this. She weighed at least as much as me. But her eyes were on her homework assignment, even though her hand wasn’t writing.
Tinsley scoffed, “I mean, I’d trade Twinkies for not being fat any day.”
Merritt’s voice turned falsely pensive. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s one thing to have a little extra cushion, but another to be obese.”
“True,” Poppy said.
Was Zara hearing this? If anyone would stand up to Merritt, it would be her—she was my size but had curves in the right places—and a feisty personality to match. Plus, her dad was rich enough to have as much clout as Merritt’s parents. I turned to see if she was catching it, but she kept her thumbs tapping over her phone. Probably texting some celebrity her movie producer father had connected her to.
No hopes for Callie, who was so tame a kitten would probably scare her.
“It’s so unhealthy,” Merritt continued. “Not to mention gross. What guy would want to be on top of all of that?”
Tinsley let out a peal of laughter. “Or under it!”
“Enough,” I thought. Or, at least, I thought I thought it.
The entire room quieted, and Merritt said, “What was that, Aurora?”
My shoulders tensed. “It’s Rory.”
“More like Borey,” Poppy said.
I raised my eyebrows. “My name rhymes with whore and that’s the best you can do? I expected more from you, Poppy.”
Merritt seemed equally as unimpressed by Poppy’s insult and held up a finger to stall Poppy’s retort. “No, I want to hear what Aurora has to say. Tell me, how many guys have you been with?”
God, could everyone stop talking about my vagina for one hot second? “What’s it matter? Just lay off.”
“Oh, I get it, your feelings are hurt because you can’t get a guy interested in all of...that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. I could get a guy interested.”
Okay, I might have been blowing hot air, but at this point, I’d do anything to get Merritt to shove her opinions up her size-zero ass.
“Oh, I’m sure you could get a guy interested. Chester would probably even pay you a quarter or two.”
Tinsley cackled. “If he could get it up.”
Poppy shrugged. “They make Viagra for a reason.”
I bristled at them making fun of the sweet old man who always hung out at Waldo’s Café. Being insulted like that wasn’t exactly fun either. Especially after the morning I’d had. “It’s not like there’s a checklist to get a guy to go out with you,” I said. “They’re free to choose who they want.”
“And my point,” Merritt said, walking toward my desk and swinging her pleated skirt on the way, “is that no hot guy in his right mind would go out with someone like...well...you.”
I barely managed to keep my mouth shut. I’d heard Merritt talk like this to other people but had never had her wrath directed at me. (Being a teacher’s kid had some advantages.) But now that I was an ant burning under Merritt’s name-brand magnifying glass, I couldn’t back down. Especially not with the other plus-sized girls overhearing this.
“I could get a hot guy to go out with me.” I countered, sounding way more confident than I felt. Besides hotness was subjective, right?
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows and looked around the room, lapping up the attention of everyone who had their eyes glued on us. “Did you all hear that? Precious Rory Hutton could get any guy she wanted.”
More than a few people laughed along with her.
That didn’t feel great, but I kept my eyes leveled at her. I was not backing down.
She pressed her manicured hands on my desk and leaned over, revealing her cleavage. “Do you mean it? Any guy and not just some hottie in a strait jacket?”
I stood up, not wanting to be underneath her in any way. “Really.” I folded my arms over my chest, secretly wishing my mom would hurry up and get done grilling Dr. Edmonson about my prognosis.
“Prove it,” she said.
“Oh yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Let me go grab a guy and ask him out with everyone watching. Good plan, Merritt.”
She tapped her chin with a hot-pink fingernail. “Actually...”
I did not like the look flashing in her eyes. Not one bit.
“What do you say we make this interesting?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms, giving her push-up bra some help. “What do you say we make a bet?”
“Go on,” I said, trying to hide my apprehension.
“If you can get Beckett Langley to take you to homecoming, I will gladly give up my homecoming crown