Things I Want to Say Read Free Page B

spin the bottle we’d played at a birthday party when I was in sixth grade. Six of us had knelt in a circle on the rust-red shagcarpeting of the Kincaids’ family room and Marsha Kincaid had spun an empty Coke bottle.
    Even then I’d been a chubby girl, the waistband of my yellow dotted Swiss minidress digging into my sides, the bands of the puffed sleeves cutting into my thick arms. I’d held my breath as the bottle spun, praying it wouldn’t land on me, hoping at the same time it would.
    The first spin landed on Rachel Mayfield, who grinned and took her time choosing a boy to kiss. I hoped she wouldn’t choose Marc, though he was, in my eyes at least, the handsomest boy there.
    But Rachel chose Scott Ruston as the object of her favor. He made a feeble protest, but when Rachel leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, I noticed he didn’t seem to mind all that much.
    By the third spin, I could feel the carpet making crosshatch patterns on my bare knees, and one foot had fallen asleep. I forgot to focus on the bottle, so was startled when everyone began shouting my name. I looked down and saw the bottle pointing right at me.
    I swallowed hard, and my face felt hot. “Who you gonna kiss?” Rachel teased.
    I glanced up at those in the circle. Every boy there was looking away from me or down at the carpet. They seemed to have physically recoiled at the idea of kissing fat Ellen Lawrence.
    At other times, in similar situations, I’d have made a joke. Maybe I’d try to skip my turn. But that year, when I was twelve, I’d begun to feel the first longings to be like other girls—thin and pretty and normal . And I was in love with Marc, even if he never looked at me.
    Reasoning I couldn’t be any more miserable than I already was, I sat up straighter and smoothed out the skirt of my dress. “I choose Marc,” I said.
    To his credit, he didn’t flinch or protest. He merely sighed,then closed his eyes and waited. Hands on my knees, I leaned toward him, aware of the giggles and smooching noises the others were making. But all my attention was focused on Marc.
    I thought he had beautiful lips—pale pink and not too full. When I got close enough to be sure of my aim, I closed my eyes and pressed my mouth gently to his. I held the pose as long as I dared. It was the first time I’d ever kissed a boy and I wanted to remember it.
    When I did finally pull away, I opened my eyes and smiled. The kiss had felt good. Right. And now I knew a secret. Not only was Marc the handsomest boy in the sixth grade…
    He tasted like chocolate cake.

2
    The next morning after breakfast I called Marc at the number I’d gotten from the reunion Web site. A woman answered the phone and I froze. Was it his wife? Girlfriend? “May I speak to Marc Reynolds?” I managed to get out.
    “One moment please.”
    “This is Marc.” His voice was deeper than I remembered. Sexy. I pinched myself and remembered the script I’d come up with in my head. “Hi, Marc. I don’t know if you remember me, but it’s Ellen Lawrence. I’m in town for the reunion and wondered if I could do anything to help.”
    “Ellen!” His voice had all the heartiness of a used-car salesman. Or maybe that was merely my inner cynic butting in with her opinion. “Great to hear from you. We can always use volunteers.”
    “I’m happy to lend a hand. How have you been?”
    “Great, great. Let me see here….” I heard the rustle of papers. “All right! We could use help with the cleanup committee.”
    Garbage detail? Not the glamorous image I was hoping to project. “I…I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay after everything’s over,” I said.
    “Oh. Well then, we could use help with child care.”
    Child care! Stuck with a bunch of squalling babies and fussy toddlers who wouldn’t appreciate my stunningtransformation in the least? I searched frantically for an out. Saying I didn’t like children wasn’t very attractive. “Um, I hate to admit this, but I’m