There is something magical in being told goodnight by a hot guy. It warms me from my head to my toes, and I read over the email several more times.
For the first time since Josh first started talking to me, I’m starting to wonder if maybe he is being sincere. If maybe he’s not just talking to me as a bet by his douche bag friends.
Could that be true?
The barn is a pretty popular hang out in our small town, though I’ve never been invited. At least, not until now. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do wear or what to expect, but I could go with Josh. All I have to do is reply to this email and ask him to pick me up on Friday. I could ride in a guy’s car and everything. The thought alone nearly sends me into a fit of giggles.
This is so surreal. This isnothow my life usually goes.
Reality slams into me, as it often does, reminding me why this isn’t really a good idea. I am fat. Maybe not like an actual walrus or anything, but I’m not some thin girl the guys love. There’s no way Josh could ever like melike that. He’s probably serious about being friends, maybe still trying to make up for whacking me with a football.
I press my fingertips to my shoulder, where the bruise still hurts.
If I were ten, or fifteen, pounds lighter . . . maybe I could be more confident. Maybe I could go.
Friday is still a week away, so I wonder how much weight I could lose by then? Even if it’s just cheating by losing water weight like they talk about in fad diets, who cares? Losing some weight would only help with my situation with Josh.
I pull the covers up to my chin and leave my phone on the nightstand. He’s already told me goodnight, so he can wait until morning to get a reply. For now, I’m working up a plan, a promise to myself.
If I can lose enough weight by Friday to feel slightly better about myself, then I’ll go.
I close my eyes and gnaw on my bottom lip. This might just work.
