Dumplin - Julie Murphy Page 0,10

fight, but El and I never get into it. Sure, we argue over dumb stuff like TV shows and which Dolly look is the best, but never anything real. Yet I’m so mad that she left me out there to dry with that Callie girl. She said nothing.

Maybe I’m making a bigger deal of this than it is. Maybe it’s the type of thing only I noticed. Like, how when you have a pimple and you think it’s the only thing anyone else sees when they see you.

But then there was the way Callie looked me up and down. Like I was some kind of abomination. The truth is that I’m mad I felt uncomfortable to begin with, because why should I? Why should I feel bad about wanting to get into a pool or standing around in my swimsuit? Why should I feel like I need to run in and out of the water so that no one has to see the atrocity that are my thighs?

“Will! Freaking wait! Jesus Christ.”

Not bothering to stop, I say, “I need to head home.”

“Can you tell me what happened back there? You turned into a total psycho. What was that?”

I stop because I’ve reached El’s house and now that my feet have nowhere else to go, it’s like I can’t stop my mouth from talking. “What was that?” I yell back at her. “That was you leaving me out in the pool by myself. You abandoned me out there. And who the hell was that twiggy bitch?” As soon as it’s out of my mouth I regret it. All my life I’ve had a body worth commenting on and if living in my skin has taught me anything it’s that if it’s not your body, it’s not yours to comment on. Fat. Skinny. Short. Tall. It doesn’t matter.

But El only says, “You looked so relaxed! How does leaving you in the pool by yourself make me a shit friend? You’re sixteen years old and you’re mad at me for leaving you in the pool by yourself?”

I’ve seen El and Tim argue enough times to know that this is her specialty. She simplifies the situation to the point that whoever’s sitting across from her is left feeling foolish. She’s the type of person you want arguing for you. Not against you.

I shake my head at her because I don’t want to say it out loud. I don’t want to say that I’m mad because I was left without my security blanket: her. Or that she should have stood up for me back there.

“And that ‘twiggy bitch,’” she says, “is my coworker. You don’t have to be her friend, but you could at least be nice to her.”

I throw up my hands. “Whatever. It’s done. I don’t want to argue.”

She drops my bag and dress on the trunk of my car. “Fine.”

I slip the dress over my head and hand her the towel from around my waist before digging my keys out of my purse. “I’ll talk to you later.” I walk to the driver’s-side door, but she’s still standing there.

“Wait,” she says. “Come inside.”

I sigh through my nose.

“Oh, quit your sighin’. I need your help.”

In Ellen’s room, I sit down on the floor with my legs crossed. “Lemme hold Jake.”

She locks her bedroom door and walks straight to her closet. “Next time. He’s shedding.”

Like any other sane person, I’d always had a healthy fear of snakes, but then, when we were eleven, El’s parents separated for a little bit, and she absolutely lost her shit. To appease her, Mr. Dryver promised her a pet. What he did not expect was for his daughter to ask for a snake.

When she first got Jake, an albino corn snake, he was no longer than a pencil, but I still refused to come over to her house. I couldn’t even bear the thought of being under the same roof as him. But then El had her twelfth birthday, and I couldn’t miss it. Lucy took me to the pet store so I could see the snakes and she even arranged for me to hold one. When I chickened out, she held the snake instead. I could see her hands shaking, but it still calmed me.

Now I can sit for hours while we watch movies, with Jake weaving in and out of our hands like he’s stitching us together.

Ellen pulls a Sweet 16 shopping bag from the depths of her closet. “I need your help deciding.”

I pop up