Chapter Thirty-Two

At school, the energy is intensifying the nearer we get to the Fall Fest. While every academic year starts out fine enough, we eventually all start to pine for the festival, just so we can have a wel l- deserved break after weeks of studying and test-tak ing. (Also, the Fall Fest proposals are getting on another level.)

I busy myself with checking in on the bake sale. Leilani, Everly, and Hudson, our class officers, are staffing it, but I still make sure to stop by. I would invite Isaiah, but a little cooling- off period is what I need right now.

“Whoa, this looks amazing,” I say, admiring the faux leaf archway under which Leilani, Everly, and Hudson sit at a table piled high with sweets. They have everything from maple sugar cookies to cider donuts to pumpkin rolls to sweet potato pie. We scored most of this from the upper-level culinary classes, which are also catering Fall Feast, and it looks delectable.

“The culinary kids nailed it, right?” Hudson asks, beaming.

“They really did!” I enthuse.

Everly claps her hands together. “We’ve already sold a bunch of goodies.”

Leilani nods and drops her voice to a whisper. “I’m gonna hit up the vape kids when they come back in from their lunch break.”

“Excellent idea. How’s everything been going so far?” I ask.

“People are loving it,” Leilani says. “They’re super excited about the return of the carnival!”

“I’m personally looking forward to the bonfire,” Hudson adds. “It’s just so romantic.”

Everly giggles. “You think everything is so romantic.”

“Because it is!” Hudson argues.

I grin at them. “You’re all doing an incredible job. Keep it up!”

In my afternoon study hall, Isaiah texts me.

Zay: sooo, mami was BEGGING me for your abuela’s mofongo recipe

Zay: but if your abuela is anything like mine, there probably IS no recipe

Me: No recipe, just vibes

Zay: gotta go break Mami’s heart, then

Me: Noooo! I’ll get Abuela to give me ingredients and approximations and let you know what I find out

Zay:

Me: I didn’t get a chance to thank you last night for all your help. We’re in such good shape for the dance now. And I really DID have a fun time.

Zay: i knew it!!!

Me:

Me: RELAX

Zay: no bc after hearing your abuela’s story about how much the fall fest means to her, i’ve made it my mission to ensure it’s perfect. i finally get why you’re so intense about it

Me: I’m not intense!

Zay: . . .

Zay: oh ok

Me: FINE

Me: But yeah. It means a lot to her, so it means a lot to me

Zay: i gotchu

At the natural end to our conversation, I pull up the group chat with Marisol and Sophie.

Me: Okay. It’s not just a crush. I definitely like him [embarrassed face]

Marisol: GIRL WE KNOW

Sophie: , ,

Marisol: Tell us all about it when we go dre ss-shopping!!!

Marisol: Or else ��

I use the rest of my study period to send emails, including the one I promised to Tío Sebbie, and try to tie up a few loose ends for the carnival and dance before getting ready to meet my friends. We’re going to the really nice shopping center a few towns away, so I’m not convinced I’ll be able to find any dresses in my size (or in my price range), but that won’t stop me from tagging along. We’re hoping to each find something retro to go with the theme of the dance.

As the three of us bob in and out of stores, Marisol fills us in on debate club and the latest annoying thing Natalia did. Sophie shares more details about that winter internship in Paris. And I fill them in on my day with Isa iah— but not just the day itself. The feelings. The glances. The touches. And the lamenting that it’s just not fair that I’ve finally accepted my crush on him and he’s taken by someone else.

“He was mine first,” I half joke, half whine while browsing through a section of peach- colored dresses. Is this because I have peach emojis on the brain?

Because let’s not, brain.

I admire a flowing gold-and-ivory gown with a plunging neckline and internally groan when I check the price tag. Add it to the growing list of pieces I’ve looked at that either didn’t fit or I couldn’t afford, like the emerald- green lace dress with a sweetheart neckline that I felt was cover- of-a-book gorgeous.

In this fat body of mine, good dresses are hard to come by— and they’re usually priced way above straight- size options. I’ve saved up a decent amount from my job, but clearly not enough.

“That’s not how that works. You can’t claim someone just because you dated them first,” Sophie reminds me.

“Rory Gilmore did,” I pout.

“Rory Gilmore also stole a yacht and all she got was community service,” Marisol says. “White people shit.”

“Fine,” I sigh, riffling through some other dress options, only half looking.

Sophie stands back and holds up an ice-blue fitted dress with elf sleeves. “What do you think of this color?”

Marisol wrinkles her nose. “Don’t you want something sexier?”

“I want something my parents will let me leave the house in.” Sophie sighs. “They’ve been really on my case lately. I came home two minutes late for curfew the other night and they immediately blamed Noah and said if this keeps up, I can’t see him on weeknights anymore. Yet if they had bothered to let me explain, they’d know I was late because Noah stopped to help a baby raccoon out of the road on the drive home.”

“Noah’s a real Snow White, huh?” Marisol jokes.

Sophie scowls. “That’s not the point, but yeah, he kind of is!”

Sensing that a quip was maybe not the right move, Marisol’s face softens. “I’m sorry, Soph. That really sucks.”

I nod. “It’s totally unfair. You deserve a little trust from them. You’ve never done anything to make them think otherwise.”

“Yeah, but I’m their precious little girl.” She crosses her arms. “Why do they have to be so overprotective?”

“It can be a hard habit to break,” I say. “I just learned that the hard way with Lily. Maybe you should talk to them.”

Sophie makes a face. “Yeah, right. So, anyway, this is a no?”

“I actually really like it,” I offer. “That color would look beautiful on you.”

“And shoulders are sexy,” Marisol adds.

Pleased, Sophie adds the dress to the growing pile she’d like to try on. Marisol’s selection looks a lot smaller, though I realize that’s just because there seems to be way less material on the dresses she wants to try on, and I love that for her.

“Should we head to the fitting room?” Sophie asks.

“Let’s do it.” Marisol eyes my empty arms and gives me a quizzical look. “You didn’t find anything?”

“Oh, no. Not really. Everything has been a little expensive,” I admit.

For some reason, it’s a little easier to share that reason than to tell my friends that hardly any of these dresses come in my size.

“Nothing says you can’t try things on anyway.” Marisol winks at me.

She’s not wrong, so I grab the dress I’d been eyeing, following Sophie’s lead toward the fitting room toward the back of the store. We each disappear behind our respective doors, slipping out of our clothes and into our dresses.

I pin my hair up on my head with a clip, a few curls escaping and cascading along my neck, and then turn around to look in the mirror. It fits pretty well, actually, though the chest is a little too big. There’s a slit that travels all the way up my leg that I hadn’t noticed when it hung on the hanger and, honestly, this dress on this new, soft body of mine looks good.

“Okay, let’s all come out on three?” Marisol calls. “One . . . two . . . t hree!”

I dramatically swing open the door to my dressing room and pose. Sophie lets out a squeal and when I see her in an olive- green silk halter dress I have to squeal right back. She looks elegant and beautiful.

“We look so hot!” Marisol practically yells. The shimmery, fitted jumpsuit in ruby red ties at her neck and flares at the ankles. When she twirls around, it’s backless and sheer magnificence on her.

“Okay, Selena!” Sophie gushes, before pointing at me. “And you look like pure magic.”

I take in our reflection in the mirrors. “God, we really do look amazing.”

“Selfies?” Sophie asks.

“Obviously!” Marisol grabs her phone and starts to pose us. Dozens of photos and dresses later, Sophie and Marisol have successfully settled on their final looks: the first outfits they tried on.

We decide to get some celebratory boba tea and people-watch from the window of the tea shop, which offers a perfect view of downtown. Everything among the three of us has felt so easy and normal that it occurs to me that now might just be the right time to tell my friends why I disappeared this summer. I can’t keep it a secret forever— nor do I want to. Not anymore.

I clear my throat. “So . . . I have to tell you guys something.”

“Is it that you’re going to take me up on my offer to put that dress on Robert’s credit card?” Marisol asks, referring to her stepdad. He’s incredibly generous and kind. And also superrich. “Because girl, you looked like a movie star.”

I laugh a little. “No, it’s not that. But thank you again.”

Sophie puts down her drink, as if sensing that what I might say next is a little serious. “What is it?”

“This is really weird to share,” I say, as if they might need a warning.

Marisol gives me an encouraging smile. “You know you can tell us anything.”

I nod. “You’re right. Okay, so . . . you know how I was kind of MIA over the summer?”

“Uh, yeah. At one point, we thought you ran away to marry Aiden or something.” Marisol pretends to gag. “Thank God that wasn’t the case.”

“Yes, of course, and we missed you,” Sophie says. “Did something happen?”

“Sort of. I started having all of these things happening to my body. Like, missed periods and . . . I don’t know. Losing my hair and stuff. I started getting fatter.” Marisol reaches out to put her hand on mine as I go on. “It was a lot of things all at once and, anyway, Abuela took me to the doctor and I got diagnosed with this thing called polycystic ovarian syndrome— PCOS. It’s this really infuriating syndrome where, like, your body makes extra male hormones and these cysts form on your ovaries.”

“Whit . . .” Sophie’s face is gentle with sympathy as she speaks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, querida,” Marisol murmurs. “We had no idea.”

I don’t know why, but the tenderness in their voices makes my eyes prick with tears. I swallow. “I didn’t want you to have any idea. So I just kind of went away. I was embarrassed, really. About everything happening. And, honestly, I was really frustrated, too. When I finally got the diagnosis of PCOS, part of me was relieved to finally have a name for all these symptoms I’d been experiencing, but the other part was just so angry, especially because there’s really no research or cure for it. I just have to learn to manage it and deal.”

“Ugh, that’s bullshit,” Marisol says. “I’m so sorry that the medical industry has failed you like that.”

Sophie nods, her hand joining Marisol’s. “You deserve better.”

“We all do,” I say, nodding, too. I sniffle and wipe at the corner of my eye, but not because I’m sad. It’s because I’m so relieved to have finally spoken this out loud and I’m grateful to have been heard in such an open and empathetic way by two people who mean so much to me. “Thanks, guys. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Don’t apologize for that. Nobody tells you how hard it can be to admit chronic illnesses,” Sophie says. “There is all this shame associated with it for no reason. Like, it’s fine to break an arm or whatever because everyone knows that heals, but when you’re sharing something you’ll deal with forever, people get really weird about it. I feel the same way whenever I tell people I have type one diabetes.”

I’ve seen firsthand how weird people are when Sophie has shared that, even people who are so nosy they feel totally fine loudly asking, “What’s that?” and touching her insulin pump. It always makes my blood boil. Marisol has cussed out more than one person for their crassness.

As if hearing my thoughts, Marisol adds, “Fuck those people.” She turns to me. “And I will kick anyone’s ass if they have something to say about you. You know that.”

I smile at her. “I do know that. Thanks, Sol. Honestly, just having you both know feels like a huge weight off my shoulders.”

“We’ll always have your back,” Sophie says.

I pick up my boba tea and hold it in the air. “Cheers to that.”

When I come home from dress- shopping empt y-handed, Abuela promises she’ll take me and Lily shopping at a different store— a bet ter one, she insists— so we c an find something.

As much as I want Fall Fest to be here, I also don’t want to rush toward it— I want to savor the anticipation of it. Though there are still some logistics to sort through, Ms. Bennett has been great about keeping us on track, and the team Isaiah and I work with have been busting their asses to get vendors paid and invoices tracked.

I’m feeling good.

But I’d be feeling a lot better if I had a date and a dress.