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you are.”
    Exactly .
    When she finally let me go, she ushered me to the kitchen table, where we both sat and she read the letter herself. Her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m so proud of you, Celeste.”
    My heart dropped. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I couldn’t stand the humiliation of being a HuskyPeach. How did this day get worse?
    “Mom, really, I didn’t do this. Honest. I didn’t want to be part of this. I still don’t.” Being a fat model would just be a new and different way to be tormented at school. But Mom didn’t seem to care. The way she was acting, it was like I was a real modeling contestant.
    Mom’s eyes turned cloudy and she gave her head a tight shake. “Celeste, what do you mean? Look at this.” She gestured at the itinerary and plans. “A fashion show, a photo shoot, and a chance to walk the runway. This is so exciting!”
    “I don’t want to do that stuff, Mom.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be a fat model. This wasn’t my plan.” My eyes filled with tears for what felt like the millionth time that day.
    “Honey, then why’d you enter?” she said, covering my hand with her own. “You’re a beautiful girl, no matter what your size. You know that’s what your father and I think. You should be proud of this. Not everyone gets this type of opportunity. You will shine.”
    Yeah, well not everyone wants to be a chubby teen model, I thought. I wiped my eyes and sniffled. “I didn’t enter. And I don’t feel pretty.”
    “You need to think about this. You’ll see, once you get used to the idea you’ll be so excited.” Mom moved from the table. She wasn’t hearing me at all. “Dad will be thrilled for you. We’ll wait and tell him when he gets home.”
    “Mom, I don’t know,” I said, imagining the horror of parading across a stage in front of strangers in a Chunky Chick Contest. The picture was terrible. “Mom, I don’t think—” I began, but the ringing phone cut me off. Ignoring my earlier Explosive Yurking, I escaped to the pantry to grab some cookies and force the unpleasant images from my head while Mom reached for the receiver.
    “Doreen! You’ll never guess what exciting news Celeste received today.” She stopped me on my way back and nudged me into a chair.
    I cringed and stared at the tabletop. Here goes. Mom told her about the envelope, and then there was a long pause. I split a cookie and nibbled at the sugary filling.
    “Wha—you what?” I raised my eyes at the surprised tone in her voice. Mom’s eyes danced back and forth between the envelope and me: up, down. Up, down. A short laugh, like a bark, escaped her lips. I put my cookie down. Through the receiver, I could hear Aunt Doreen’s high-pitched voice staccatoing through the conversation.
    Mom’s eyes bounced back to me. She covered the receiver with a hand. Her, she mouthed.
    Huh? I mimicked Mom’s Questioning Eyebrows from earlier.
    She did it, with a gesture toward the receiver. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she said out loud.
    Of course! It hit me like Ben’s unlucky fly ball. Aunt Doreen was the one who submitted my picture. Aunt Doreen! Instead of responding I stuffed my mouth with a whole cookie.
    In the next few minutes, Mom and Aunt Doreen worked out exactly what I should wear for each section of the contest, discussed what would happen when I won, and how it would change my life and theirs. Through the whole thing, I sat at the kitchen table, the Prisoner of the One-Sided Conversation, working my way through a row of Oreos. I stacked the discarded tops and then licked away the sugary filling. Tops and bottoms were eaten last. Each time I tried to flee, Mom’s hand clamped over the receiver and she’d hiss, “Just wait . This is so exciting!” When I tried to stand, she actually snagged my elbow and pulled me down again. The worst was when she thrust the phone at me.
    “Hi, Aunt—” I never stood a chance of finishing.
    “I can’t believe