Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
SUTTON
I ’d been nervous before my first big dance number, but as I lock eyes with my stage partner, Dennis, and he throws me a wink and a cocky grin, I allow myself a moment to close my eyes and breathe before walking onto the stage amidst the crowd of dancers.
Everyone is doing the hand jive around me, but they clear a path, putting me at center stage for the entire audience to see.
And then, all eyes are focused on me as I begin to shake my hips in time to the music, letting the past several months of rehearsals snap me back into character, and a thrill courses through me as I nail my entrance to the song.
Dennis grins widely, his character showing obvious attraction and interest in my revamped moves, and the crowd cheers. Instruments continue to play as the dance draws to a close and the lights dim, and I can’t help the grin that crosses my own face.
Mom and Dad are here tonight, and I know Lena is in the crowd too, along with her parents. Her mom and Lena flew in special to see me perform tonight, all the way from Colorado, and it means the world to me.
Tonight was another game night for our local hockey team, and normally Dad and Lena’s family would be gone, watching Cal and the rest of the team, but tonight, they’re here for me .
Dad had the assistant coach take over for the night, which is practically unheard of for him; just so he could be here to support me. Watching me perform.
For the first time in my life, I’m on center stage. Not Cal, not Lena.
Just me.
And it’s honestly too much to process, so I try my best to shove it to the back of my brain, along with the rest of my nerves, while I focus on transitioning into the next scene.
The past hour has been a whirlwind, a rollercoaster of emotions; and as we jump into the final number I try to take it all in.
The lights directed at the stage make it hard to see the crowd, which, if I’m being completely honest, is probably better for my nerves.
It’s bad enough knowing I have so many eyes watching me; I can’t imagine if I had to actually see all of their faces.
Dennis pulls me close as the song comes to an end, giving me a show-stopping kiss, and the crowd goes nuts while my face flushes in embarrassment. I’ve never had so many eyes on me, let alone while I’m being kissed . Being kissed by a really cute guy, I might add.
On cue, Kenny, the large football player who’s playing my mother and has surprisingly become a friend over the last few months, interrupts our kiss with his lines as he starts singing.
Dennis pulls away from me, with something that I would swear looks like reluctance on his face, but he quickly refocuses, and we both jump right back into the dance alongside all of our fellow cast members as we sing about shaking and shimmying in time to the music.
The song builds into its final crescendo, and right as the music draws to a close, a tomato. . . a rotten tomato slams into the side of my head, nauseating juices oozing out of the moldy skin and down my hair onto my face. And the crowd goes deathly quiet.
The cruelest part isn’t even my own humiliation.
No, after months of hard work, countless hours spent on choreography and practicing with the band, none of it will even be remembered.
The band and choir that helped supplement our large dance numbers, my fellow thespians, hell, even Kenny who is well loved as a star football player at our school.
No, none of that will ever be remembered after our final performance.
“ Fatty Farley’s Party Foul. ”
That’s the name of the damn article that made it to the front page of our high school paper, and then was picked up by our city’s local circulation.
My dad, of course, demanded a retraction, threatening to sue the school for harassment and bullying.
And sure, they pulled the paper, but it was too late.
By that point, everyone had already seen it.
I wanted to stay home, begged my parents to let me stay home, but of course, they said the best way to deal with adversity is to face it head on.
That’s how they approach hockey, and that is how they approach life.
Why should I stay in bed wallowing in self-pity when I could be pushing forward, not giving the gossips more room to talk?
Except they don’t need more room to talk; they already own the whole freaking school.
All day, I’ve been subjected to either pitying glances or cruel jeers. No middle ground. No room to breathe or sink into oblivion. I honestly wish I had never joined the stupid play. I don’t know what I had been thinking.
How could a girl like me, me , ever be anything more than what I am?
The fat kid who happens to be friends with some semi-social girl who is no longer even at this school, and her popular hockey-playing brother. No real friends to speak of, nothing of interest to note other than her weight.
No, it is absolutely ludicrous that I could hope to maybe be noticed for something more than my weight. Like maybe my love for dancing, or my voice, or hell - even my skills playing guitar and piano - which honestly are quite decent, and I’m not saying that to be conceited.
“Hey, watch where you’re going fatty!”
A body slams into mine as they rush past, headed towards their next class, and my books that had been precariously propped in my arms crash to the floor.
Tears prick at the back of my eyes as I crouch down to pick up my now bent-up text books.
Don’t cry, dammit. Not here. Not now. Don’t you fucking cry, Farley.
That’s the last thing you need, to give them another show.
“Hey, watch it, asshole!” An angry shout startles me, and I glance up just in time to see Callum crouch down, helping me to pick up my scattered books. In a panic, I look around, suddenly noticing my notebook, the notebook , is gone.
“I’ve got ya, Shorty. Come on, let’s go.” My heart skips a beat as I see the notebook tucked under his elbow as he reaches with his other hand to grab my arm, gently helping me up. “Let’s get you home.”
I stare blankly ahead at the white porcelain. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this . And then the thoughts begin to circle, intrusive and cutting like a knife.
“ Fatty farley.”
“Fatass.”
“Ew, gross. Who the hell let her on stage?”
“A fat girl dancing? This is better than those viral cat videos”
The rotten smell of the tomato, the feel of it, as it oozes down my hair and into my face.
Desperate to drown out the thoughts, to drown out the voices, I shove my fingers in my mouth until a horrible retching gag bursts free, matching the disgust I feel in my own body.