ZARA GAVE us her address and made us promise not to share it with anyone. The farther we drove into the hills of Brentwood, the better I could understand why. She lived in the richest part of Brentwood, which made me wonder: why didn’t she attend Brentwood Academy? I mean, they were our rival school. We always competed for the top two spaces in the state in terms of GPA and ACT scores.
As I slowed at the wrought-iron gates behind the others’ cars, my eyes widened. Cameras swiveled to follow my car, and I could see a security guard on a monitor, nodding us past.
I took it all in as we drove down the long, winding drive toward a modern house that seemed to be more windows than walls. We parked our cars in a massive garage, and Zara said, “Welcome to mi casa.”
Jordan gulped. “Gracias.”
If Jordan lived in Seaton, I couldn’t imagine the reaction she could be having to all of this—and we were just in the garage.
Ginger gave Zara a nervous smile. “Where’s the hot tub? On the moon?”
Zara rolled her eyes, laughing. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”
She walked us past the kitchen, offered something from a fridge full of prepared food and drinks, then showed us her room. It was the size of my family’s living room, kitchen, and dining room combined, with a giant canopy bed.
“You can change in here or in the bathroom,” Zara said, pointing to the en suite bathroom. From here, it looked bigger than my room.
“Is there a guest bed in there?” I teased.
“No, but I have a couch in the closet.” Of course she did.
I’d heard about girls changing together in the locker room—had even been subjected to it in freshman gym class—but I couldn’t imagine all of these girls getting bare in front of each other. That was what you were trained to do as a plus-size girl—cover up. Turn around. Hide. Don’t expose anyone to your body in case it made them uncomfortable. Never mind how that secrecy made you feel like your body was something to be ashamed of. According to our society, your body wasn’t for you. It was for you to show everyone else.
I sighed and grabbed my suit from my bag. “I’ll take the bathroom.”
Zara shrugged and pulled her shirt over her head. I watched in awe as she sauntered to her closet in her bra, rolls and stretch marks exposed. How was she so comfortable in her own marred skin?
My skin was turning green with envy as I walked to the bathroom and locked myself in the shower room. (I’d been right; it was bigger than my entire bedroom.) My fingers ached for a paintbrush to capture all the feelings of this moment, all the hard lines of the modern house and the blurred lines of my emotions.
Once I had my suit on, I tugged up on the boy shorts and down on the tankini top so my belly wouldn’t show and then looked in the mirror. What was I playing at? Beckett Langley and me? The girls better come up with an amazing plan. Like plastic surgery. Or blindfolds.
I sighed and walked into the room where the other girls were all in their suits except for Callie, who wore shorts and a T-shirt.
“Are you not swimming?” I asked her.
“Just dipping my toes in,” she answered and then hurriedly added, “are we ready to go outside?”
Zara stood from where she lounged on the bed. “Sure. Let’s head out to the patio.”
The hallway tile was cool and smooth under my feet as we paraded toward the back of the house. The back wall was made of glass and gave an amazing view of the valley below us and even the blue expanse of the ocean in the distance.
Forget my feelings. I could sit out here and paint this all day, the way the colors went from sharp to fuzzy, the intricate lines of the horizon.
Zara slid open the glass door, and we followed her out onto the stone patio toward a hot tub connected to an infinity pool.
Zara lived the height of luxury. Why wasn’t she hanging out with movie stars instead of four misfits like us?
She dipped her toes into the hot water, and we followed suit. Eventually my body was enveloped by the warm salty water. Steam rose from the surface, swirling around my face and bringing moisture to my skin.
Callie’s head swiveled, taking it all in. “This is amazing, Zara. Thanks for having us.”
“Yeah,” Ginger said. “I feel famous.” “Same,” Jordan said.
Zara shook her head. “It’s my dad’s, not mine. Now let’s get down to business.”
We covered everything we knew about Beckett and me. It all seemed sort of hopeless as I realized Beckett and I had nothing in common—other than an affinity for cupcakes, but that was for completely separate reasons. How could we conjure a relationship out of thin air?
“I’m not sure, guys,” I admitted. “It’s not like I can just show up at the bakery every Tuesday. That would be so obvious and probably backfire.” I had to look away as I said the next part. “Maybe we should just throw in the towel.”
My eyes stung, and I was thankful for the water to hide the moisture. I liked Beckett. He was kind to me, he seemed down to earth, and he was artistic to top it off. Trying to get him interested and failing would just be more proof that Merritt was right. That I didn’t deserve a happily ever after. “No way,” Ginger said, adamant. She pushed back a wet curl from her neck and said, “He just needs to see you. Like really see you. You’re
amazing.”
“Exactly,” Jordan said. “You’re kind and smart and you have a gorgeous smile.”
I couldn’t help but bring my fingers to my lips. “You mean it?” She nodded.
“But what about all this?” I asked, gesturing to myself. “I weigh twice what Merritt does. Fat doesn’t seem to be Beckett’s type.”
Zara crossed the water and stood in front of me. “Who told you that you deserve less because of your size? That you couldn’t be desirable or hot?”
My brows came together as I sat under the spotlight of her words. “Um, everyone ever?”
“Did you ever question it?” she asked.
I thought about her question, I did, but it only took a few seconds to know I hadn’t. I’d grown up watching my mom do workouts with a personal trainer. Seeing my dad rise in the morning to go on runs and eventually having my brother do the same. And as I became more interested in art, their bodies became more fit, more different from mine. And the more different they became, the more my mom tried to fix me. I hated not being good enough for her, hated being too different.
That still paled to the friends I lost after going through puberty in seventh grade. Where the other girls gained curves and cute little pimples, I’d gotten rolls and pizza face. Pretty soon, it was easier to stay in and avoid selfies that would show up on social media for everyone to see just how out of place I was. And when my best friend, who had stuck with me through all that, moved to New York, it was easy to just let it all go and focus on my art. On tutoring and school and the diets and exercise routines my mom gave me.
“That’s what I thought,” Zara said. “Look, I know it can’t happen in a day, but you need to understand that you are every bit as beautiful as Merritt Alexander.”
Now I rolled my eyes. “You don’t need to lie to me. We’re different, and that’s okay.”
“No.” Zara took my chin and made me look into her intense dark eyes. “You don’t need to make excuses for why you don’t deserve as good as Merritt has in life. Everyone’s different. That doesn’t mean less.”
Her words seemed so at odds with what I felt. How could I reconcile her opinion with the truth I’d accepted about myself?
“Look,” she said, dropping her hand from my chin. “Just try it, for a while. Act like Merritt. Pretend like the world owes you all the good it has. And tell that stupid voice in your head to shut up. Then see what happens. You might be surprised.”
My lips twitched as I nodded. “I’ll try it.” I wanted to be the girl Zara said I was. Believe I was the type of girl Beckett could be attracted to. “But how am I going to get Beckett on his own?”
Zara smiled at us, a devious twinkle in her eye. “Be there.”
Jordan and Ginger gave each other a look, and Jordan said, “That’s our master plan?”
“’Proximity doesn’t breed familiarity,’” Ginger quoted from Let it Snow.
Callie shrugged. “But it does give her an opportunity for more.” “So, I shadow him,” I said. “Then what?”
Zara smiled. “You act like the prize you are. Callie, can you get Beckett’s schedule from Carson? And can he tell us about parties they’re having?”
Slowly kicking her feet in the water, Callie said, “Since the last party got busted, no one’s wanting to have one at their house.”
Zara frowned. “Maybe we could have one?”
Ginger shook her head. “My parents would end me.” “Ditto,” I said.
Callie nodded. “Carson would tell my dad.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “Like, to get you in trouble?”
“No, they’re just weirdly close,” Callie explained. “So my house is out.” “And there’s no way I’m having anyone out to my apartment,” Jordan
said. “Couldn’t we have it here?”
Zara shook her head. “Security would tell my dad, and that would be the end of it.”
We each frowned at the roiling water of the hot tub. “Seaton Beach!” Jordan said. “It’s the perfect spot.” Ginger wrinkled her nose. “Really?”
Jordan nodded. “There’s this spot that’s out of sight, and the townies always have their parties at the pier, so there’s no way we’d get caught or compete for space.”
I chewed over the idea. “But getting people out to Seaton might be kind of hard…”
“It could work.” Zara’s eyes lit up. “I can get Zach to send some booze out there. That should be incentive enough.”
“Zach?” Ginger asked.
Zara rolled her eyes. “This guy my dad’s trying to set me up with. He’s
all about the grand gestures.”
“Your dad’s trying to set you up?” Callie asked. “I’m pretty sure the only reason my dad even lets me hang out with Carson is because he’s practically my brother.”
Some of the light left Zara’s eyes. “It’s in my culture to have an arranged marriage.”
If I had a drink in my mouth, I would have spat it out. “Marriage?
You’re still in high school!”
She nodded slowly. “I’ve begged, kicked, and screamed, and none of it’s worked. So let me focus on you. It’s easier.” She reached over the side of the hot tub and started tapping into her phone. “The word’s out. Party tomorrow night.”
