Eunice Pound

"I don't suppose you have any other sizes?"

The implication stung Eunice sharper than if her mother had been less delicate – or more honest about it. She looked down at where the leotard cut across her floppy breast, which was forced outwards the armpits. Her bra strap half-buried itself into her shoulder, which was red on either side. She hummed a flat note over her mother's whispers. They both knew this was the biggest size in the store. She should have known her mother wouldn't let her buy something online.

"It's too much of a gamble," Mrs Pound chirped, breezing along in immaculate sneakers, pretending not to notice the confused glances of passers-by. "Besides, it'll be fun! A nice little girl's day out, you and me. You could even come to yoga with me and the girls beforehand."

There were probably things worse than yoga with the girls – the "girls" being her mother's forty-something friends whose hobbies included talking about liposuction and grabbing their single inch of belly fat despairingly between pitying glances at Eunice. Mrs Wiles, who worked at Chubby Cherub's Camp, liked to brag that she could fit into her daughter's cheerleading costume.

She hadn't initially told her mother that she was dancing in the Christmas festival. It had been a recent obsession after Miss Peters showed them a version of Swan Lake as a treat. Everyone else had gossiped or fallen asleep; Eunice sat spellbound. She couldn't go on pointe or dance with fluid, elegant arms, but something about stomping the moves out in her room put a smile on her face. The closest thing she could think of was her make outs with Jimmy. As she spun, she felt as flimsy as a ribbon, as if she could hop onto the next gust of wind and have some beautiful adventure. Sometimes she even noticed a muscle nudging through her calf fat. Did it count as exercise if it was fun? Her mother seemed to think so.

"It'll be so good for you, honey! I'll take you running out with me to build your leg muscles up for it. It'll be so much easier to dance as you lose more weight," she said, sucking her kale smoothie at the fro-yo place she'd taken Eunice to before the leotard incident. "You know, if you really stick to it, you might not even have to go to camp next year. Maybe you could stay at home and just do dance lessons instead?"

Why did she always say these things when Eunice had cake in her mouth? Eunice had tried at the camp – really, she did. She even did well at some of it, too. She liked pumpkin without syrup, and even eggplant turned out not to be terrible every way. Her mother waited in the car with such expectancy hidden behind her sunglasses and had even let Eunice pick the CDs on the three-hour drive home. Eunice had practically squealed to her mother about the fifteen pounds she lost.

"Oh, fifteen is a very good *start*," her mother said, her eyes swerving away as she heard her own tone. "Oh – this is a nice song! Who's it by? Oh, look, an sundae place… well, one sundae won't hurt."

That night, Eunice heard her mother calling Mrs Wiles for "any other camp projects – something high-intensity, maybe with a pool? She's a strong swimmer, you wouldn't think it from looking at her." She gained three pounds back by the end of that week, much to her mother's headshaking.

She hung back after the Thursday lesson, feeling a knot in her stomach as though she'd ate that awful leotard. Miss Peters was humming to herself at the desk, her rainbow tunic billowed over her round stomach. A chocolate doughnut waited in a bag on her desk.

"Hey, Miss?"

"Hello Eunice! The sugar plum fairy. Oh, you'll be perfect, I can taste it!" she smiled, glancing at the bagged treat on her desk.

"Well, um, I can't do it."

"What? Whyever not? It's going to be wonderful, and I can't do it without you!"

Eunice mumbled her reply.

"Sorry, what dear?"

"I can't fit in the costume," she mumbled. "I went to the store over the weekend and I tried the biggest size and - ," her voice hitched, her mother's comments about control pants and gussets and how maybe she could just try this new diet for a week or two before brimming behind her eyes. "I'm too fat." She felt hot all over. She looked down at her shoes, wishing she could disappear into them.

She heard Miss Peters speak through a mouthful of doughnut.

"Is that it?"

"Um, Miss?"

"I heard you. I'll just hand sew it and leave some hem in, what size are you normally?"

"Uh… It kind of depends."

"Come here, put your arms up." Eunice felt the teacher's arms whip round her waist and back; the woman looked at the yellow tape between her fingers. "OK, I have enough fabric for that. You okay with a corset back? No? OK, I'll just put a Christmas inch in."

"What's that?"

"Extra fabric so it still fits after Christmas dinner. You know there's rehearsals Thursday night, don't you?"

It happened too quick for Eunice to refuse. She felt herself floating to the music in practice, left lightheaded with it each time. Closing her eyes, remembering the steps, she felt as graceful as a snowflake.

The huge stage light looked upon her, blinding her to the audience. She heard her mother whisper – of course she'd have brought that stupid camera with her. The music pinged and leapt. She danced with wobbly steps. Her hair clouded her eyes. Her armed ached from reaching. Her legs ached from spinning. Her cheeks ached from smiling. Her ears ached from applause.

She didn't look at the tape - didn't want to, even hid it at the back of the library. She'd had plenty of moments where she felt pretty ruined by her mother's camera and crappy photoshop – "just to get rid of my double-chin, dear". She looked at herself once more in the mirror, in her plum fairy costume. She wasn't thin. She wasn't ugly, either though. The silver eyeliner glittered on her cheeks (sugar freckles over her own). The tulle fell around her like the petals of a flower, shielding the stomach her mother felt a point of talking about. Her hair in its unflattering bob was ruffled by activity. She was smiling, for herself alone, and she remembered that her teeth were straight and white. If she got as skinny as Mandy or even her mother, she'd never feel as beautiful as she did now. Wriggling into her pyjamas, she remembered her mother's promise of dance lessons. She realised her waistband, though snug, was not straining as it sometimes did. Imagine dance lessons instead of that stupid camp! The idea whirled in her head like a pleasant breeze.

Under the warm covers, she listened for the door slicking shut behind her mother. She crept into the bathroom and stood on the scales.