Off the Record by Camryn Garrett (read more books TXT) 📕

The same lady from the table is right behind us. She spots me looking and quickly turns toward a rack of clothes. My cheeks burn. This sort of thing happens, but not all the time. I want to leave and I also want the romper.

“Ugh. Ignore her,” Maggie says, turning back to our rack. “Come on, Josie. Let’s see if they have your size.”

The biggest is an extra large and there’s only one, so Maggie makes me take a large along with me to the changing room. She and Alice grab different rompers—one black and white, another with polka dots—and follow behind me. The same worker somehow ends up over there. Alice gives her a glare that could kill. She still doesn’t move.

It doesn’t take my sisters long to get their outfits on. Shopping is different for them. They both fit in mediums. Next to me, they look older, sexy. Maggie’s had a baby and has bigger, wider hips as a result. Alice doesn’t have as many curves as us, but she always looks beautiful, especially with her dark gaze pinning down her reflection in the mirror.

The large doesn’t even close on me. It pinches my stomach. The extra large actually fits, but some parts look exaggerated, highlighted. I doubt I look like the models who wear this on the store’s website.

My sisters are silent. I stare at the three of us in the mirror: the two of them looking like models, me looking like me. Alone, there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s hard when I’m next to them. The world compares me to everyone else, and so now I do it like a reflex.

“Maybe we can see if there’s something bigger?” Alice says, glancing at Maggie. “Maybe in the plus section?”

The plus-sized section is always hit or miss for me. Parts of my body are bigger than others—my thighs, stomach, and boobs, especially—but plus-sized clothes never take that into account. It’s why nothing looks right on me.

I hate this part. I hate when they look at me like I’m a kicked puppy on the side of the road. When everyone goes quiet and all we can hear is Britney Spears playing in the store. It’s easy enough to tell myself that being fat isn’t wrong when I’m alone or on Twitter. Being fat in the real world, around everyone else, even family, is completely different. But what’s the alternative? Never leaving the house?

I like fancy clothes that look like art. I doubt I’ll ever look like I’ve stepped out of a magazine, because I’ve never seen girls like me on the glossy pages, but I can imagine while watching my sisters. I’m good at imagining.

“No.” I dig my nails into my palm. “Forget it. I like it like this.”

And I do, sort of. My stomach just bunches and my boobs look like they might burst out of the top. But I like the rest of it. I’ve had to spend a lot of time getting used to my body. I could get used to this romper. If Maggie’s buying, I don’t mind. I should get to have nice things.

“We look fucking awesome,” Alice says. “Maggie, take a picture.”

Taking pictures in dressing rooms is our thing. We’ve done it ever since Maggie first went to prom and needed to try on dresses. Back then, both of them tiptoed around the word, like they were afraid to call me fat. It’s not that big a deal. Using words like full-figured just makes it worse. I can see how awkward people get as they search for the right word to say.

Fat is what they’re thinking. Fat is what used to make me cry at night when I was in middle school. So it’s the word I use when I describe myself. It’s a word I want to strip of negativity, like how other Black people try to do with nigga.

Alice might be lying about how we look, but I don’t mind. I don’t look horrible. I just look different. At least I’m only here with my sisters. I couldn’t handle being the odd one out around strangers.

Maggie’s camera flash makes me blink. Alice laughs and I surprise myself, snorting.

“Okay, okay,” Maggie says, shaking her head. “A few more. Come on.”

She takes a few more from different angles. I used to hide in the back, but I don’t anymore. From up high, all you can see is my face. I don’t mind that. I hated my face back in middle school. Maybe I’ll like the rest of my body one day. Right now, I don’t mind being too fat in this romper. I’m glad for this moment.

@JosieTheJournalist: end conversion therapy 2k21 because WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS THIS A THING???

California is flatter than I thought it would be.

That’s all I can think on Saturday after we land, after we check into our hotel, after we get an Uber to the movie theater. The sun shines down on us, palm trees gently swaying side to side, and everything seems flat. If there are bumps in the road, I don’t feel them. Everything is smooth.

Unlike me, Alice doesn’t seem interested in just looking out the window. She spends the entire ride taking pictures of everything on her phone: the car, the scenery outside, and even me.

“What?” she says. “Don’t you want to remember this when it’s over?”

“We just got here,” I say. “You’re not allowed to talk about going home yet.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the window.

The movie theater looks like the ones used on TV as establishing shots before the camera swings to the red carpets of glitzy premieres. Alice thanks our driver while I get out and stare. It’s less flashy in the daytime, but there’s something charming about that, like a face without makeup.

“So this is it?” Alice glances up at the sign, squints. “I don’t see anything about incidents or streets.”

“I don’t think they put