Chapter 8
EIGHT
SUTTON
“Ew. I can’t believe they cast Fatty Farley for the lead. Like seriously, just look at her.”
“Who would want to pay money to watch her fat ass dancing, anyway?”
P eels of laughter ring in my ears as the group of friends all act like her cruel words are the funniest thing they have ever heard.
Sarah’s voice bounces around my muddled brain on repeat, and I tuck my head down, trying to remain invisible to the gathering crowd.
Hugging my books tightly against my chest, I shove past their mean-girl group, rushing down the crowded hall until I’m finally able to escape through a side door.
With a shuddering breath, I try to stifle the tears I can feel building behind my stinging eyes.
I wish Mr. Thompson hadn’t cast me as the lead in the spring musical. Seriously, I know he was just trying to be nice. I know that with me being in his choir and band classes that he is aware of my singing talent. But when I auditioned, I figured the role would go to someone. . . smaller than me.
Someone prettier.
That I would get a role in the ensemble or as an understudy like I had before.
You know, a role where I could still get the experience and credit I needed to use for beefing up my college applications while still allowing me to not be the focus of everyone’s attention.
And by everyone, of course, I mean Sarah and her clique.
Instead, Mr. Thompson cast me as the lead, and now I’m left with all this unwanted attention, with people focusing on how different I am.
My curves have only become more curvy since coming into puberty. My chest is so much larger than all of the senior girls at my school, and my butt makes me want to cry. I don’t need this kind of attention drawn to my appearance.
Seriously?
It’s bad enough in the locker rooms after gym class.
I don’t need this in the halls too. With me in the lead role, everyone is going to be staring at me, talking behind my back about how fat I am; how my mousy brown hair is, or the fact that I have too many freckles.
But mostly they just like to talk about how fat I am.
Why? Ugh. Why couldn’t I have had a different role in the play?
I make it about a block down the road before I feel the first tear slip down my face. With a sniffle, I swipe angrily at the loose bead trailing over my cheek, and keep pushing forward, head tilted down, determined to make it home before I start crying for real.
A few minutes later, a honk startles me.
“Hey, Shorty. Get in.”
I shake my head, refusing to look up as Callum pulls along the curb next to me. With another sniffle, I keep walking .
“Shorty.”
I don’t answer, my feet shuffling forward as I try desperately to hold the tears at bay.
“Come on, Shorty!”
My heart skips a beat at the pleading tone in his voice, but I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge him as I press forward. I will not let him see me like this. I won’t let Cal see me cry.
The truck comes to an abrupt halt, and I hear a door slam closed before footsteps jog along the pavement, increasing to try and keep up as I hurry forward.
“Shorty - Sutton! Hey!”
A hand grabs my arm, forcing me to stop, and another tear slips free. Dammit.
“Hey! Come ‘ere.”
Another hand grabs gently at me, and I’m suddenly being held against Cal’s chest, my own heart racing, pounding in my ears, as I’m overwhelmed by the smell and feel of him.
“Shh. It’s okay, Sutton. Shh.”
A hand runs over my head, the mousy-brown strands suddenly tingling at the feel of a hand – his hand – running through it.
“Just ignore them. They’re a bunch of dicks, anyway.”
A hiccup-sob escapes me and more tears fall, but I just bury my head deeper in his chest.
“Shh. You’re alright.” His hand continues to trail down my head, softly stroking my hair, trying to calm my frayed nerves.
After a while, I’m finally able to take a shuddering breath, the tears slowing to a reluctant halt; and I’m unsure of just how long he stood holding me while I cried myself to the point of exhaustion.
“Come on, Shorty. Let’s get you home.”
The rest of the seven minute drive across town is one full of thick silence.
I still haven’t looked up at Cal, but from the corner of my eye, I can see the tension rippling through the toned muscles of his arm as he drives.The streets are scattered with fallen leaves, red, orange and yellow confetti littering the quiet streets in a melancholy picture, but his steely gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, unfazed by the sight.
The truck slows as he pulls up to the curb between our two houses, and I finally gather the courage to break the silence, but before I can say anything, Callum interjects.
“You got the role.”
I wasn’t aware that he even knew I’d auditioned. But then, there‘s been so much shit-talk going around the school since the roles were posted this afternoon, maybe he didn’t know before, and only became aware after overhearing some of the gossip floating around the halls.
Instead of saying anything, I just tilt my head in a slight nod, my silence a cracking dam barely holding my ragged emotions at bay.
“Good job, Shorty.” He shifts in his seat to face me, and I can feel his eyes looking me over, but I can’t face him. Not now. Not like this. “Lena’s gonna be so excited when she finds out.”
Lena moved over the summer, to live with her mom full-time after her parents split up.
She used to be my buffer from all the people who called me fat and ugly and a bunch of other horrible things.
But now, I only get to see her over video chats, and the holidays, which are a long way off.
I wish she were here now. She always knew what to say to help me feel better.
“Hey. Don’t listen to them. Sarah, well. . . Sarah is just a bitch sometimes, and the rest of them are either just dumb sheep doing her bidding, or they’re jealous of your talent.”
His hand is on my shoulder as he says this, and I can feel the tingle running like electric currents down my arm and sending chills through my body. My stomach fills with butterflies at his touch, but his words stab my heart like a dagger.
I can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes along with a lone tear that I angrily try to swipe away. I refuse to look at him as the next words leave my mouth, so instead, I fix my unseeing gaze out the passenger window.
“If she’s such a bitch, then why are you even dating her?”
One moment of silence blends into the next as tension, thick and heavy, fills the air between us once more.
I can’t stand it any longer. Biting back a scoff at his lack of response, I push my door open, shouldering my bag as I run inside to the sound of him shouting my name. But I don’t look back. I can’t.
Hugging the pillow tightly to my chest, I blink against the fading light as a chime signals a new text message. I’m not sure how long I lay on my bed, crying and having my own personal pity party. I should be happy that I got the lead role in the annual musical.
I should be thrilled .
Usually, such a large role is reserved for one of the seniors, on rare occasions maybe a really talented junior if they’re a perfect fit for it. But it’s absolutely unheard of for an underclassmen, someone like me, to be offered a role like this.
With a sniffle, I brush away the tears. I will be okay. And I will be proud of myself for this, dammit.
My hand only shakes a little as I reach for my phone.
Lena: OMG!!! Girl!!! You got it! I am so freaking happy for you!!!
Lena: Wait, why didn’t you text me?
Lena: We should be celebrating, right?
Her texts come in rapid succession, and though she’s several states away, I can feel her bubbly personality as if she were here in the room with me.
Lena: Dude!
Lena: Why aren’t you answering?
Lena: Ok, shoot. I have to go to gym practice, but if you don’t respond by the time I’m done, you’re gonna have some serious ‘splainin’ to do, missy.
Lena: *Kiss face*
I know she means well, but I don’t have the energy to respond right now. I might regret it later. Knowing her, Lena isn’t gonna let this go until I am at the same level of excitement that she is. But that is a problem for another time, a problem for future Sutton .
Just as I’m about to put my phone back down on the nightstand, another text comes through. I roll my eyes, thinking Lena must have forgotten something. Surprised, I have to do a double-take when I see the message.
Unknown: I’m sorry about earlier.
Unknown: This is Cal, by the way .
He says this as if I couldn’t figure it out from the previous text; as if the fact that his phone number is one digit off from being identical to Lena’s wouldn’t have clued me in.
I choose to ignore him. I’m still too pissed, too hurt.
I have had a crush on Cal for years; ever since that day when he saved me from being tormented by two of his teammates when we were kids.
And I know it’s dumb, I know in his eyes I’m always going to be his kid sister’s best friend; but there are times, like the summer nights when he comes to sit with me out in the meadow while I write and we end up just talking for hours instead, that I can almost just close my eyes and pretend.
Pretend for just a moment that he isn’t three years older and one of the most popular guys at our school.
Pretend that he isn’t my own father’s pride and joy, the hockey star; the son he always wanted instead of having a daughter like me for an only child.
Unknown: Come on, Shorty.
Unknown: Talk to me.
Unknown: Sutton. . .
Stewing in my own jumbled thoughts and anxiety, I guess I took too long to respond based on his ongoing stream of texts. With a sigh, I swipe to unlock my phone again.
Why do you even care?
And how did you get my number, anyway?
Instead of responding to either of my questions over text, you know, like a normal person, the rattle of my windowpane startles me so bad that I am pretty sure I jump a good foot in the air .
What the hell?
Pulling down my tank that has ridden up my too-soft tummy, I shuffle over to the window in my favorite fuzzy duck slippers.
Looking down, I squint, trying to see through the shadows of the fading sunlight but I don’t see anything.
As I go to turn, however, movement catches my eye, drawing my attention to the window directly across from mine. And my breath catches in my throat.
I’m sorry.
Cal is standing in his bedroom, a sign held up in his open window, facing towards my room.
Another ding, and I find myself rushing back to my bed to grab my phone, before moving to stand by the window once more.
Unknown: I mean it. I’m sorry.
I roll my eyes, arms crossing over my chest, a gesture of frustration that I’m sure he can see even from here.
Cal quickly pulls the sign down that he’s holding, flipping to a blank page and scribbling on it and turning the papers to face me once more.
Still friends?
I’ve always been the quiet one in my friendship with Lena.
I don’t know if Cal has ever really seen me mad.
And I certainly haven’t ever stood up to him before.
But something inside me snapped today, and I just can’t do it.
My heart hurts too much to see him in the halls, arms wrapped around the girl who has made it her life mission to make my own a living hell.
We’re NOT friends Cal.
So don’t worry. You don’t owe me anything. Let alone an apology.
Another flip of the page, furious scribbling, and the sign is held up to me once more. I feel a twinge of something. . . regret, hope? I don’t even know what, as I look at his sign.
FRIENDS
He wrote the word in all caps, underlining it multiple times for emphasis.
I shake my head, texting him back another response.
Friends don’t date their friend’s bullies, Cal. That’s not how friendship works.
Like I said, you don’t owe me anything.
With that, I close my curtains, throwing my phone on the window seat and crawling back into my bed to cry some more.