My fatdar should be sounding the alarm.

Why isn’t it?

THE THING ABOUT FATDAR

Fatdar is a lot like

Spider-Man’s Spidey sense,

a sixth sense.

Somehow we just know when

someone’s about to say

something hurtful or

do something mean.

Even in a crowd,

I can spot a fatphobe,

someone who’s grossed out

by overweight people.

Fatphobes give off this vibe.

Part discomfort.

Part shock.

Part fear.

Part anger.

And all hatred.

SHADOWS

“‘Baila conmigo’!”

Catalina shouts as the next song starts

and she dances with us.

“Teach me that one move, Ellie,” she says.

“Which one?”

“The one where you were

kinda kicking your leg

while you spun.”

When I dance

knowing Catalina’s watching,

I feel every pound of my legs,

see my fat shake,

and notice how round

my shadow on the grass is

next to her angles,

so I stop.

Fat Girl Rule:

Move slowly so

your fat doesn’t jiggle,

drawing attention to your body.

But that uncomfortable-in-my-own-skin feeling

fades as the music blares

and Catalina squeal-screams,

going all bananas with us,

during the tribute to Selena.

If dance partners were food,

Catalina and I would be

peanut butter and jelly.

Cookies and milk.

Chips and salsa.

We’re different, but

make a perfect combo,

heads, hips, and hands

moving in sync.

Right on cue as the sun sets,

the katydids start their singing,

fast and furious since

their tempo’s based on heat

or maybe Selena’s bidi-bidi-bom-bom beat.

“Catalina, dale las buenas noches

y ven a casa,” a woman’s voice calls out.

“Gotta go,” Catalina tells us.

“Thanks for letting me crash your party.”

She climbs back over the fence,

then trampolines.

“Can’twaittocomeoveragain.”

LIKE PICASSO

Some people have mood rings.

Viv has mood hair.

You can always tell how she’s feeling

based on her hair color.

Since she has to move,

she’s like Picasso

—in a blue period.

Her bottom lip juts out

as she pouts,

and when she huffs,

her stick-straight blond bangs

with blueberry tips

stand straight up for a second.

“What’s wrong?”

I ask when we float in the pool,

cooling off after the concert.

“Today was our last day together

until who knows when

and not only did I have to share you,

but I also had to watch while

you made a new friend.”

New friend?

Catalina?

Is she?

SAYING GOODBYE

The stars at night

might be big and bright

deep in the heart of Texas,

but not where we live,

thanks to light pollution.

“Sirius.”

I point to the brightest star, the only visible one.

“Leave it to you to know the dog star.”

“Notice there are no cat stars.”

“Maybe not in the Milky Way,” Viv says,

“but I’m sure there’s a galaxy

—more evolved than ours—

where cats rule.

They’ll invade our planet

and make all pugs prisoners.

Admit you’ll miss Oreo.”

She splashes me with each syllable.