“Maybe it’s a blessing?” Hannah asked, joking. She found this amusing.
I continued, “And Yasmin’s lost, like, thirty pounds since last year, so she’s going to look great. And Rachael and her little Mary Minions wear bikinis to the public pool, so this isnothingto them. I’m the only one who—”
“Is absolutely gorgeous? Who actually has curves?”
“What?”
“Clarity, you’re beautiful. You are not fat, not by a long shot. And, yes, you might not look like you’re on the verge of blowing away in the wind, but I like girls with a little shape.”
Her words hung in the air between us. Though I felt a little vain at how her every compliment was like spoon-fed gelato, I also felt better. Most days when I looked in the mirror,that’show I saw myself. Beautiful, curvy, different from the norm in the best way. But sometimes, when I was changing in the locker room after PE or showing up at the community pool at the beginning of summer, I started comparing myself. That’s usually when things went downhill.
“Plus,” she added, turning on her heel and casually continuing down the path, “there’s this quote fromThe Great Gatsbyabout Myrtle Wilson. I think it goes, ‘she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can.’ I feel like if there was ever a person to apply that to—it would be you.”
We were walking at an even pace now, and though I knew Icould still turn back and climb through the window of my cabin and forget this night ever happened—or almost happened, I chose to keep up with Hannah. I was pumped, the way I imagined some people felt before a bungee jump.
“I carry my flesh sensuously,” I said, tasting the words in my mouth. At the time, I completely glazed over the fact that Hannah had basically just told me she thought my body—every curve, dimple, and soft spot that might spill over the hem of my suit—was hot. I was more focused on using her springboard of compliments to affirm myself, and maybe that’s how it should’ve been right then. I didn’t want to rely on anyone to feel good about myself.
As I suspected, we were the last ones to show up. I could hear the other counselors laughing as we crept around the mess hall and found the narrow path that cut through the trees. We wandered in the darkness, following moonlight and noise, stumbling over twigs, the large leaves tickling our ankles. When we emerged into the clearing, all eyes found us.
This was before Hannah and I became HannahandI, so I wasn’t nervous or trying to hide our friendship. Instead, I waved at Yasmin and scanned over the heads sticking out of the water until I saw Jameson already wading over to us.
I turned back to Hannah. Every hair on the surface of my skin was charged with electricity. “You were right,” I told her. “Thank you for making me come.”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” she said, but in her smile, I could see theYou’re welcome.
With my back still turned to the creek and the other counselors, existing in the bubble of Hannah and me, the bubble of my sensuous flesh and perfection, I pulled my T-shirt up over my head in one swift motion, the humid air rushing to kiss my back.
“Hey, Clarity,” Jameson said behind me.
I winked at Hannah, hardly noticing that she also took off her T-shirt and was wearing a black Nike one-piece that—in all honesty—outdid every two-piece any girl could ever wear, but I was completely absorbed in what I thought I wanted.
She found some of her friends, the other counselors appointed to recreation time. I waded into the creek, deep enough that the water came halfway up my thighs, until I was standing in front of Jameson.
“Hey,” I said quietly. Even though we were out in the open, I wanted that one word to be just for him.
Looking back on that night, I realize two things. Blinded by my insecurity and then consumed with vanity, I never complimented Hannah. I could’ve and should’ve said how awesome her suit was.
Thing number two: After our initial greeting, when Jameson blatantly gave me the longest once-over of my life, we waded farther down the stream for some “privacy.” I started to feel nervous, no longer a badass, but more like I’d made a mistake. I knew God had His eyes turned away from our counselor-collective brink of sin, so—needing to be saved—I turned around to look for the next best thing—Hannah.
Jameson slid his arm around my waist, and suddenly I didn’t know if I wanted so much privacy, if I wanted his hand to be on my bare skin, or if I even wanted him at all. In my fantasies about us finally getting together, we were at a restaurant or huddled in the back of a Starbucks—fully clothed—talking about what we’re going to study in college and how we coincidentally want to go to schools less than thirty minutes away from each other. Not like this.
So, while Jameson started going on about how his day was, I looked over my shoulder—my eyes darting across the creek and its banks. When I found Hannah huddled with the recreation counselors, her eyes were already locked on me. In my mind, I screamed for her to come pluck me out of this moment. She slipped completely under the surface of the creek water, not even excusing herself from the other counselors, and swam over.
Chapter TwelveNOW
On Tuesday, on our way to the first festival committee meeting, I mumble, “Thank you.”
“For what?” Hannah asks, angling her body so that we can slip through a cluster of students taking up the hall.
“That night, at the creek,” I whisper.
“Um, you’re going to have to be more specific than that,” she says, her tone teasing.
We duck out of the after-school rush and into Mrs. Rubio’s classroom. Thankfully, it’s empty, so I have a few more minutes.
“That first night swim at Camp Refuge. You complimented me, told me I wasn’t fat, and convinced me to still go,” I remind her. She nods in recognition. “Thank you,” I say again. “And I’m sorry that I was so self-absorbed I didn’t even tell you that you looked great too. I didn’t ask if you were feeling nervous—”
“I wasn’t.” She cuts me off. “Nervous, I mean. And you didn’thaveto compliment me.”