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Apparently playing investigator with me had been fun when we were kids—figuring out which teachers were secretly dating, or helping get the word out about a lost dog—but when I wrote in our school paper about football players stealing concessions money after games or a tradition of test-sharing among certain honors students, it was "embarrassing" and "over-the-top." I found myself being invited out less and less as the years wore on, until graduation rolled around and no one was calling at all.

"Can Madison borrow your cape?" Dara asks now, hanging on the doorframe.

From their room, Madison calls, "I don't need it, Wyn! It's really okay!"

"Yeah, no problem. What for?" I go to my closet, pushing aside my clothes to pull out the cape my parents slipped into my luggage. It's part of a replica of Éowyn's funeral gown, a graduation gift from my parents.

Madison appears in the doorway on the other side of the bathroom. From my closet, I have a view straight across to their room—or more specifically, Madison's closet, which is all pastels. I once overheard Ellie telling one of her friends that Madison is a priss, which is rude but also kind of accurate.

Madison tugs at her long ponytail, which is shampoo-commercial shiny. "Don't worry about it. I don't think—"

"At least try it." Dara takes the cape from me and crosses the bathroom to Madison. She glances back at me and shrugs. "It's for this new routine she's doing for glee club."

I follow them into their room, which is miles cozier than mine and Ellie's. It helps that they have a very similar style. Everything is feminine and floral, with flower-print sheets and a cohesive color palette. They planned it before they came to school—something I wish Ellie and I had done, even though Ellie clearly has no interest in decorating, and I could never afford to make my side of the room look like a Pottery Barn catalog. My decor options were whatever was cheapest at Target, and even that in limited quantity.

Which is fine. I don't need a flower-shaped desk lamp like Madison, or Dara's watercolor tapestry. Or their fluffy, flower-print area rug. Or the little butterfly lights hanging over their window. Or&

I should stop. Jealousy is like a pulled thread—it'll unravel me quickly.

Next to her bed, Madison holds my cape like it might bite her. When she sees I've followed, she flushes and quickly pulls it on.

I see the problem right away, and judging from her face, Madison knew it first. We might be close in height, but where I'm firmly plus-size, Madison is the only person I've ever met in real life who wears an extra-extra-small.

My cape dwarfs her.

"Sorry," she says, taking it off again. "For what?" I ask.

Madison sucks in a breath, stops, then looks to Dara for help.

Dara shrugs, holding out a hand for the cape. "Sorry for& wasting your time?" She glances at Madison, who frowns.

"Sorry for& being thin?" I ask, forcing out a small laugh to show I'm joking. Madison's light skin colors red. She splutters, but nothing coherent comes out. "I'm kidding." I take the cape from Dara. Madison won't even come near me.

Sometimes I wonder if she thinks fat is catching. It's something I've dealt with many times. I had plenty of friends in high school who were uncomfortable at the mention of my weight. They were happy to lament their own—'I look so bloated' and 'I had to wear my fat pants today' and 'I'm not eating fast food until after prom'—but never wanted to admit, to me or to themselves, that the truth of those statements was that a body like mine was their nightmare. That I never lamented with them must have felt like a blessing, so they didn't have to acknowledge the way I looked at all. But for me, it wasn't about making them comfortable. It was because I've always taken my relationship with my body seriously, and wishing it were different—or worse, insulting it outright—felt like a betrayal.

I can be uncomfortable sometimes, and I can dislike how I look occasionally, but I can't go through life hating my body. It's the only one I get. I'd rather work to love the way it looks than work to change the way it looks, which is often fruitless effort anyway.

And I know that bothers people sometimes, that I refuse to treat my body like a worst-case scenario. That I deign to care for it, and love it, even if I'm not always the most confident in it. Even if I have to sometimes be realistic about how others see me because of it.

"Well, good luck. I'm going to bed." I head back to my room, shutting the bathroom door behind me. Ellie is at our vanity sink now, brushing her teeth.