Big Boned

38

We met up again at eleven that night, when the streets were quiet and all the coffee shops had closed. When I got back to the park from driving home and fetching my paints, Jake was already waiting for me.

“You ready to do this?” he asked.

I nodded.

I put my earbuds in and pressed Play. A Grimes song sprang to life in my ears: “My Name Is Dark.” Grungy, electric, industrial sounds burst into my ears and I thought this was the perfect song for this moment.

And very soon, without even thinking about it, almost forgetting that Jake was there, I was swept up in the sounds and the painting. I began painting Natasha’s face: big and colorful and huge across the whole wall. With each sweep of my can and paintbrush, I bought her face to life. The strokes flowed out of me, like they had before. This was so different than my usual, precise style of painting. There was nothing perfect and controlled about what I was doing now. It was messy and spontaneous and . . . could this be my voice? The one Imogen had spoken about?

I looked over at Jake a few times while I was painting. He sat on the bench, legs crossed, eyes fixed on me the entire time. And when I was finally done, when Natasha’s face was as large as I could make it, I wrote the words Find Me across the painting and tagged it. But as soon as I’d finished, I felt a tug on my arm. I took my earbuds out and swung around.

“Someone’s coming,” Jake hissed loudly. He gathered all the paints into my bag and then pulled me with him as he started running through the park. My heart was beating in my chest as we ducked behind a tree together. We peered around the trunk and my heart missed a beat when I saw who it was. A security guard, patrolling the perimeter. We slapped our hands over our mouths and stared in shock as he approached the freshly painted wall. He was going to see it at any second, only he didn’t. His walkie-talkie made a sound, and he walked off in the other direction.

Jake and I looked at each other, wide-eyed, still holding our breath. But when the guard was out of sight, we both burst out laughing. We tried to stifle the nervous laughter, which only made it worse, until we were both gasping for air. We stumbled to our feet and held on to each other’s shoulders for support. Oh God, it hurt! My ribs hurt. Finally, the laughter tapered off and we found ourselves standing opposite each other. We stayed like that for a while, until Jake broke the moment.

“What’s the time?” he asked.

I looked at my phone. “Eleven fifty-five.”

His smile grew. “That’s perfect. But we have to run.”

“Where?”

“Come!” And then he was running again.

I tried to keep up. I wasn’t built for running. My boobs were definitely not built for running, and I tried to cross my arms over them as I went, without being obvious. “Where are we going?” I asked, in-between big, unfit breaths that I couldn’t hide.

“Somewhere not boring!” he shouted over his shoulder.

I continued to follow him but soon it felt like my legs would give out; thankfully we finally stopped. I looked around. We were standing in the middle of a large lawn. “What are we doing here?”

“Remember I told you I fell asleep here once?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it was on that bench.” He pointed. “And something woke me up.”

“What?”

“Wait for it . . .” He looked down at his watch. “Wait for it . . .”

“Wait for what?”

“Quick! Give me your phone,” Jake said, holding out his hand, his phone in the other one.

“Why?” I asked.

“Trust me,” he said. I gave him my phone and he tossed them both to the side; they landed on the soft, manicured grass with zero thud.

“Okay, what are we waiting fo—” I put my hands in the air as the wetness rushed at me. The sprinklers were huge, the kind that rose up out of the lawn, and then covered everything like rain.

“Aaaaahhh! This is amazing,” I squealed.

“It might not be a Joburg thunderstorm, but”—Jake came closer to me—“it’s the best I can do.”

“I love it,” I said, looking up into the night sky. The stars twinkled above me, like they had in the planetarium. The water rushed down my face, washing over me. I put my hands in the air and twirled around in a circle. Smiling and laughing, because in that moment—that wet, starry, after-painting moment—I felt an emotion I didn’t feel that often, of being completely, utterly, happily free.

“I’m going to do it this time,” Jake said, and I looked over at him as he attempted another cartwheel flip thing. He slipped on the wet ground this time and fell onto his back.

I laughed. “You need to stop doing that. You clearly suck at it.” I rushed over to him and he held his hand out for me. I grabbed it, pulled as hard as I could, and he sprang back up.

“This is incredible, thank you,” I blurted; he was standing right in front of me now.

“You’re incredible,” he said.

Whoooosh! The sound of my heart launching out of my chest. Flying out of me and into the sky.

“I am?” My voice shook.

“What you did on the wall . . . imagine if they find that girl because of you. And what you did for Rose . . . you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, by far. Anything but JustLori.”

“I—I . . . don’t know what to say,” I whispered, the water still rushing over me.

“You can answer a question for me.” He moved closer. His eyes had changed once again. This time they were a turquoise color that was so bright it outshone everything here.

“What question?”

“So, Amber kind of told me something.”

“Wh-wh . . . what did she say?” A bang in my chest pushed all the good feelings out of me. Anything Amber had to say wouldn’t be good.

“She told me that you’re into me.”

“What?!” I shook my head, almost hysterically as the first wave of embarrassment threatened to knock me to the ground. “No. I’m not . . . I swear. I . . . no!” I protested loud and long, and a part of me didn’t know why. Just say it, Lori, one part of me screamed. But the other part was saying something completely different: Guys like him don’t like girls like Lori Fatty Palmer.

A strange expression contorted the features of his face and I wondered if he could hear the voices in my head too. I tried to recover from this as best as I could, the only way I knew how.

“Wait, did you think I was?” I forced amusement into my voice as if this was the craziest, funniest thing I’d ever heard in my life. Except it wasn’t, it was so mortifying, and despite the cool water rushing over me, my skin was boiling.

“Well, I kind of . . .” His face dropped.

“Kind of what?” I asked as he stepped again, almost closing the gap between us entirely.

“Never mind,” he said softly, looking down. The water splashed over his face, and he’d never looked hotter than he looked right now. He looked down at me again and then everything went silent. I can’t explain the feeling, and I don’t really know how it happened. It was something that couldn’t be controlled. Like the formation of the great galaxies, the colliding of black holes with their infinite gravitational force. We were like that. Pulling, falling, closer, until . . . I was kissing him.

Time stood still and sped up at the same time. Everything around me buzzed and hummed and although my eyes were closed, I could see colors. Indescribable colors blending together to form hues and shades that I’d never seen before. Every smell, every feeling, every sound was crisp and clean and sharp, like living in superhigh definition. And yet, it was also soft, diffuse. Slightly fuzzy around the edges. The moment was a stack of contradictions. Mixed emotions. A million thoughts. I opened my eyes again.

I concentrated on all the tiny details—the infinitesimal things of the moment—so I could remember them all. His smell. The way his lips felt rough and smooth all at the same time. The way a water droplet clung to his eyelash, pulling it down. The way the water felt slipping down the nape of my neck and trickling into my clothes. Slipping down my spine. The way his breath was hot but the water cold. The way his tongue felt, gliding across mine, the way it caused these other feelings, explosions starting in my face, racing down my body—arms, fingers, legs, and toes. This was a good kiss. A great kiss. He was an amazing kisser, and for all my previous fears and worries, my mouth and lips and tongue seemed to know exactly what to do. This was confirmed when Jake let out the softest moan against my lips, by far the hottest moment of my entire existence. And I knew right there and then that . . .

Things I Like about Myself by Lori Palmer

I’m a good sister.

I’m a real artist (despite what Blackwell says!).

I, Lori Palmer, am officially good with parents!

I have a voice. There is power in my art.

I am brave!

I am a great kisser!

But then one of the voices in my head interrupted the moment. I tried to push it away but I couldn’t. It started repeating Amber’s words.

She’s right you know, do you really think a guy like Jake could like a girl like you? My inner bully started laughing, and I tried to ignore her. But then, when his hands left my face, trailed down my shoulders and arms, and slipped around my waist . . . I pulled away.

“No. I . . . I . . .” I put my hand over my mouth and walked backward, away from him. He looked shocked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I said, shaking my head.

He seemed even more shocked now, as I bent down and picked up my bag of paints.

He ran his hands through his wet hair. “Shit. Did I just read that totally wrong?”

I started nodding my head, and then shaking it. “It’s late. I have to go.” I quickly turned and ran away.