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

“Fuck,” she says. “You didn’t get in?”

“I know.” I laugh. “As if this trip couldn’t get any worse, right? I have no future. I got rejected from my dream school. I messed up everything with Marius. I don’t know how to stay objective anymore—I don’t know if I ever was objective. I’ve spent all this time on this story I probably won’t even be able to publish. I’m failing everyone.”

Alice presses her lips together, closing her suitcase.

“I wouldn’t call you a complete failure.”

“Right.” I laugh again, but my throat is clogged with tears. I try my best to hold them back. “Thanks, Alice. You’re super inspirational.”

“You don’t have to be a bitch to me, you know,” she says, sitting at the edge of my bed. “I’m trying to help. Look—you’re gonna figure this out.”

I don’t say anything. I might start crying if I do.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one who has gotten too close to a subject,” she continues. “It’s not just Marius. It’s all these women you’re writing about—I don’t know. I’m not a journalist.”

“Wait,” I say, leaning forward. I’d rather listen to her speak than be stuck inside my own head any longer. “Tell me what you were gonna say.”

“I don’t think you have to be objective all the time,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know what’s going on with Marius. I told you to leave that boy alone, didn’t I?”

“Forget it.” My stomach sinks at the thought of another one of her lectures. “It’s not about Marius being too pretty or too skinny for me, okay? It’s about me messing up. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“What?” Her eyebrows rise. “I never said he was too skinny for you.”

“Well,” I say, “it was implied when you said I’d snap him in half.”

“I—” She opens her mouth but seems to think better of what she was going to say. I almost flinch away when she places a hand on my shoulder. It’s awkward in a way that only Alice could be.

“You’re full-figured,” she says. “And you’re gorgeous.”

I roll my eyes. “You can just say fat.”

“Fat. Whatever,” she says. “But pretty boys—especially skinny pretty boys—usually can’t handle Black women at all, let alone fat ones, even if they’re Black themselves. That’s the only reason why I said anything.”

She’s not wrong. But that was never the issue with Marius.

“I don’t know,” I say. “The way you and Maggie talk sometimes makes me feel like you think I’m not as good as you because I’m fat.”

We’re moving into different territory now, something I wasn’t prepared for when we first started talking, but I keep going.

“And I know you probably don’t mean it—”

“I don’t,” she says. “And I know Maggie doesn’t, either.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “It can just be hard to remember when it feels like the world is telling me I’m not.”

“I’m sorry.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know what to say. You’re amazing and you know we don’t think any less of you because of your weight. I guess we could mention those things more.”

“Thanks,” I say, picking at my pajama pants. “I’ll remind you, I guess. I just don’t want to seem like I’m…fragile or something.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know,” I say. “Because of my anxiety.”

Alice narrows her eyes.

“Lots of people have anxiety,” she says. “It doesn’t mean you can’t have feelings. You should tell us things. I’m always levelheaded and you’re the same way.”

“Really?” My brows rise. I’d say I’m the furthest thing from levelheaded. “Am I?”

“Why do you think you’re so good at getting people to talk to you?” She folds her arms, like this has been too much tenderness for one day. “Anyway. This all feels like the end of the world, but I promise that it isn’t.”

I snort. “Have you been threatened with legal action from a gigantic director and major company before?”

“Well, no,” she says. “But I know you’re going to figure it out.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.” She pulls her knees to her chin. “You know, Spelman wasn’t my first choice.”

“Geez, thank you for sharing that.” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like it’s the school I wanted to go to ever since I was in eighth grade. It’s not like it’s the only school I applied to.”

“Can you stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second?” she says. “First of all, you literally applied early decision. You still have more time to apply to other schools. And second, I’m telling you so you feel better. I wanted to go to Emory.”

“Ew. Where all the white kids go?” I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”

“Josie,” Alice says. “I don’t know. I just did. I figured I’d be farther away from home. They have such a beautiful campus. Ava and Chloe and I decided we’d all go together.”

Her best friends from high school. I haven’t heard her talk about them since she went away.

“Oh,” I say.

“Yeah.” She makes a face. “It was the worst. I thought my life was over. Ava got wait-listed and Chloe was the only one who got in. So we had to figure out a new plan.”

“Oh,” I say again. “Um. That sucks.”

“Yes, it totally did.” She smirks. “But I love it at Spelman. I’m not saying that to make you sad, I swear. I’m just saying—it works out. You end up where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you weren’t supposed to be there.”

“But it’s tradition,” I say, staring down at my lap. “You all did it.”

“Maggie didn’t.”

“She could.”

“But she’s not going to,” Alice says. “And she’s still part of the family.”

“I’m not—” I huff. “I know I’m not, like, excommunicated if I don’t go. I just really wanted to. That’s all. I wanted it for a long time.”

“I get it,” she says. “But you’ll make your own tradition somewhere else.”

“I guess.” I bite my lip. I feel the tiniest bit better. “I could take a gap year, maybe.”

“That sounds good,” Alice says. “Work on your writing.”

Writing sounds like the last thing I want to do, but I