Big Girl Small Read Online Free Page A

since otherwise the orientation was nothing but an excruciating, dwarf-peek-sneaking affair about “sensitivity to race and gender issues.”
    In other words, “We do not discriminate on the basis of gender, race, color, handicapped status, sexual orientation, religion, or national or ethnic origin, so you shouldn’t shout racial epithets at the two black people allowed in or refuse to pick the dwarf for your kickball team.” Everyone kept looking over at me, especially these girls I later figured out were Amanda Fulton and Carrie Shultz. They were dressed alike in superexpensive jeans, with all the seams sewn on the outside, and button-up blouses buttoned down enough that their black lacy bras were just visible. I tugged at the jeans my mom and I had bought in the children’s department at Nordstrom’s for my first day—they were the most expensive ones I’d ever had, $118. My mom had splurged, the whole time marveling with me over the fact that people would spend more than a hundred dollars on jeans for a six- or seven-year-old, who would presumably grow out of them in a month or two. Then we were both quiet, maybe thinking I’d never grow out of them, and what the hell, we might as well spend thousands of dollars on designer jeans for me. I had on boots with heels, too, orthopedic but full of the effort to look stylish, a black T-shirt, and a dark pink cardigan. The truth is, in the mirror that morning, I’d felt pretty cute. I have good hair, is the thing—light brown with blond streaks in it, and a pretty good face, too. I don’t have the mushed nose, broad forehead look, and my eyes aren’t too wide apart. I have long eyelashes, which are darker than my hair even when I don’t put mascara on. And my mouth is round and cute, with straight white teeth. Lots of people in Ann Arbor are used to me, by the way. It’s not like I have no friends, it’s just that I stupidly decided to leave my high school and go to Darcy so I could become famous and make everyone be like, “Remember Judy? We never thought she’d be the next—whatever, Peter Dinklage.”
    But that first day at Darcy, I kept thinking of my friends, starting the year at Huron, only several miles away. Why had I left devils I knew for ones I didn’t? I wanted to go to Darcy desperately, that’s the funny thing. Darcy Arts is Ann Arbor’s private school answer to LaGuardia High. It’s for talented performing arts kids, so everyone wants to go. If you live in Ann Arbor, getting into D’Arts is almost like winning American Idol . Not to mention getting in for free. D’Arts has this friendly pretense that its scholarships aren’t need-based, so if you get one, everyone’s supposed to be like, “Wow, she’s even more talented than the rest of us stars.” But I needed the money, so everyone else who has a scholarship probably did too. My parents aren’t poor or anything, but D’Arts costs almost as much as college (everyone there is always mentioning that). And I guess poor kids do have to be even more talented, because there must be more of us applying than kids who can pay. By the way, you’re allowed to call it “D’Arts” only if you go—who wouldn’t want that? And I know I keep mentioning American Idol . It’s not my dream or anything, it’s just an example of giving teenagers a shot at what they want most in the universe. The stakes are very high, is my point.
    My parents were shocked that I wanted to go to Darcy. But I thought it was time for me to break out. I mean, they’ve always been overprotective and suffocating. So I explained that it would be a “perspective broadening” experience for me, and the truth is, I kind of thought it would be exactly that. I mean, I was tired of the same hundred kids I’d known since Angell Elementary, even though there was something safe in staying on with them, even the meanest, like Scott Declan, who has pointed and laughed literally every time he’s seen me. Which is roughly two