Curvy Girls Can’t Date Best Friends by Kelsie Stelting

Five

Fourteen Years Old

Callie

The back of my neck felt itchy and bumpy when I woke up, and I went to the bathroom to see if I’d been bit or something. I pulled my hair away from my skin and angled my head until I had a clear view of the irritant. A red, splotchy, scaly patch of skin about the size of my fist spread from my hairline to the spot behind my ear.

My eyes widened. What was that? I’d never had a rash like that before...

“Mom!” I yelled down the stairs. It was a weekend morning, and I could already smell the fudge she had cooking. She’d gotten super into making different types of fudge these last few weeks, and it did nothing good for my sweet tooth or the weight that was beginning to appear on my hips and midsection.

“What, honey?” she called up the stairs.

“Can you come look at this?”

As I heard her footsteps come near, I continued examining the spot. It didn’t look like just dry skin, but maybe some lotion would help?

“What’s up?” she asked, stepping into the bathroom.

I turned to show her the patch of irritated skin. “I don’t know what this is. You don’t think it’s eczema, do you?”

She took my shoulders and gently turned me to get a better view. “I don’t think so. Does it itch?”

I nodded. “It’s painful.”

“Let’s get some hydrocortisone on it and I’ll take you to urgent care to get it checked out before your tournament.”

I nodded, even though that was the last thing I needed. I had wanted to spend the day resting and preparing myself for the first basketball game of the year. This would be my last season before high school. But I could center myself on the drive as long as we figured out what this was.

I pulled the mirror back on the medicine cabinet and found the small green and white tube labeled hydrocortisone. The white lotion felt thin on my fingers, and I spread it over my neck, hoping for some relief. None really came. Hopefully the doctor could figure it out today.

As I got my bag ready for the game, I found a big headband to cover the spot, and then Mom and I left for the doctor. Dad and Joe would be coming later to watch me play.

At urgent care, Mom and I had to sit with all the other people coughing and emptying their sinuses into twice-used Kleenexes. They couldn’t call us back soon enough.

When they finally did, I was antsy and ready to figure out what it was so I could get back to thinking about the game. But the PA took his sweet time looking at the spot, and finally he said, “It looks like psoriasis to me. For now, keep hydrocortisone on it and schedule an appointment with your primary care doctor as soon as possible.”

Mom thanked him, but my eyebrows drew together. That was it? It seemed like such a lazy thing to do—just shove it off on another doctor while I had a scaly, painful patch of skin on my neck.

On the way to the game, Mom tried to soothe me, but I just kept looking up psoriasis on my phone. It sounded awful. The page I was reading said it could spread down from my scalp, cover my neck and even my arms, and lead to other worse autoimmune issues like debilitating arthritis.

I tried to keep my mind off of it during the game, but it was hard to focus. I missed shots I shouldn’t have, made careless mistakes with my passes, and it made my teammates mad.

“Get your head in the game!” Merritt yelled at me as we ran down the court.

I kept my eyes on the hardwood and continued ahead.

Carson tried to comfort me after the game, but I wasn’t okay. I just wanted this to be over—for the growing patch of itchy skin to go away. But when I woke up the next morning, it had spread, reaching to the base of my neck. Even my knees and elbows felt uncomfortable.

I slathered lotion over it all, and Mom promised to take me to the doctor on Monday—she said we could show up at eight and wait in the lobby until they let us in. I was so embarrassed about the spot, I dodged Carson on Sunday—I couldn’t see him like this until I at least knew what it was for sure.

Monday morning, the itchy spots on my knees and elbows looked even worse. As promised, she called RWE Medical and convinced them to squeeze me in first thing in the morning.

Besides us, there was another girl from my class at the Academy in the waiting room—Rory, I think her name was—but I kept my eyes down while our moms made small talk. I didn’t feel like talking. I just wanted to figure it out.

A girl named Chloe led us back to an open room, and Dr. Edmonson came inside. “Callie, I hear you’re having some issue with rashes.”

I nodded and extended my arms to show him the fiery red spots on my elbows. He extended his hands and held my arm to examine it better.

“We went to urgent care,” Mom said, “and they seemed to think it’s psoriasis. It’s not contagious, is it?”

“I agree,” he said, going to the cabinet and removing tools from a drawer.

“What does that mean?” Mom asked. “We don’t have anyone in our family with psoriasis.”

He finished putting the tools on a tray and then leaned against the cabinet, folding his arms over his chest. “Basically, psoriasis means your skin cells are shedding faster than other people’s. It’s not something that goes away, but there are treatments to help manage it.” He frowned. “I’ll be honest with you. This looks like it’s in the early stages, but it could get worse. It could stay the same and respond to treatment, but I want you to be prepared.”

Mom nodded, while my mind went blank.

Worse? Worse than this constant discomfort and the unsightly sores?

“I want to send a biopsy to the lab to see for sure what type we’re doing with,” Dr. Edmonson said. “Until then, I’m prescribing a strong topical steroid cream. Call me back if you don’t feel it making a difference within three days.”

He said it so matter of factly, like he wasn’t diagnosing me with an incurable autoimmune disease at fourteen years old. Didn’t he know I was an athlete? That I ran around in tank tops and shorts and there was no way to hide this?

The biopsy was painful, but it didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as my worries about what life would look like with skin like this.

Mom was quiet on the way out, and I said, “Mom, what am I going to do? The girls on the team are going to think I’m contagious.”

“They’re good girls,” she said. “They’ll understand.”

I looked out the window, hoping she was right but knowing deep in my gut that she was wrong.

At school, I kept my blazer on all day to make extra sure my elbows were covered up and kept my hair down over my neck. Carson asked me how the doctor’s appointment went, but I only shrugged. It was embarrassing, knowing there was something wrong with me. What had I done to deserve the constant torment of these rashes? Hadn’t I always been a good person? I’d always tried to help others when I could—did the chores Mom asked of me, never cheated on an assignment even when presented with the opportunity.

But here I was, dressing in my practice gear with big red splotches on my neck, arms, and knees.

Merritt’s gym locker was next to mine, and she did a doubletake. “What happened to you?”

Poppy laughed next to her. “It almost looks like you’re a burn victim.” She sobered. “Did your house, like, burn down, Callie?”

I narrowed my eyes and shut my locker. “No, my house didn’t burn down. I have psoriasis. And it’s not contagious.”

“Good,” Tinsley said, “because I don’t want to catch crocodile.”

Merritt snorted. “Good one.”

My eyebrows drew together. Seriously? Merritt wasn’t my best friend or anything, but she’d never been this outright rude to me.

“Sorry,” she said, “but my brother’s a movie star now. I can’t have The Thing ruining my image.”

She walked away, but I stared after her, my mouth open. Tears were already in my eyes, and the last thing I felt like doing was going to practice. The few girls left in the locker room gave me sympathetic looks as they walked out, but that was it.

I tried to breathe deep against the pain spreading in my chest, but my scalp just itched, my knees itched, my elbows too. I shook my head and wiped at my eyes. I had practice to get to.

With Coach around, the girls were better. They kept their distance and only said mean words when she couldn’t hear. But the game was worse.

On Thursday, I suited up in my blue and white uniform and looked in the mirror. My skin was bright red, and even though some of the flaking had gone down, Dr. Edmonson was right. It was worse. It hurt, and it was unsightly.

I threw myself into the game, playing harder than I ever had. I stole the ball from another girl and went down the court as fast as I could before sinking a three-pointer.

The crowd burst into cheers, and I grinned at the numbers being added to my team’s side of the scoreboard. That was, until I heard what they were chanting.

“THE THING. THE THING. THE THING.”

Merritt jogged by me and slapped my back. “Nice move, Thing.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I was frozen, right there on the hardwood floor. The ref was saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear it. My vision was starting to look like I was seeing through a tunnel. Everyone sounded so far away.

A strong arm wrapped around my shoulders and began hauling me off the court. I heard Carson’s voice saying, “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

CARSON

I hung out in Callie’s room before the first swim meet of the season. Her parents had offered to drive me to the Brentwood pool where I’d be competing.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be on the swim team?” I asked her, tossing a tennis ball against the wall and letting it bounce back to me.

She gave me a look from her desk, where she was rubbing cream onto her elbows for her psoriasis.

“Seriously,” I said. “They make full-body swimsuits, and I’m sure if you said you had a medical reason, you’d be able to wear one. And don’t they say sunlight is good for people with psoriasis?”

She shook her head and capped her lotion. “Even if it wasn’t too late, I just don’t want to. Can you imagine all the jokes I’d get for having scaly skin and being in the water?”

The thought distracted me so much, I missed my tennis ball and had to go grab it under her bed. When I lifted her dust ruffle, I caught sight of a pair of skimpy underwear, and my stomach did a somersault.

Callie wore thongs?

I tried to clear my mind and redirect my blood flow before scooting out from under her bed. When I had, I resumed my drum of the tennis ball against the wall. Finally, I said, “Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Why do you care if they make fun of you?”

She stood and went to the laundry basket on her bed, sorting and folding the clothes. My mind wondered if there were more thongs in there, but I quickly shut down that thought. She shook her head and let out a sigh. “I know you don’t understand because you’re popular and athletic and have perfect skin, but trust me, it’s not worth it.”

“But you loved basketball,” I argued. “Don’t you miss competing?”

“Not really,” she said, setting down a neatly folded shirt. “You know what I miss?”

I held on to the ball, waiting for her answer.

“I miss not worrying what people thought of me. Not feeling like people were staring at me everywhere I go, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, but my heart hurt for her. Callie was so pretty. She had this long blond hair that was softer than silk and big blue eyes as deep and beautiful as the ocean on a sunny day. Her smile was enough to take my breath away. Not to mention the way her body had been changing—adding curves in the best possible places.

I’d been in love with her before, but seeing her like this—a woman, a goddess, was making it hard to keep my mind in the right place. But if it was so hard for me to keep my thoughts off how stunning she was, why couldn’t she see it for herself?

It was like my sister Sierra who dated losers even worse than the ones Clary used to. Didn’t she know she deserved better? Or Gemma, who dyed her hair black and cut it in layers so half her face was covered. I missed seeing her. I miss the Gemma who wanted to be seen.

I hated that people did this to girls. I’d do anything to make them see how beautiful they were. It made them hide the light inside themselves.

“What’s your new thing going to be, though?” I asked Callie. “You were always running around to games and stuff, but now you don’t have that. What’s the...game plan?”

She rolled her eyes. “That was a bad joke.”

“You’re still smiling,” I said, tossing the ball against the wall.

“I’m not like you,” she said. “You’ve always had a plan, known what you’ve wanted. What if I just want to help people?”

I mentally added that to the list of things I loved about Callie. She had the biggest heart of anyone I knew. There was no meanness or hate in her. Not even for the people who had crushed her love for sports and made her afraid to be seen.

“What about dating?” I asked, dipping my toes into the metaphorical water. “Your boyfriend’s going to know you have bumpy skin.” Especially if it’s me.

“No way I’m dating,” she said, pointing at her bare arm and the white flaky skin there. “This doesn’t exactly say datable.”

“Come on,” I said, gutted for her and myself. “You can’t just stop living your life.”

“Really?” she argued. “Who’s going to want to date this?”

“I would,” I breathed. “I do.” It was my heart, out there on my sleeve. I was telling her I loved her, open to the possibilities. And yeah, maybe I hadn’t planned it this way, but what in my life had gone as planned? I hadn’t wanted to move here, but look where it brought me. Right next door to Callie Copeland, the most beautiful girl in the world, inside and out.

“Of course you would,” Callie said. “You have the best heart. But I don’t exactly see anyone else like you hanging around.”

Ouch. She hadn’t even considered what I was saying. Considered me. “I seriously would,” I said, trying to make my point clear.

She smiled at me and rolled her eyes. “We all know Carson is the sweetest guy ever and follows all of my dad’s chivalry rules. Now if he could just train someone else for me.”

“Kids!” Mom called up the stairs.

“Coming,” Callie yelled back, grabbing a thin sweater from her chair.

As I watched her cover up all that embarrassed her, my heart sank. I’d put myself out there, told her I would date her, and nothing. Maybe it was better to stay in the friend zone. Better to stay where I belonged.