Читать книгу Gabi, a Girl in Pieces - Isabel Quintero - Страница 25

September 15

Curse the day I fell in love or like or whatever with Joshua Moore! I hate him. Hate him! HATE HIM! At first I was totally excited that he was in my Algebra II class. Totally excited. But turns out (surprise, surprise), he doesn’t like fat girls. Or at least he doesn’t like this fat girl. Of course he didn’t say, “Gabi, I don’t like you because you’re a fat girl,” but he did start going out with Sandra and she is the total opposite of me.

When I used to be friends with Sandra, my mom was (and sometimes even now) always comparing me to her. She can’t seem to understand why I’m not friends with her anymore. I try to explain, but she just doesn’t get it. There are things I can’t tell my mom either. I can’t tell her how Sandra used to make me feel like shit. Especially around boys. Boys like her skinny hips, big butt, long hair, white teeth, big smile and stylish name-brand clothes. Because price is no object when you’re a Sandra.

And it wasn’t that I was jealous. Okay, I was a little jealous, but she liked to rub it in my face that we were so different. That she was better. She’d remind me that when you’re a Gabi, price always matters. No name brand here, only generic, and that is okay until Sandra tells you that it is not okay. I begged my mom for clothes she couldn’t afford, asked for something that didn’t belong to me, that didn’t belong to a world where we get free food from school at Christmas or where your dad spends his money on street corners or where your mom collects cans to make the rent. I couldn’t tell my mom that the girl that she’s always comparing me to is the reason for so many of our arguments. If I did, she would say something like, “Well, maybe you’d feel better about yourself if you took more care of yourself like Sandra does.” And then I’d go do my hair and makeup, squeeze into a pretty little dress and jump in front of a moving train.

I tried to be like Sandra for a little bit. We went to the mall to a super fancy store and bought a very expensive dress. I had to beg my mom for it for weeks until she finally said yes. I felt a little guilty, but my mom gave in because she wanted me to look good and feel good. A brown dress with little white flowers sewn all over, it was short and sleeveless and very 1960s. It was truly a dress. But each time I wore it, my body was exposed—the little brown dress was too expensive for my cheap little white skin. But Sandra thought it looked good, so I felt good (at least about that). Still, I missed the indoor swap-meet with Cindy. Going through the rows of lycra, bright prints, black and whites with no purpose except to make regular girls feel like name-brand girls. To make Gabis feel like Sandras but at a discounted price.

I came to my senses, and Sandra left us. So it was just Cindy, Sebastian and me. Us tackys always have to stick together.

I tried to act like I didn’t care about the whole Josh situation, but it was hard. I came home today and told my mom what was going on (because she’s my mom and can ALWAYS tell when there’s something wrong and won’t let it go until I tell her) and she offered some words of comfort so my heart wouldn’t shatter. She knows heartbreak, she said. She said. “Yo se lo que es estar joven y enamorada.” I tried to think of my mom as young and in love, but I couldn’t, it was too far of a stretch. Secretly I was glad she tried to protect me. It didn’t matter though. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Just like when you drop one of those Christmas ornaments made with glass so thin that when it shatters it goes everywhere, and you are still finding pieces in dark corners of your living room for months afterwards. That’s exactly how I broke. Nothing more to say except that Cindy and Sebastian showed up at my house a few hours ago, and I had the best banana split of my life.