The Fat Girl by Marilyn Sachs

sounded relieved. “That’s nice, Jeff.” She began laughing. “Look, why don’t you come on over right now, and you can tell me what’s been happening with you. The house is a mess and we’re eating pickled cauliflower, but you’re used to that. Just come on over.”
    “I can’t, Norma, that’s what I want to tell you. I can’t because I’m going over to Ellen’s. I’ve gotten to really care about her, Norma. I’m sorry, but I’ll be going around with her now, and I guess that means it’s all over with you and me.”
    That was how I told her. That was the way I said goodbye to Norma. She didn’t deserve it, I know. I should have let her off more gently. She was—she is—one of the nicest girls I ever met. If it weren’t for Ellen, who knows, Norma and I might have ended up married one day with a bunch of gorgeous kids and a houseful of gorgeous pots to go with them.
    Norma didn’t argue with me. She didn’t cry, and she didn’t say I must have gone off my rocker. She just said, very softly, “Good luck, Jeff,” and she hung up.

twelve
    I coached Ellen the night before school started. I made her try on different clothes and practice entering the living room over and over again.
    “No! No! No!” I told her. “Get your head up and your chest out. Don’t cower. People want to slug you when you slump over like that.”
    She tried. She wanted to please me. In the beginning, that was all she wanted to do.
    “Try it again. And this time, don’t bump into anything.”
    Monday morning, I sat in the ceramics class and waited for her to arrive. As usual, she was late, and the bell had already rung when she appeared in the doorway.
    She was wearing a wine-colored caftan with jagged slashes of gold. Four strands of huge wooden and copper beads hung around her neck. I had given her careful instructions about the kind of makeup I wanted her to wear—green eye shadow and a dark, purply red lipstick. Her hair stood out all around her head and large gold earrings hung down almost to her shoulders.
    She didn’t bump into anything as she moved slowly into the room. But once inside, she suddenly froze. I stirred noisily in my seat. She heard me and directed a pleading, terrified look at me. I smiled and nodded at her and then inclined my head in the direction of her usual seat. She began moving towards it. I looked around the room to see what effect her appearance had created.
    Ms. Holland was staring at her. Somebody was laughing. I whirled around, but it was only two girls who were reading a letter together. I could feel eyes on the back of my head, and when I turned again, Roger Torres and Dolores Kabotie swiftly averted their eyes. I knew Norma had told them.
    I purposely avoided looking at Norma. She had said, “Hi, Jeff,” to me when I entered the room that morning and then had disappeared into the kiln room. There hadn’t been any time for me to be embarrassed. All I could think about was Ellen’s entrance.
    “What a wonderful dress, Ellen,” I heard Ms. Holland say as she moved up closer.
    Ellen mumbled something not very clearly. I would have to work with her on speaking up and not keeping her head down the way she was doing.
    “It’s a shame to wear it here though,” Ms. Holland continued. “You’ll get clay on it. Here, why don’t you put this old apron on. It won’t cover all of it, but . . .”
    Ellen slipped the apron over her dress and dropped into her seat. The room continued humming with its usual sounds, and I pretended to devote all my attention to a shallow bowl I was glazing.
    Later, in the hall, as the two of us walked together, I noticed a few people do double takes when they spotted her. I also heard laughter, and so did Ellen.
    “They’re laughing at me,” she said.
    “Straighten up your shoulders,” I told her. “You have to develop confidence. And pick up your feet. Don’t shuffle.”
    “I look weird in these clothes—and with all this makeup. Nobody else looks