Fat Angie by e. E. Charlton-Trujillo

this?” said Coach Laden.
    Stacy Ann shot a dart of a look to Fat Angie.
Narc and die.
    “Who started this?”
repeated Coach Laden in a not-so-lovely tone.
    “Fat Angie,” said one girl.
    “She was talking trash to Stacy Ann,” said another.
    “That’s bullshit,” said KC, turning off the spigot of water beating down on Angie.
    “You OK there?” said Coach Laden, her eyes on KC’s exposed arm.
    KC looked to Fat Angie. KC was bleeding.
    “Yeah,” KC said, hiding her arm. “Three karat all the way.”
    “Everyone get dressed,” said Coach Laden.
    KC shook her head and got up in Coach Laden’s grill. “That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna do?”
    “Get dressed,” said Coach Laden.
    Stacy Ann smirked at KC.
    KC continued. “One, I already am. Two, Stacy Ann is a megabitch —”
    “Screw you, KC,” said Stacy Ann.
    “Enough,” Coach Laden said.
    “You, of all people, should be fair,” KC said, charging off.
    “Stacy Ann,” said Coach Laden.
    “Yeah, Coach?” Stacy Ann asked.
    “You ever pull anything like this again, I don’t care how many people say you didn’t do it. I don’t care if your
mom
is head of the PTA and calls me twelve times a day. I’ll have you suspended for the year. Clear?”
    Stacy Ann gritted her teeth. “She’s not so special.”
    “Am. I. Clear?” Coach Laden repeated.
    Stacy Ann nodded.
    Fat Angie watched the exchange. She knew that even the likes of one Coach Laden could not stop the hate machine that was Stacy Ann Sloan.
    “And you’ve got detention for two weeks,” said Coach Laden.
    “What?” said Stacy Ann.
    “Wanna make it three?”
    Stacy Ann glared at Fat Angie. “Two is great, Coach.”
    “Now get changed.”
    Coach Laden kneeled beside Fat Angie, who drew her knees in and raised one shoulder while turning her head down. Water drip-dropped from the ends of her hair to her nose. Coach Laden reached for her but Fat Angie pulled back. Only there was nowhere to go.
    “It’s not going to happen again,” said Coach Laden.
    Fat Angie shook her head . . . a lot. She breathed short, shallow breaths.
    “It’s not going to,” said Coach Laden.
    The tears welled. Fat Angie shot her eyes left to right to prevent any crying. This was not the time for revealing tears. Coach Laden would find her too weak. Too special. Special in the way that would not fit her goal of making the varsity team. Nevertheless, Fat Angie was frozen in place.
    “Looks like the new bad girl has a good heart,” said Coach Laden.
    Fat Angie, her mind too occupied with inhibiting emotion, did not track the trajectory of Coach Laden’s comment.
    “KC stuck up for you,” said Coach Laden. “That’s pretty impressive when you’re new.”
    “Because I’m a freak?” Fat Angie said.
    “You’re not a freak, Angie,” said Coach Laden, repositioning her squat. Her black Adidas with yellow soles squeaked.
    “If you call my mom, she’s gonna be really mad,” Fat Angie said.
    “Then we don’t call. You haven’t done anything wrong. Have you?”
    Fat Angie shook her head.
    “Then we’ll toss your clothes in the dryer,” said Coach Laden. “Suit you up in some athletic gear.”
    “Like it’d fit,” said Fat Angie.
    “Hey,” said Coach Laden. “You can fit.”
    Coach Laden helped Fat Angie up.
    As the two walked out, three things came to Fat Angie’s mind. Would her clothes shrink? Should she wish for telekinetic powers now that the girls had officially taunted and laughed at her in the locker room? Though they had not thrown tampons. Was that critical to Carrie’s rage at the end of the film?
Stop,
she told herself.
    Stop,
she told herself again.
Stop, stop, stop.
    Stop it, fat ass!
    That wasn’t her voice. Wang’s school persona had injected itself into the commentary.
    Fat Angie inhaled.
    Fat Angie exhaled.
    Fat Angie returned to
Carrie
once more, and then the word
STOP
flashed in her head, the way it appeared at the bottom of standardized tests.
    With the