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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

“I don’t know.” I shrugged glibly, acting like I didn’t know the answer to that question, even though I did. I only took photos of things I deemed beautiful and interesting, and that had never been me. It was the ladybug, or the autumn leaf. The broken bottle on the pavement, the soap bubble floating in the air, the cobweb wet from morning dew, or the broken tree branch after the storm.

“You’re seriously good at art and photography.” Jake slipped his phone back into his pocket and then, just before we started walking again, he gave my shoulder a tiny nudge. Or had that been a mistake?

“What school were you at in Joburg?” he asked.

“The art school.”

“That’s a bit different to Bay Water High.”

“That would be an understatement. You know, we don’t even have sports at art school.”

“And then you come here and discover that everything basically revolves around sports.” He turned to me and then started walking backward down the bridge, facing me. I could feel my cheeks flush, and it wasn’t from the sun that was now shining on me as we exited the canopy.

“So, what did you do for fun in Joburg?” he asked. “I assume it wasn’t going to parties to celebrate me single-handedly winning the water polo championship.” He smiled jokingly.

I smiled back. “No.”

“So, what?”

“Hang with my friends. Go to art galleries and concerts. There was this cool jazz club we used to hang out in, Maggie’s. Go to the ballet sometimes. Vintage clothing shopping, or shopping for vinyls at this really gross charity store that always had rats, but you could buy the coolest stuff there. Listening to music.”

“Basically, nothing like your life here.”

“Nope.”

“What music do you listen to—wait, no, let me guess—it’s probably some weird, cool band that someone like me has never heard about?”

I laughed at this. “Someone like you?”

“Yeah. You and your arty Joburg scene is just waaaay too cool for us simple jocks down at BWH, right?” He was definitely teasing me now. It was strange and exhilarating, all at the same time. And I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Probably,” I teased back.

“So, what do you listen to?”

“Have you heard of Grimes?”

“Who what what?” he asked with an amused smile.

I laughed.

“Tell me about her or him, or they.” He seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. Which was strange.