Dumplin - Julie Murphy Page 0,9
talking to a girl and a guy. I take my time moving to the shallow end in the hope that they’ll leave, but after a few minutes of stalling, they haven’t budged.
Bracing myself, I race out of the pool. El sits at the foot of our lawn chair while a girl I’ve never met sits at the other end with a boy behind her, like they’re riding a motorcycle and she’s the one driving.
“Hey,” I say.
There’s this split second where El says nothing and this other girl stares at me with this how-can-I-help-you-do-you-need-something-you-can-leave-now face.
“Guys, this is my best friend, Will.” El turns to me. “This is Callie. And her boyfriend . . .” Her voice drags for a second and she snaps her fingers.
“Bryce,” says Callie. Bryce nods from behind her. He’s got those total douche glasses on, the ones that coaches wear that almost look like Star Trek glasses. His hands grip Callie’s shoulders and I can tell they’re the type who is always touching.
“Nice to meet y’all,” I mumble.
El glares at me.
It’s not that I don’t like new people. It’s just that, in general, I do not like new people. And this is maybe the thing El dislikes most about me. For as long as I can remember, she’s tried to drag a third wheel into our perfect little mix. Maybe it makes me a total grouch, but I don’t need another best friend. And I especially don’t need this girl who can’t seem to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of car wreck.
El scoots over for me to sit next to her, but I stay where I am. “So, Callie’s entering the pageant.”
Bryce squeezes Callie’s shoulders and she lets out a shrill giggle. “Yeah,” she says. “My sister was a runner-up a few years ago. Guess you could say it’s in my genes.”
“Good for you.” My voice is thick and bitter even though I really don’t mean for it to be.
El forces a smile. “Callie’s actually doing that pageant boot camp we saw after school last week.”
I actually don’t know what she expects me to say to that. This whole conversation is a flashing sign that reads DEAD END.
“Uh, Callie,” says Ellen. “You know Will’s mom runs the pageant.”
Football players are gods in the South. And cheerleaders aren’t too bad off either, but down here, the females who reign supreme are beauty queens. Unfortunately, though, being the tubby daughter of Clover City’s most cherished beauty queen doesn’t win me much street cred.
Callie uses her hand to block out the sun as she looks up at me. “Wait, that’s your mom?”
“Yeah.” If I could change only one thing about my mom, it would be the pageant. In fact, I’m sure that my whole life would fall together like a set of dominoes if I could delete that one annual event from my existence.
Callie laughs. “You’re not entering, though, are you?”
I wait for a second. Two. Three. Four. Ellen says nothing.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Obviously, I would never enter that depraved popularity contest. But still. What kind of shithead makes that assumption?
“It seems like you’re not that type of girl. Like, not in a bad way.”
I am suddenly reminded of how small my bathing suit is. The leg holes cut into my hips and the straps dig into my shoulders. Anxiety creeps through me like twisting vines.
“But,” Callie says, “Bekah Cotter is going to be some serious competition. Girl is as all-American as they come.”
The need to escape pulls at my feet.
And, of course, Callie is using my dress as a beach towel so that her precious skin doesn’t touch the hot plastic seat.
I turn to Ellen. “I’m going to run back to your house to use the bathroom.” I slide my feet into my flip-flops and grab the first towel I see before walking off as fast as I can.
“Is something wrong?” I hear Callie ask in the kind of way that says, What’s her problem?
“But they have bathrooms here!” El calls over the crowd.
The towel barely fits around my waist. I don’t care. I keep on walking.
A car of boys passes by me and honks.
“Oh, fuck off!” yells El from behind me.
I turn. In nothing but her swimsuit, she jogs down the sidewalk with my dress and bag in her arms.
“I’ve been trying to catch up to you!” she says.
I open my mouth to speak, but remember that I’m mad at her. I keep walking. We don’t fight. I know that best friends are supposed to