Big Fat Manifesto by Susan Vaught

neat custom-sewn blue jumpsuit, jeweled belt, and
     silky blue face-turban thingee out of the deal.
    "I offered to help him." I wrap the turban thingee around my cheeks and chin, realize I'm sweating, and hope I don't stink.
     "And I tossed the chocolate bars I brought him in the trash. What do you want from me?"
    "Oh, I don't know." Freddie folds her purple-draped arms and taps her flip-flops on the field house's stone floor. "How about
     a hug? Some warmth? Some looo-oove?"
    NoNo, who is dressed in a green costume that reminds me of that old I Dream of Jeannie television show, only faded-looking green like all her stuff, nods. The tassel on her blah green hat flips forward. "You need
     to tell Burke what you feel, everything you feel, so you don't have any regrets if something bad happens."
    Freddie and I stop glowering at each other and laser-eye NoNo instead. "Don't talk like he's going to die," I say, but Freddie's
     louder with, "Shut up, you morbid bitch!"
    NoNo reacts with a twitch in her right eye. "Prepare for the worst, and be grateful when it doesn't happen."
    Freddie's next comment isn't even printable.
    Both of NoNo's eyes twitch. "Is what she said even possible?" she asks in a mousy voice.
    Every conceivable social group has stopped chattering and dressing, and all the senior girls in the field house now stare
     at us.
    I push my way between Freddie and NoNo and strike a pose. "If you want a picture, assholes, that'll be twenty dollars for
     a package of two eight-by-tens."
    Four hands shove me forward before I get any louder, just in case one of the teacher-chaperones happens to be within earshot.
     Geeks, brains, jocks, freaks, and everybody else scatters before the might of Fat Girl and her entourage.
    All the way through the "Sultan and Sultana" and "Rah-Rah" shoots, I try to figure out how to be huggy, warm, loving, tell
     Burke all my feelings, prepare for the worst, and hope the worst doesn't happen.
    The whole thing makes me want to spit orange-juice-donut burps all over the football field.
    Right about the time Burke plants an illegal kiss on me even though I'm wearing his last-year's football uniform and hitting
     him with his own football helmet (you didn't seriously think I'd dress like a cheerleader, did you?), I decide being normal
     is probably the best bet. Normal, with a healthy dose of it's not happening, it's not happening thrown in. As long as I don't let Burke or Freddie or NoNo hear me, I can say it's not happening as many times as I want, damn it, and hope God decides it's a prayer and that, for once, my prayers might be worth answering.
    During the "Wild West Shootout" photos, a couple of news vans pull into the drive that leads to the football field. Two of
     the three local stations usually run our Senior Shoot as a humor/human-interest sort of piece. Nothing new or unusual, except
     there are more cameras than I remember from last year, when we had to play hosts to the seniors. Looks like at least one of
     the big-wig reporters has come, too, instead of the pathetic newbies that usually show up for something like this.
    During the serious class photos, a van from the third news station pulls into the drive.
    "Man, we're popular," Freddie mutters just before we split up for group and individual photos. The teacher-chaperones float
     around the edges of the field sucking on tea and lemonade, and still eating leftover donuts off and on. They don't seem concerned
     about the news vans.
    It's getting hot, but the breeze smells like fall and cold air and brown leaves coming soon. I try to keep my focus there
     instead of on Burke or the hovering news crews, which, oddly, are not approaching any of the kids already done with group
     and individual shots. Drama photos go fast, since we're all natural hams who so know how to pose. lournalism, however, isn't
     so smooth. Heath and I are the only seniors, and he's about as camera-comfy as a plastic doll with a stick up its butt.
    "Loosen up,