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Chapters (67)
  1. Big Boned
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. One Month Later
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. About the Author
  62. Copyright
  63. About the Publisher
  64. Backad 1
  65. Backad 2
  66. Backad 3
  67. Backad 4

“Am I what?”

“Going to the dance?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

“Aren’t you going with your boyfriend?”

“Nah. I dumped him. He’s been cheating.”

“Seriously? What a dick.”

“I know! Total asshole, but I made myself a killer dress and I look amazing in it, so I have to go.” She smiled at me.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“Stop saying you don’t know. We’ll go together and everyone will stare at us as we walk in. There will be whispers and gossip because everyone will wonder if we’re an item, and everyone will be talking about it until the end of the year. At least we’ll give them something interesting to talk about, instead of all their usual crap! And we’ll look so gorgeous that everyone will be jealous and then everyone will want original Thembikiles and I’ll say, ‘Wait in line.’”

I looked at myself in the mirror, and nodded. “Okay.”

“Great, let’s do this photo shoot!” Thembi turned and headed for the door.

“Give me a moment. There’s something I need to do.”

She gave me a little look, as if she understood what I meant and exited the room. I bent down, kicked my shoes off, and then slowly, carefully, resting one hand on the edge of her desk, climbed into the high heels. I wobbled a few times, flapped my arms to stop myself from falling, but when I finally felt steadier, I turned back to the mirror.

I looked at the shoes on my feet first, followed their curves all the way to my ankles, traced the lines of my legs, up to the slit in the dress—I’d never worn anything that showed this much leg—I dragged my eyes higher, over the plush fabric, observing how it clung to my body like a second skin, how it clung to my hips and then tapered into my waist. The beads glinted at me, accentuating my breasts, which looked—wow! I had the best breasts I’d ever seen!

My eyes trailed from my breasts to my neck and then my face. I inhaled sharply. I had cheekbones and long lashes and powder that made me shimmer. Red lips, big and voluptuous and so kissable, if I did say so myself. My hair was up. Messy, red, curly tendrils falling down casually. As if I had put no effort into this look. As if I looked this good when I woke up.

This was really me.

Me.

I pulled my phone out and slowly, nervously took a picture of myself.