The Next Big Thing Read Online Free Page A

purchases and placed them in a giant navy blue bag with LANE BRYANT printed across the front, back, and both sides. Before we’d even made it out of the store, Cara reached into her purse and retrieved a folded Gap bag. We quickly transferred my purchases.
    “I’ve got an exquisite treat in store,” Cara said, as we made our way out to the parking lot, tossing the offending Lane Bryant bag into the first trash can we found. “Remember that quadruple extra-large T-shirt we both swooned over at Wal-Mart last year, the green one with the giant rooster on the front?”
    “I think you mean puked over, not swooned.”
    “I recall you tried it on and discovered what a great fit it was, how it hung down to your knees and pouched out like maternity wear. Well, today is your lucky day, ’cause you’re finally going to get your hands on that treasured piece.” She winked. “And to show you what a great friend I am, I’m buying.”
    I burst out laughing. “You brat!” I said, even though, secretly, I kind of wished she would buy me something. It’s not that I’m greedy, but Cara’s parents are exceptionally wealthy.
    “Come on. You know you’re dying to wear the rooster for your audition. It would really knock their socks off,” she promised.
    “That’s putting it mildly.”
    We drove over to Wal-Mart, where we discovered the plus-sized clothing choices had slightly improved. The rooster T-shirt was nowhere to be found, but I did buy a nice brown top, a blue button-down, and a halfway decent pair of flared jeans. Having already spent close to a hundred and fifty dollars I decided to call it a day.
    Just as we neared the exit Cara stopped. “Kat, look!” She grabbed a light blue shirt with a picture of a big yellow pitcher sewn onto the front. A kaleidoscope of pastel flowers sprouted up from the center. “What do you think?” she asked, holding it up to her chest. “Is this perfect for a night out or what?”
    I smirked, grabbing the shirt from her hands and steering her out of the store. “I think we’ve had enough fun for one day.”
    “You know,” Cara mused, “the fashion industry must think bigger women have heinous taste.”
    “If I get on From Fat to Fabulous you’d better believe I’m going to tell America how sucky the plus-sized clothing industry is,” I said, opening the car door. I started up the engine and headed out toward Union Avenue.
    “After I’m finished, I’ll bet stores like Victoria’s Secret”—we both groaned at the mention of the lingerie chain—“will start carrying our sizes.”
    “Don’t bet on it. You’re not a miracle worker,” Cara said. “
    Hey!” I exclaimed as a thought hit me. “Why don’t you try out, too? It’d be a riot if both of us got on.”
    Cara winced. “No,” she said, looking down at her lap. “I couldn’t deal with it. It’d be like announcing to everybody in the country that I have a weight problem. Plus, my parents would kill me. And while we’re on the topic I have to be honest with you.” She paused, searching for the right words. “Are you sure you want to do this, Kat?”
    “The more I think about it, the more excited I get,” I told her. It was true. “If I get on, I can be a good role model,” I suggested, “for fat women everywhere.”
    Cara considered this for a moment. “Yeah, if you get on—that’s a big if. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” Her tone shifted and she gave me a sad look, one that belied many years of big-girl heartache. “When you start counting on something, that’s when you get disappointed.”  
     
                                                           * * *
 
“They want to know if I have difficulty reaching orgasm.”
    “What! Who wants to know?” Donna demanded. She was practically shouting into the phone.
    “The casting people with From Fat to Fabulous. I’m filling out the application as we speak.” It was