The Next Big Thing Read Free Page B

some ways I found this comforting. As long as I could control the image I put forth of myself, I could keep this relationship on track.
    But then I messed up and started bugging him about pictures.
    Once I’d opened that door, there was no closing it. So thanks to my prodding, we wound up exchanging blurry scans of ourselves. Nick sent me the exact same photo of himself that I’d already found online, the one of him at the art opening. The quality was slightly better, but the pic was still grainy. Nevertheless, it showed him to be tall and handsome, with jet-black hair and dark eyes.
    My photo showed me to be thin, a feat I’d accomplished by taking a picture of myself snapped eight years earlier when I was at 174 pounds, my lowest weight ever—and doctoring it in Photoshop. Yes, I realize how bad this is, and yes I realize it was a stupid thing to do. But I panicked. I didn’t want to lose him. Besides, it wasn’t a total lie. I was planning on starting a full-fledged, hardcore diet any day now. So by the time Nick met me I actually would look like the girl in that picture. That had to count for something, right? (Or so I tried to convince myself.)
    Nick wrote back that I was pretty, and he was happy I had a flat stomach. He went on to say he thought a size eight was “really pushing it” and a size ten was “way too fat for my tastes. I make a lot of public appearances for Status, so these things have to be considered.”
    I didn’t have the heart to tell Nick I wore a size eighteen. Instead I told myself, Finally, just what I need to kick start my weight-loss dream. I knew I either had to lose the pounds or I’d lose Nick. Sooner or later, he’d demand a meeting.
    Yet even with that horror hanging over me, I hadn’t made any headway. Maybe a monetary incentive was exactly what I needed. “So?” Donna prodded, growing impatient. If anyone other than Donna had handed me that article I’d have rolled it into a ball and shoved it up their ass. But I knew her intentions were good. I thought about the downside. For starters, I’d have to reveal my real weight on national television. I don’t reveal my weight to my closest friends and family, not without knocking thirty pounds off. How would I do it on TV?
    I rationalized. True, all of America will see how fat I am, but then they’ll also see how hard I work to fix it.
    I often think the general public believes people my size do nothing but sit around and eat cake and bacon (not at the same time). This would be a great opportunity to prove this isn’t true.
    I picked up my notebook and wrote, You think it’s worth a shot? Then passed it back to Donna.
    Absolutely! Imagine if you won all that money? What would you even do with it?
    That was easy. I was grinning at the thought. Quit my job and move to England. Marry Nick. Then launch a career as a—
    “Excuse me, Kat.”
    Instinctively, I dropped my pen. “
    You want to share that with the rest of the group? If it’s so fascinating, I think we all ought to know.”
    Richard had stopped his presentation and was staring straight at me. Around the room a few people snickered. My ears started burning and my face felt prickly with heat. It was like being in grade school, getting caught passing notes by the teacher.
    “I’m sorry, Richard,” I said, quickly putting the notebook away. “I was filling Donna in on what she missed.”
    I hoped he would buy it, but he didn’t. “I’m paying you to work, not pass notes, kiddo,” he said, pausing before pulling up a new PowerPoint screen. For some inane reason, Richard has taken to calling me “kiddo.” Never mind the fact that I’m twenty-seven. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind paying attention, I think we’d all appreciate it.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief. It had been embarrassing, but at least he hadn’t grabbed my notebook and read what I’d written. After such a close call I tried to pay attention. But I was already planning my post-reality show