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

with my cheeks. Mom still likes to pinch them sometimes, like I’m a toddler. And I have been working on my hair. I don’t exactly have an Afro, but there’s a nice amount of follicles up there. I smile.

Honestly, I don’t need this. I don’t think I’m ugly. But Maggie says it’s not about physical beauty. It’s about inner peace or self-confidence or something. So I open my mouth and say, “You’re smart and kind and talented.” It sounds like something from Barney.

Liking my face is pretty easy. It’s the rest of my body that can take some work. I pull up the tank top I slept in, looking at my belly as it spills out. I think it’s just a habit to suck it in at this point. It’s freeing and sort of disappointing every time I let go.

My therapist, Laura, and I work on framing—that’s what I call it, since it sort of reminds me of TV. The idea is to look at your situation in a different light.

So I try not to frown when I see my belly. It shouldn’t be so big, but it’s okay, because everyone’s body is different. And I don’t mind my belly when it’s just me. I try to think of Winnie-the-Pooh, how everyone loves him and he wears a crop top and he’s generally a fashion icon. It makes me smile. I rub my hands over my own stomach, swaying back and forth in front of the mirror. There’s nothing wrong with a belly. Bellies are cute, and they hold important internal organs.

“Do they hurt?”

My eyes snap up, locking on Alice’s in the mirror. She’s taller than me, which isn’t that hard to be, seeing as I’m just barely taller than five feet. Her scarf is still on, and her sleep shirt is falling off her tiny frame. I have to shove away some of the jealousy in my gut.

“Do what hurt?” I ask, clearing my throat and moving my arms.

“The stretch marks.” Her eyes dart to my stomach faster than I can pull the shirt down. “Maggie got them when she was pregnant with Cash, even though she kept using shea butter every few minutes.”

“I remember.” I shake my head at the memory. I was thirteen, old enough for my parents to talk to me about waiting until marriage. “And no, they don’t hurt.”

It doesn’t seem like she’s trying to make me feel bad, but I can never tell with Alice. Even if she didn’t mean it that way, a switch has already been flipped. It’s not just my voice telling me there’s something wrong with my body. Normal people aren’t supposed to get stretch marks unless they’re pregnant. I don’t even know how I got mine: deep ripples at the edges of my stomach, darker than the rest of my skin.

“Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about it, then,” she says, pulling off her scarf and running her hands through her braids. “Does Maggie still do Mirror Time?”

“Uh, yeah.” I try not to roll my eyes. “You’ve been gone three months. Not much has changed.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes narrow as she studies herself. “I like my eyes today. They’re looking hazel.”

“Your eyes are brown.”

“I said they look hazel,” she says, shaking her head. “My eyes can look any color I want them to.”

I can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. Alice sort of makes a joke out of everything.

I change into my Thanksgiving outfit (an orange-and-red floral dress I’m in love with) before slipping downstairs. Mom is already in the kitchen, ordering Dad, Maggie, and even Cash around with a wooden spoon. I step back, but the spoon flies up in my direction. Shit. She saw me.

“Why are you already dressed up?” She narrows her eyes. “You still have to help.”

“But it’s late.” I glance at the ticking clock on the wall. It’s eleven. “People will start showing up in an hour. You know Auntie Denise.”

Dad snorts. Mom shoots him a look and he turns back to the turkey.

Auntie Denise and her new husband, a guy whose name I haven’t bothered to learn yet, show up even earlier than we expected. They ring the doorbell three times. Mom gives me a pointed look. Maggie is setting the table, Cash helping, and my parents are still cooking. Who knows when Alice will come down? That leaves me to entertain them. I know it shouldn’t, but my anxiety flares up around them, too.

“Josie!” Auntie Denise hugs me to her chest. “Oh, look at you! So big!”

I wince. It doesn’t help that Auntie Denise is as thin as my pinkie. She pulls back, appraising eyes running over my body. I stare at a spot on her chest that’s lighter than the rest of her body. Maybe it’s a birthmark.

“How are college applications going?”

“Good.” I shrug. “I applied early decision to Spelman, so waiting to hear back.”

“Aw,” she says, pressing a hand against my cheek. “Following in your older sister’s footsteps, huh?”

“Well, actually, I wanted to go before she did,” I huff. “She followed in my footsteps.”

Auntie Denise smiles like I’m a little kid.

“Right,” she says. “Of course, sweetheart.”

She bustles past me, pulling her husband along. I peek into the kitchen. She’s already grabbed Mom and Dad’s attention. That gives me a few more minutes to hide from everyone. Before they can wonder where I am, I jog back up the stairs.

Alice and I are sharing a room while she’s home. Her bags are too close to the door, so I have to suck in my stomach to squeeze through. I kick one of the suitcases over. Technically, the door could’ve done it.

I grab my phone off the charger. Mom hates phones at the table whenever we all sit down as a family, but that barely happens, even on Thanksgiving. Everyone ends up sitting in clusters throughout the house. We don’t even keep up the pretense of sitting at the table anymore. She won’t notice my phone as long as I say