Free Someone I Wanted to Be by Aurelia Wills Page A

girl.”
    I closed my eyes and became another person. I was like a girl drifting through space. It was like being pure me. Nothing holding me back, no Cindy, no Kristy, no thunder thighs, no puke-green walls or black bars. I could feel his hand in my hair. Had I dreamed that?
    “I ran out of minutes. I can only talk a little while.”
    “Why didn’t you stop the other night when I was trying to talk to you? I ran a red to catch up and got pulled over by the cops. That was a goddamn close call. Girl, you need to —”
    “Sorry, my friend wouldn’t let me stop.”
    “Girl, you keep that phone topped up.”
    “I’m sorry, but sometimes —”
    “I want to be able to get ahold of you. Tonight I want to know how much you weigh.”
    “What? No way. That’s creepy. I’m going now. . . .”
    “Wait. Hold on, Ashley. Come on, little girl. Tell me how much you weigh.”
    “Why?”
    “So I can imagine holding you.”
    I opened my eyes and looked at the clippings on the wall. Damien Rogers weighed 171 pounds in his socks. It said so in the newspaper.
    “Ninety-three pounds.”
    “Ninety-three pounds? That kills my heart. You’re so tiny. You’re such a little girl. So delicate.”
    “I got to go now.”
    “OK, sweetheart. Sweet dreams. How’s your mama?”
    “Not good. Got to go.” I hung up and lay on my back.
    My heart pounded like someone was inside knocking, wanting to be let out. Kristy, Ashley, and I were locked in a tiny room together, and the room was getting smaller.
    I turned off the lights, put in my earbuds, and turned up Kid Cudi. I floated on the darkness.

The next weekend we didn’t go out. Kristy was grounded because she had a D in language arts, and Corinne had cramps. I didn’t answer Kurt King’s calls; I just listened to his messages. He left six voice mails and eleven texts. He said, “I need to see you, little girl.” He texted:
thinkin bout u babe.
    Kristy was bored and kept calling. Saturday night, she rated the boys in our grade. “Carl Lancaster is gross. It’s just weird to like piano that much. He’s barely a two.”
    Sunday night, I was getting calls and texts from Kurt King and texts and calls from Kristy. It stressed me out — sometimes their texts came in at the same time. I was paranoid that somehow their texts or calls would cross in my phone, or I’d hit some kind of reply-all, and suddenly Kristy and Kurt King would be talking to each other. When I finally fell asleep, I had a dream about a phone vibrating and lighting up on a table. I couldn’t answer, and I couldn’t turn it off.
    Monday, we had a lecture in chemistry. I pulled my chair to the farthest end of the table and didn’t look at Carl. I was exhausted. I emptied my head of every thought and feeling and sat there as close to not existing as I could manage. Mrs. McCleary droned on for fifty minutes, but I didn’t hear one word. I would never be a doctor. Every ten minutes or so, Carl turned his head and gazed at me.
    Mrs. McCleary announced that there was a test on Friday. The bell rang. Carl stood up and waited for me to go first.
    In study hall, I sat with my head down on my book, my cheek against the silky, dirty page. All the kids around me stared at their phones.
    That morning, for some stupid reason, I’d said, “Mom, I think I might want to be a doctor.” Cindy smirked at me over the top of her mug, then swigged down her coffee. “Pretty big for your britches, aren’t you, Leah? Pardon me, but I need to go to work.” She grabbed her red leather purse and slammed out the door.
    I was stupid, I was fat, I was a loser. I lived in a hideous basement apartment that didn’t even have Internet. Nothing I hoped for would come true. Becoming a doctor was a stupid idea, a ridiculous fantasy. That’s what Cindy thought. That’s what almost the whole world thought.
    Across a landscape of heads and tables, I saw Carl sitting alone. He was bent over his textbook. I studied his hair, his neck, and his