Dumplin' Read Free Page B

me.
    As I look over my review, Millie walks down our aisle of tables with a trayful of food and her best friend, Amanda Lumbard, not far behind. Millie and Amanda together are basically one giant moving target that says MAKE FUN OF US.
    Amanda’s legs are uneven, so she wears these thick corrective shoes that make her look like Frankenstein. (At least according to Patrick Thomas.) When we were kids and she didn’t have her shoes yet, Amanda just limped around, her hips swiveling up and down with each step. She never seemed bothered, but that didn’t stop people from staring. The nickname thing is pretty lame if you think about it. Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster.
    Millie waves, and I quickly lift my hand as she walks past us.
    El smirks. “New friend?”
    I shrug. “I feel bad for her sometimes.”
    â€œShe seems happy to me.” El asks me a few more study questions as we finish our lunch. “What system is in placeso that no part of the government becomes too powerful?”
    â€œChecks and balances.”
    â€œSo, hey, how was work last night? How’s Private School Boy?”
    I twist the loose wire from the spine of my notebook around my finger. “It was good.” I glance down at my cafeteria lunch. “He’s good.”
    I want to tell her about his shitty friends and his new facial hair, but I’m not sure how to bring it up without sounding like I’m a total nut who saves his nail clippings in a jar underneath my bed. Last night I had to recount my register three times because he kept walking by.
    â€œI like Sweet 16 and all, but I’m kinda jealous that you work with guys, too.” She drops her half-eaten carrot into her plastic bag and seals the zipper. “I still can’t believe we’re not working together.”
    El would never let me forget that I’d ruined our after-school job plans by taking the position at Harpy’s. But if she didn’t intuitively get that I didn’t really want to work at a store where I couldn’t even fit into the clothes, then I didn’t want to bother explaining it to her. “Why do you care about working with other guys? You’re the one who just told me you wanted to do it with Tim.”
    She shrugs me off. “It’d be fun is all.”
    We finish lunch, and I take my government final. And that’s it. Tenth grade is over. The parking lot is all primal cheers and tires screeching. But I don’t have it, that sense of progress. Instead, I feel stuck, waiting for my own life to happen.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
FOUR
    My mom’s car is in the driveway when I get home from my last day of school. As I slide my car into park and pull the e-brake, I lean my head against the headrest. I love my car. Her name is Jolene and she is a 1998 cherry-red Pontiac Grand Prix, given to me by Lucy.
    Inside I follow the sound of rustling upstairs to Lucy’s room, where my mom’s teal ass is wiggling in the air. Teal because she’s been wearing the same designer tracksuit that an ex-boyfriend gave her six years ago. She calls it her “loungewear” and, second only to her Miss Teen Blue Bonnet crown, it is her most prized possession.
    â€œI’m home,” I say, panic creeping into my voice. “What are you doing in here?”
    She stands upright and exhales, pushing hair off her forehead. Her face is red with heat and the blond wisps around her forehead have curled into ringlets. “The funeral home finally got that urn we ordered, so I called it a half day. Thought I’d come home and get a head start on all this.”
    I drop my backpack in the hallway and take a few stepsinto the bedroom. “A head start on what?”
    Mom plops down on the bed next to a stack of housedresses, all starched and hung on Lucy’s yarn-covered