Big Summer

by Jennifer Weiner

“I’ve always been drawn to… I guess you’d call it self-expression. If I were a better writer, I’d write. If I were a better artist, I’d paint or sculpt. And,

Luscious, I thought, bemused. It sounded like a brand-new code word for fat, like Rubenesque. But I’d take it. I’d always take a well-intentioned gesture toward kindness and inclusion over the rudeness that had underscored too many of my days.

“On occasion. But you know what? I survived. And you will, too. And those jerks who were mean to you will probably peak in middle school, whereas you have many, many years to excel.”

Her hair was pulled back in a sleek twist; her lips were so plump and shiny that they looked like two tiny glossy sausages parked on the lower half of her face.

I wondered if this was what being an adult was: endless denial, requiring limitless willpower.

Cut back where? I wondered. Would she eliminate the single square of chocolate she permitted herself every other night? Would she reduce her afternoon snack from twelve almonds to six? What was left for her to deny herself?