Lamia, Jenna: You find out what these unspoken rules are when you break them and suffer the consequences.

Fat Girl Rules I learned at five: No cannonballs. No splashing. No making waves.

You don't deserve to be seen or heard, to take up room, to be noticed. Make yourself small.

What, Why, Who, How, When

The first Fat Girl Rule you learn hurts the most, a startling, scorpion-stinging soul slap. Something's changed, but you don't know what. You replay the moment in your mind from every possible angle, trying to understand why. Why the rules exist and who. Who came up with them and how. How does anyone have the right to tell you how to live just because of your weight?

Mostly, you remember the smack of the change. One minute you were like everybody else, playing around, enjoying life, and then, with the flip of an unseen cosmic switch, you're the fat girl, stumbling, trying to regain your balance. Acting as if you know what you're doing, like when you used to play dress-up and tried to walk in high-heeled shoes.

The Gift

Every time I see a pudgy preschooler, I want to hand her my list, like the answer sheet for a test, to spare her the pain of learning the rules firsthand. But instead, I give each girl the gift of more days, weeks, and months of a normal life. Whatever that is.

Bellies Dancing

Viv's mom caught her dad with another woman and said Texas wasn't big enough for the three of them. So now my best friend has to move to Indiana.

In my backyard, we livestream the Latin Music Festival on an outdoor screen as part of her going-away party. Viv starts belly dancing like she learned in a class at the Dallas Public Library, where her mom's a librarian. I follow her lead and our arms morph into snakes as our hips figure-eight.

My dog, Gigi, a pug, runs circles around us as we sing at the top of our lungs along with the bands and dance with complete abandon, like you do when you're alone in your room trying out some new moves or making up some of your own. Except it turns out we're not alone.

The New Neighbor

Mid-twirl, I open my eyes to see a girl's head pop up over the fence, then disappear and reappear. This trampoline girl saw me shake parts of me I didn't even know I had.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I stop dancing so fast I about give myself whiplash. I see her head again.

"I heard Días Divertidos." She says it so quickly it's like one word. She disappears and reappears. "Couldn't help myself."

In a flash, she climbs over the fence and lands in front of me. "I'm Catalina Rodriguez."

A Poet and a Musician.

Catalina points to the concert on the screen. "Wow! So you like Días Divertidos, too? I have all of their songs on my playlist."

"Me too," I say.

"Who else do you listen to?"

"Don't get Ellie started." Viv rolls her eyes. If eye-rolling were an Olympic sport, she'd be a gold medalist.

"I'm a poet, so I love music because lyrics are sung poems," I say. "Rap and country are my faves."

"I'm a guitarist," Catalina says. "I like all music but love Latin."

She chooses her words carefully, like me. But she's not like me.