At rehearsal, I worked the word Anderson into every conversation. Once I even flubbed a line and called Dev “Anderson” instead of Lucentio.
Finally, Angie pulled me aside. “Look, I know you know about fat camp.”
I was stunned. I never thought she’d actually voluntarily admit it.
“I know you hate me, and maybe it was kind of crappy the way Connor and I broke the news to you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Kind of crappy?”
“Okay, it was awful,” she said. “I didn’t mean for him to tell you in front of everybody. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” I said slowly. She seemed sincere.
I was just starting to think I’d been wrong about her, but her next words changed my mind.
“Sophie, I really like him,” she said. “And it’s clear that you two were over before I ever entered the picture. It’s just pathetic the way you’re hanging on to the past.”
I was fuming, but instead of reacting, I shrugged. She stared at me in exasperation before walking away. I seemed to be getting a lot of that these days.
That night, I posted the fat camp pictures all over the DramaDivas Web page. Anonymously. I made sure to post comments at every single junior and senior page I could think of. It took me half the night, but by morning, the halls at Kennedy were buzzing with news that Angie Vogel, who most everyone seemed to think was perfection personified, had been fat.
My plan was working. I was sure that the image-conscious crew known as the popular people would give her the cold shoulder. Connor might even break up with her.
I watched as she received a little taste of what I’d been experiencing the past few weeks—whispered comments, stares, and outright cold shoulders. Some people, of course, treated her just the same.
“It’s working,” I said gleefully to Monet.
“What is?”
I pointed to the table where Angie and Connor were having lunch alone. It was as if fat (even former fat) was contagious and they were in quarantine. To my dismay, Connor didn’t even seem to notice that there was no one else around him. He was busy staring into Angie’s eyes.
“Haven’t you seen the fat camp photos?” I said.
Monet shrugged. “Sure, I have. What’s the big deal? So she needed to lose a little weight. She lost it.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “The point is that when I sent those pictures—”
“Wait. You sent those pictures?” She slammed down her juice box. Oh, no. Monet had to be seriously angry to mistreat her juice. “Since when did popularity matter so much to you that you’d be willing to trash someone else?”
I knew she wouldn’t approve, which is why I hadn’t planned on telling her. She was right. I should really learn that count-to-ten-before-opening-my-mouth thing.
But Monet was too angry to listen. “I knew popularity mattered to you, but I guess I didn’t realize just how much. This is pathetic.”
The lunch bell rang before she could finish reading me the riot act, and I made my escape. I had a free period after lunch, so I decided to go to the library and check my DramaDivas page.
Wow, there were a lot of new comments. I scrolled down and was horrified to see how many of them were nasty. “Sophie’s a bitch and we’re glad Connor dumped her” seemed to be the general theme.
There was a mention of Angie’s page on one of the postings, so I quickly searched for it. There were quite a few postings about her fat camp, but Alexa’s was the one that caught my eye. “U R MY HERO,” it read in giant purple letters.
Gag. I was tempted to post something anonymously, but I’d wait until I was home. I didn’t want anyone looking over my shoulder.
“Miss Donnelly, is this the best use of your study time?” Mrs. Hubbard’s voice broke into my thoughts.
“No, Mrs. Hubbard,” I said obediently and signed off. I spent the remainder of my free period plotting to regain my power. With Angie out of the way, tossed firmly into the leper category, I would regain my true status.
I went through the rest of the day with a smile on my face. Even Mr. Fanelli yelling at me at rehearsal didn’t faze me.
I was at the vending machine during snack when I ran into Alexa again. This time I was careful to stay well away from her grubby little hands. Still, some good PR couldn’t hurt.
“Hi, Alexa,” I said with forced cheerfulness.
“Sophie,” she said, “have you heard the news about Angie?”
I tried to repress the glee in my voice. “I think I heard something about that. Fat camp, right? I guess she’s having a hard time.”
“She says that everyone finding out about fat camp is the best thing that’s ever happened to her. And that she owes it all to me,” she said importantly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Angie’s new contract with my mother’s weight-loss clinic,” she replied.
“What? When did that happen?”
“When I saw those ‘before’ photos of her, I knew she’d be perfect for the new campaign.”
“Yeah, perfect.” I couldn’t seem to muster a thought.
Her eyes gleamed. “It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Whoever posted all those pictures of her actually did her a favor.”
“That is ironic.” Alexa knew it was me, I was sure of it. Her next words confirmed my suspicions.
“Maybe that person will think twice before putting someone down just because she’s fat—or used to be fat.”
And with that, she flounced off.