Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online Page B

for letting Emily come.”
    Mom nods again, then steps back, waving as we hand our boarding passes and IDs to the woman at the gate. “Have fun!” she calls out.
    And it turns out that we do have fun. First of all, we put on our sunglasses as we wait at our gate for our flight, pretending that we’re famous models—like we don’t want anyone to recognize us. Of course, this is ruined when we don’t get to sit in first class.
    “Someday, I’ll be sitting there,” Leah whispers as we move through the section. I notice that she moves more quickly, more gracefully, while I sort of struggle not to bash people with my bulging carry-on bag, not to mention my hips.
    We finally get our stuff stowed in the overheads and get settled into our seats. Of course, I can’t help but notice how Leah must tighten her seatbelt to make it fit her narrow hips. I, on the other hand, have to loosen mine. I also notice that I completely fill the seat. I can’t imagine how people who are heavier than me would manage to fit into these tiny seats.
    That’s when I see a very obese woman slowly moving our way. I notice how other people are watching her, looking at her with a variety of expressions, everything from disgust to fear (like they’re worried she’s going to sit next to them), and even pity. The woman eventually sits down across the aisle from us, but she has to push up the armrest and then fills up two seats. The flight attendant, who looks irritated, hands her a seatbelt extension. I glance away, embarrassed for this poor woman. But at the same time I’m thinking that could be me someday—if I don’t watch out. Then, as I compare myself to her, I start thinking that I look pretty good. I lean back into my seat and smile to myself. Yeah, life could be worse. A whole lot worse.
    And after we get to Chicago and check into the huge hotel where the two-week modeling school will take place, life does get worse. Infinitely worse.
    It seems that all the girls signed up for AFI are (1) very pretty,(2) very thin, and (3) very stuck up. And it’s clear that I do not fit in.
    “I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper to Leah as we wait in the registration area. “I don’t belong here.”
    She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it, Emily. You’ll be fine.”
    “Everyone is skinny,” I tell her.
    “Not everyone,” Leah assures me as she discreetly nods toward an area where several more “average” type girls are hanging on the edges, as if they, like me, aren’t comfortable with this crowd. The problem is that, unlike me, they’re not overweight. Okay, they’re not skinny either. But I would much rather be their size than mine. I feel like crying, or running, or maybe jumping out a window.
    I’m not even sure how I make it through that first day. I can tell people are looking at me, just like that obese woman in the plane. Some are disgusted, some feel sorry for me, and others just can’t figure out why I’m here. Neither can I. But, I tell myself, I’m doing it for Leah. I even convince myself that it’s a spiritual sacrifice, like “laying down your life for a friend.” Jesus said there was no greater gift to give. I just hope that Leah appreciates it. I also hope she knows that she owes me one now. Make that ten or twenty. She owes me big-time for this.
    I try not to complain too much. I realize that I could totally ruin this time for Leah and, after all, it’s her aunt who’s paying for these two weeks of torture. So I pray a lot, at least to begin with. I continually ask God to strengthen me. And I believe that he does. I also pretend like this is just a big lesson in humility and that I will be a bigger person (hopefully not physically) afterward. I try to embrace a good sense of humor—mostly making fun of and laughing at myself, which I am getting rather good at. I don’t hide the fact that the only reason I came was so Leah would get to come. And Ithink some people actually respect this and don’t expect