Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,59

new at the station, so let me be the one to tell you that Quinn Pearson is not a good representation of what we Central Floridians like to see on our news.

I’m surprised that she’s lasted as long as she has, to be honest, and would implore you to find someone who can read the news correctly, someone who doesn’t stutter, as well as someone who looks the part. Her clothes are tacky and unflattering. Frankly, she’s just too fat for television. You should be promoting health, something our children can emulate.

I don’t want to be cruel; I’m only trying to help.

Grace

My heart is beating overtime. The words doing a blurry dance on the screen as the bases of my lids begin to fill. I can’t cry right now. I have to do the news soon. I can’t cry.

But as much as I try to stop them, tears escape, and I feel them trail down my face to my chin. I quickly grab a tissue and start dabbing.

It was one thing when Grace Is Amazing was sending me emails. Just me. I could handle it; I can handle it. I picture her sad, with terrible bangs, and living with her cats. I just file her away as something that can’t really hurt me. They’re just words, after all.

But I see now, she can hurt me. More than I thought possible.

She sent the email to Henry. Henry—of all people. I know I told him about my mom and how her words affect me. I know what he said about my appearance. But that was a story I told him, a narrative about myself. Those words came from me. They were a part of me that I allowed him to see.

What Grace Is Amazing sent were her words. I don’t want him to see this. I don’t want anyone to see the things people say about me. If I keep them to myself, if no one else sees it, then it’s not real to them. Because when they do see them, they become words that are attached to me.

You’re too fat for television.

You don’t look the part.

Running, leaving work right now and never coming back feels like something I could actually do. And I’ve never thought of myself as someone who runs away from things. In fact, I’ve overstayed my welcome for quite a few things in life.

But I’ll leave everyone hanging if I ditch right now. As much as I want to, I can’t. I have to suck it up. I have to stop the tears and get myself together.

I make a quick run to the bathroom and pat some cold water on my face. Then I go to our makeup room and do a quick redo. My eyes look a little bloodshot, but it will have to do.

~*~

“Can I have a word, Quinn?” Henry’s voice says from behind me. Brady and I are at my desk, looking at a YouTube video that thankfully does not have me in it.

I swivel my chair around to Henry and say, “Yes. Bananas.”

He scrunches his brow in confusion.

“You asked for a word?” I smile brightly, looking over at Brady, who lets out a little snort-laugh.

Henry doesn’t smile back.

I’ve moved to the denial phase of the email from Grace Is Not So Amazing. I’m treating it like a toddler who closes her eyes thinking no one can see her. If I pretend like it doesn’t exist, then it didn’t really happen.

It’s how I made it through the newscast. Anytime my brain would go there, I’d focus on something else. Like the way my co-anchor Parker’s breath smelled . . . which was not good. Or the way I can see particles of dust floating in the air as they pass through the bright studio lighting. Dust can be very fascinating when you need it to be.

“Is it about that Grace Is Amazing lady?” I say, adding in a quick eye roll to show how little I care. If I don’t care, then maybe Henry won’t care.

“I . . .” Henry stops himself, his brow scrunched. “That’s . . . no.”

Crap. He hasn’t even seen the email, and now I’ve brought it up. Maybe he’s one of those executives who doesn’t read every one of his emails and therefore would have never seen it. You idiot, Quinn!

“You read it?” he asks, his brow scrunching even further.

“Well,” I look to Brady and then back at Henry. “Yeah, of course.”

“How did it get to you? Do you know