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Ethan looked at her blandly. “Well, you’re f—”
“You’re absolutelynotgoing to finish that sentence.” Colin was on his feet, his hands balled against the tabletop. His height drowned Ethan and his indolent expression in shadow.
Allison rested her hand on Colin’s arm to ease him back down. His eyes were wild as they searched her face, making her heart hammer. She’d never seen him react so forcefully to… well… anything before.
The last time someone had insulted Allison’s weight in his presence, Colin had shrunk from the confrontation like a withering flower. They’d been waiting to be seated at their favorite diner near Brown, and some guy had shoved by her with a loud, not at all subtle, “Move it, fatty.”
Allison responded by noting his (obviously) small manhood, causing him to spin around, his face the color of a tomato. “What?” he’d demanded.
She’d cocked her head. “It sucks to have someone comment on your body uninvited, doesn’t it?”
Before she got to hear his retort, Colin dragged her out the door, its chime yelling in her ears. With wide eyes, his hands fisted, he’d said, “You have to ignore shit like that. Reacting only leads to more trouble. I was bullied enough as a kid to learn that the hard way.”
“I have to do no such thing. I’m not going to hide from people like I’m not allowed to exist in the world the way I am,” she’d said.
Allison was no damsel in distress. She didn’t need a guy to defend her. But seeing Colin cower at the thought of speaking up had left her stomach thick and sour with disappointment. He was usually the first person to offer an opinion. Why hadn’t he wanted to support her?
Now, though, Allison could hardly keep him in his seat.
She turned her attention to Ethan. “I’m fat? That’s what you were going to say, right?” She kept her voice mild. This guy would not be gifted the satisfaction of her anger.
He lifted his shoulder again. Somehow, he managed to seem even more cavalier.
Link and Colin both sputtered in protest, but Allison shook her head.Fatwas only an ugly word if you let it be.
Though her knees felt weak, and a primal scream burrowed its way through her belly, she regarded Ethan placidly. “Yes. I do appreciate that Gay will engage with the lived experience of fatness as part of her feminism. But more importantly, writers like her elucidate the limits of white feminism. Feminismhasto include women of color, queer women, and transgender women.” She pushed back her chair, letting it shriek loudly against the faux wood of the floor. “You three can do whatever you want for this presentation. I’m going to end it by talking about Gay, Crenshaw, and Serano.”
That meant potentially forfeiting twenty percent of her grade, but even for the most overachieving overachiever, such a fate was more palatable to Allison than one more second attempting to analyze feminism with a misogynistic asshole.
Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she stalked from the room. No matter how much she accepted—no, embraced—her fatness, it neverfelt good when someone weaponized that word. And over her dead body would she participate in Ethan’s cishet-white-dude worldview.
So close to dinnertime, the library was quiet, allowing Allison to find a corner tucked away under a window. Blinking back tears she pretended weren’t there, she heaved her copy ofThe Riverside Chauceronto the table. Along with the presentation in Behi’s class, Allison had been tasked by Wendy to lead a short discussion in lecture on a few lines of “The Knight’s Tale.” She’d warned both Allison and Colin that she’d expect them to do a few of these as a precursor to their big lectures before Thanksgiving break. It seemed a safe bet that their performances would be factors in her final decision about her newest advisee, so Allison was determined to make each minute she had the floor in British Literature’s Greatest Hits count.
She’d just found the lines she wanted to work with when her phone dinged with a message.
Unknown Number: Did you leave?
Allison Avery: No. I’m around the corner near the window.
Why had she told him that?
Every day, things with Colin became a little muddier. Since Mandy’s party, he’d sat next to Allison in every class, and his chair in Wendy’s lecture seemed to inch closer to Allison’s every meeting. Last Thursday, their elbows had butt against each other the whole class, and neither of them had moved. He was texting her regularly too, and once, in a fit of panic, she’d reached out to him when she overheard Sophie on the phone doing what sounded like an interview. It had been like a reflex, her fingers finding his number, typing out a message. As if he’d always been her emotional support contact. The text was halfway through the ether before she’d realized what she’d done.
Things had become so easy, so—dare she say it—friendly, that she often forgot she was supposed to be avoiding him. He was standing between her and another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Letting herself grow close to him (again) was only going to drill the pain deeper if she lost. It could be sophomore year 2.0, but with greater consequences. And yet, knowing all that, she couldn’t seem to keep away.
The moment she set her phone back on the table, it rang. Ducking sheepishly like she would be chastised by the empty chairs around her, Allison swiped open the call. “I said I was around the corner.”
“Allison?”
Oops. “Hey, Mom. You got my text about rescheduling our FaceTime, right? I have a presentation I have to prep. I’m actually still at the library.”
“This can’t wait.”
Allison’s back straightened. “What’s wrong?” WCS after WCS crowded her head.
Her mom was sick.
Her mom couldn’t pay the bills and was losing the house.
