OUTSIDE OF HEALTH CLASS, the reality of what had just happened came into sharp focus. This was hands down the dumbest thing I’d ever done. Why had I spoken up in class when staying quiet had always suited me just fine? For the benefit of the other big girls? We’d all heard worse. I had to find a way to get out of this bet.
No solution came to me during AP English when I should have been busy plotting my research essay. No idea crossed my mind during Latin class as I copied vocab words from the board. And certainly none came as I took my best meal of the day—the only one I chose—to the quad.
I would sit at my usual table, and instead of working on homework, I’d brainstorm ways to catch Beckett’s interest.
I had to.
Mom would die before letting me skip homecoming and the opportunity to wear the expensive gown she’d picked for me. Plus, with me as a senior and Aiden a junior, this would be our last homecoming dance together. I didn’t want to miss that either.
If I was being honest, I dreamed of the day Beckett would fall for me. When he’d look at me with my wavy hair, abundance of flesh, and acne, and tell me that he liked me. Not because I was beautiful or drove the best car or had the best connections, but because I was me.
But it was dangerous to think that way. It reminded me of all the ways I’d never be enough. Not just for him, but for my mother, who’s eyes filled with hope every time I stepped on the scale and fell with disappointment the second the numbers crossed the screen.
I knew she had my best interests at heart, but that didn’t keep me from wanting to be enough, for once, just as I was.
Midway down the hallway, a hand gripped my arm and yanked me through an open door.
“What the—” I managed before being drawn into a room filled with televisions, DVD players, outdated VCRs, and more cords than a BDSM headquarters.
Four girls sat before me: Jordan, Callie, Zara, and Ginger. The only thing they had in common was their size. And a weirdly purposeful look in their eyes. Like they were about to sacrifice me. Or murder me. (Those were different things, right?)
“What’s going on? Why are we in the AV storage room?” I asked, setting my plate on the table with theirs.
Zara stood by an open chair. “We’re helping you get Beckett, that’s what.”
Callie nodded. “It wasn’t nice what Merritt said to you.”
Ginger twisted a red curl around her finger. “That’s an understatement.” “Yeah,” Jordan said. “She thinks she can just throw her money around
and get whatever she wants.”
“Well,” I said, “she can.” I sat down at the table and started eating. I had to take my chance to consume processed food while I still could, even if it didn’t taste as good knowing I had PCOS. At their disappointed looks, I added, “This is sweet, really, but you guys don’t want to go up against Merritt.”
Zara’s dark eyes flared. “Maybe I can’t battle her in public, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to take her down.”
I wondered what Zara’s problem with Merritt was. Zara was just as rich
—and even more beautiful if you asked me.
Callie sighed and absently scratched at a small patch of psoriasis under her long hair. “I just want the good person to win. Just once. I’m tired of seeing her shove everyone around and get away with it.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to put her in her place,” I argued. “It’s just…” I sighed. “There are two kinds of people in this world. There are people like her”—I held up my toothpick—”and people like me.” I held up a French fry. “People like me don’t belong with people like Beckett. We don’t exist on the same plane of being.” I put the French fry in my mouth and chewed. “Even if he saw me, noticed me, went on a date with me, it wouldn’t be
long before a Merritt of the world came along and reminded him of what he was missing out on.”
The room was silent except for the whirring of a computer from the AV teacher’s empty desk.
At the sinking look on Callie’s face, my stomach twisted with guilt. Wow, I was a jerk. They were just trying to help. “Guys, I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know how I could ever compete.”
Zara sat across the table from me and looked me in the eyes. “That’s exactly what people like Merritt want you to think. If my dad’s taught me anything, it’s that confidence and presentation make up for everything.”
“Exactly,” I said, pointing at myself. “My presentation is kind of lacking. And it’s not like I can lose a hundred pounds before homecoming.”
Zara rolled her eyes. “You are just fine. Some makeup, contacts, and a perm and you’d be every bit as hot as Merritt.”
Merritt’s ash-blond hair and surgically plumped lips flashed through my mind. “Zara, are you okay? Do you need an appointment with Mrs. ‘Call- Me-Birdy’ Bardot?”
She hid a smirk as she rolled her eyes at my reference to our eccentric guidance counselor.
Jordan spoke up, sitting beside Zara. “This isn’t about your weight, Rory. It’s about Merritt making everyone else feel like crap and never being put in her place.” She gestured at the motley group in the AV room. “We could do that.”
I seriously doubted her, but the hope in her eyes was starting to become contagious. I looked around the wobbling table. They were all on board for this.
“Level with me, guys,” I said. “You think I can make Beckett Langley
—quarterback of the football team, six feet and two inches of muscles and charisma—fall for me?”
They nodded in unison.
“Without a doubt,” Zara said, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Please,” Callie said. “We need this.”
Ginger nodded in agreement.
“And Beckett is hot,” Jordan said. “Are you seriously saying you wouldn’t want to date him?”
I hesitated. Was I really turning down help for this? For a chance with the dream guy?
My mouth fell open and closed and nerves fizzed in my stomach. “I…I don’t know. I don’t want to drag you guys in on this.”
Ginger scoffed. “Merritt dragged us in on this when she acted like we were somehow worth less because of our weight. She needs to understand that our curves are just that—curves. They don’t define us or our worth.”
“Preach,” Jordan said.
Callie nodded. “We all know Merritt’s done this since middle school, and it’s amazing that you stood up to her. Let us help.”
I looked at each of them, all looking back at me like I was some type of savior or figurehead. (Full figurehead?) I wanted to tell them no, but at the same time, I couldn’t turn them down. I was tired of people acting like fat girls deserved less just because of a number on the scale. It was time to make a change. “I’m in.”
“Good,” Zara said. “Meet us at the football field after school.”
“For what?” I asked. Popular kids and football groupies were the only people to hang out there and watch the team practice. I didn’t fit either of those descriptions.
Jordan’s smile became devious. “Recon.”
