charlie. You always say people don’t dress up for school, but they do! Look how put together Amelia looks.” My mom’s eyes flit over my outfit—jeans, ballet flats, and what I thought was a pretty cute sweater—as if to say compared to this.
“Gee, thanks, Mom.”
Mom waves her hand at me. “You know what I mean. Anyway, Amelia, you look great.”
“Oh, thanks, Jeanne.”
“You know you can call me Mom!”
She’s offered this to Amelia about a hundred times now. I suppress an eye roll. “Mom, I think we’re going to go hang out in my room and do some homework. Okay?”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“We will,” I call over my shoulder as we walk to my room. Behind us, I close and lock the door as Amelia starts giggling and flops on my bed, tossing her bag on the floor. I laugh a little, too.
“She really wants you to call her Mom,” I say.
“It just feels too weird to me! I’ve never called her Mom, not since we met in the second grade. Why does she keep saying that to me lately?”
“She just really likes you.” I shrug, trying to keep my voice cool. “And you know how she is. Once she’s made up her mind about something she wants, that’s it. So if she hasn’t stopped offering that to you yet, she never will.”
My conspiracy theory is that my mom secretly wishes Amelia was her daughter and is doing this to subtly reveal it to me. My more realistic theory is that my mom doesn’t realize how overtly she dotes on Amelia and that maybe it might make her daughter feel some type of way.
That said, it’s true Amelia embodies a lot of the characteristics my mom wishes I possessed. I sometimes can’t blame her. I wish I could be more like Amelia, too.
As far as best friends go, Amelia and I probably don’t make much sense on paper. It feels like she’s pretty close to perfect, and I’m more of the surviving-not-thriving type—the sidekick, the brown bestie. Aside from being beautiful, Amelia is the walking embodiment of Black excellence—her grace and warmth and wit are on another level, one which I aspire to someday come near. (But I know that’s a long shot, so I find myself being fine just circling in her orbit.)
An athlete who does track and volleyball, Amelia’s got a lot of friends. She’s an infectious laugher, charismatic, and toes that line between tough and kind. She tells it like it is, but in such a genuine way that no one minds. And her love life is something I’ve envied for years. She’s dated people of all genders—Amelia identifies as pan, and has since at least sixth grade—and I’ve always admired her unwavering confidence, which I think draws people to her.
I am not sure any of the adjectives I use to describe Amelia can also be used to describe me. I’m anxious and insecure, full of self-doubt, and probably annoying. There are good things about me, sure, but I’m mostly friendless (unless internet friends count?) and I’m certainly not athletic or popular. (I do have great hair, though.)
I’ve also never dated anyone. And I’m fat. Those things don’t necessarily go hand in hand, but for me, I think they do.
I’ve always been fat, but I didn’t know I was fat-with-a-capital-F until I was in fourth grade, having a great time on a field trip, and one of my classmates told me so. There I was, sitting with Amelia on a bench at the local science museum, when Mason Beckett suddenly needed to sit next to his BFF, Elijah McGrady, and he tried to squeeze in between me and him. When Mason struggled to fit—he had a chunky body, too—he turned and looked me square in the face and said, “Jeez, Charlie, why do you have to be so fat?”
That seemingly small moment made me acutely aware of my body and its bigness, and it was then that I realized that being fat is a thing: A Very Bad Thing, according to most.
The world around me has reiterated that fact over and over in hundreds of ways since: the way people eye my body and shift uncomfortably away when I’m getting on the bus; the way the gym teacher loudly tsks me—and only me—every time I have to get weighed at school as part of the “physical fitness test”; the way my doctor doesn’t even hear me when I’m complaining about sinus pain, and instead assures me that if I “try and lose weight” that’ll fix my problems; the way most stores refuse to make clothes that even fit me and then if they do, they’re much more expensive, as if my fat body comes with a fat wallet, too. So you can see why I envy Amelia so much.
Currently, Amelia is texting—probably with Sid—so I pull out my ancient math book and binder and settle in at my desk.
“I saw you talking to Benny outside of study hall today.” Amelia is focused on her phone, but she doesn’t hide the coy smile as she speaks. “What was that about?”
I roll my eyes. Benjamin (not Benny) is this boy that Amelia thinks is obsessed with me, but really we’re just classmates. I’m nice to him because he’s a generally nice guy and we’re in the
same biology class. “It was about him needing clarification on the homework.”
“I think it was about him liiiking you,” she says, looking up at me. I roll my eyes again. When Amelia is talking to me about boys, I’m usually rolling my eyes. “Think about it. Benjamin is basically a science genius. Did he really need homework clarification? Or was he just looking for an excuse to talk to you?”
“He really just needed homework clarification,” I say. “You know he can’t always see the board. He has really bad vision.” I instinctively push my own glasses higher up on my face.
“He could check online, though,” Amelia presses.
“It was easier for him to ask me.”
Amelia makes a face like she’s not convinced. “I’m just saying. You two are awfully cozy.”
“I appreciate you being the biggest cheerleader for my love life, but Benjamin and I are just friends. And hardly that. He’s really sweet, but a little weird. You know that,” I say. “Besides, I like someone else. You know that, too.”
Cal Carter. What is about people with alliterative names that makes them so much better? I don’t know. But he’s amazing.
Tall. Muscular. Piercing green eyes. Sandy blond hair that falls just so. A smile that’s often a smirk, like he’s in on some devilish secret.
Amelia groans. “Don’t remind me.”
For a while now, Amelia has been after me to give up on Cal, mostly because she thinks he’s sleazy. That’s what I love most about Amelia. She thinks I should give up on Cal not because I have no chance in hell with him, but because she genuinely thinks he’s not good enough for me.
But she’s right that I shouldn’t be into Cal—mostly because he’s actually into Amelia.
I know, I know. She’s told Cal a million times it’s not going to happen, but he still hangs around. I should have better sense than to like someone who persists even after they’ve been turned down, yet here I am. Fawning over him.
Because he’s nice to me. Really, really nice to me. He tells me jokes. He makes me laugh. He has conversations with me. He even says hi to me when he’s around his football friends, which is huge. Basically, he’s one of the few guys who will give me the time of day. And have I mentioned he’s the knees-weak, butterflies-in-your-stomach, stay-up-late-dreaming-about type of hot? His real smile—not the smirk, though that’s great, too—could probably inspire world peace.