Skinny (11 page)

The same sweet sticky goo burned her throat as it had at Raven’s. Her eyes watered. Her hands shook as she struggled to peel the wrapper off a piece of gum and pop it in her mouth. After mopping her face with thin, rough toilet paper, she emerged from the stall, splashed cold water on her face, and dusted powder on her nose. Melissa tried to look inconspicuous, like every other girl primping in front of the mirror.

“Mello Yello,” Raven called from three mirrors down. “Great sweater!”

“Thanks.” Melissa smiled while popping her mascara wand back into its pink plastic bottle.

“I’m starving,” Raven said, hooking her arm into Melissa’s. “Let’s hurry so we can get in the front of the lunch line.”

Melissa chomped furiously on her gum, hoping Raven wouldn’t smell vomit on her breath. She listened to Raven rattle on about her crush on Jeremy and if she should send him a valentine, and if she did if she should send it anonymously.

They walked through the line. Crowded bodies pressed them, moving the two girls forward. Melissa ordered a cheeseburger and grabbed a banana, too. The smells of all the greasy foods swirled together and clung to the walls. Her stomach churned like a food processor blade. She already wanted to make another trip to the girls’ room but couldn’t with Raven standing beside her.

“Not hungry?” Gracie asked at their table as Melissa picked at her bun.

“No.” Melissa shook her head. “It’s Beau.” She could barely say his name without tears springing to her eyes.

“The jerk,” Gracie whispered, wrapping her arm over Melissa’s shoulders.

“Guys are just so like that!” Lindsey said between mouthfuls of chips.

Melissa felt like she was digging around in the bottom of a candy bag hoping to find at least one last M&M. Even a brown one would do. But when she searched inside of her, she felt nothing.

At practice Melissa still felt hollow as she tossed her canary yellow nylon gym bag on the bleachers. She stretched her legs, trying to override the anxiety from her brain with the pull in her muscles. Her mind flashed to Beau and her Chemistry test tomorrow and the inch of flab she had grabbed around her middle this morning.

“Don’t let Mr. New Orleans keep you down,” Lindsey said, dropping her blonde head to her thin legs to stretch beside Melissa.

“I’m okay, really,” Melissa said. “It’s just so confusing. Anyway, I’ve got you guys, right?” She forced a smile.

“Always and forever.” From her shiny lips, Lindsey blew a kiss.

Melissa wondered if that was true. Would her friends always be there for her?

Clap, clap, clap.

“Listen up, ladies, I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’m going to work your tails off today. Okay?” Todd batted his dark eyelashes.

Melissa and Lindsey moved into line with the other girls facing the back of the gym. The music started, and one by one the dance team members snapped into poses facing front. On the third set of eight, they all clapped their hands above their heads, shouted, “Go!” and ran to their next formation.

“Good!” Todd called. “So good, in fact, let’s see it again so that it’ll freeze in y’all’s pretty brains.”

The music blared again. Over and over the girls ran to their places and jerked their bodies to the beat. Sweat dripped down Melissa’s face. Electricity ran through her veins like the music pulsing from the speakers.

“And stomp, stomp!” shouted Todd.

The sound of stomping sneakers echoed through the gym.

“Turn, turn, and wig-gle.” Todd walked around the gym, observing the girls from all sides.

Silver flecks, like fairy dust, danced in front of Melissa’s eyes. She turned and slapped. The flecks followed her.

“And in and out and in and out.” Todd’s foot tapped the rhythm.

Melissa kicked, but she felt like she was spinning. The music lost its beat and sounded like a roar.

“And stag leeeeap!” Todd stretched out the word to fill the space in the music.

Melissa jumped and popped her hands, one up high and one to the side. The flecks took over until the silver swarmed into black.

Thud!

“Stacey, get the music!” Todd barked, trotting to the spot on the floor where Melissa had gone down.

Melissa heard Todd talking to her. She heard girls whispering.

“Is she okay?”

“What happened?”

“Did anybody see?”

Her eyelids pressed down as if they were taped shut. Melissa didn’t want to open them. It was so much easier to lie still. She didn’t want to face them—all the thin, bright-eyed dancers who were staring at her. She didn’t want to take her Chem test tomorrow or explain all of this to her parents or face Beau in class yet another day. If only she could keep her eyes closed.

“Melissa, girl.” Todd shook her gently. “Melissa, girl, time to get up.”

Melissa lay there, the cold, hard floor enveloping her body. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

“You won’t get away with that,” Todd scolded. She could smell his spicy deodorant activated by his sweat. He placed his warm hand behind her back and lifted her to sitting.

“I’m okay,” Melissa blurted, suddenly aware of her error. She realized how urgent it was for her to get up and dance. This was the second time she’d passed out at practice. Captains don’t pass out.

“Everyone take five, except you, Lindsey,” Todd called out. “Girls, get a drink, stretch those legs, rest up. I’m not done with you yet.”

Melissa smiled as she leaned to stand. Todd gently pushed her back to sitting.

“I don’t know what’s up, Mel. But you’ve fainted twice in two weeks. Skipping breakfast might have done it the first time, but there’s more to it. You’re one of my best dancers. I need you the rest of the season and the next couple of seasons too.” His face was only inches from hers, so she couldn’t dodge his stern gaze.

“I’m fine, really. I promise I’ll take it easy tonight after practice.” Melissa nodded.

“Practice is over for you, honey. And I can’t let you perform tomorrow night.”

A cold, clammy sweat oozed from Melissa’s pores, like garlic through a press. This couldn’t be happening! She scrunched her eyebrows and shook her head so vehemently her ponytail slapped her face.

“It’s not a punishment, Melissa. It’s just reality. You need to take care of you. You need to see a doctor. What if there’s something to all of this?” Todd turned to Lindsey. “Call her mom, Linds. You know the number?”

“Sure!” Lindsey trotted to her gym bag to retrieve her cell phone.

Todd stood and extended his hand. “Let me know what the doc says, and then we can put you back in.”

“What about Saturday morning?” Melissa croaked.

“See the doctor, then we’ll talk.” Todd squeezed her hand and motioned her toward the bleachers.

“Okay, girls. That’s more rest than you deserve. Now let’s see if you remember what we worked on.” Todd flicked on the music, and the team, minus Melissa, went to their places. Lindsey ran over to Melissa.

“Your mom’s on the way.” She gave Melissa a kiss on the cheek and ran to join the squad.

Melissa now felt like that empty M&M’S bag crumpled into the bottom of a stinky garbage can.

“A
re you okay, honey?” Instead of waiting in the car like usual, Mom came trotting to the side door of the church with her arms stretched out toward Melissa. Melissa flashed back to falling off the jungle gym on her first day at preschool and Mom running toward her. As much as Melissa wanted to turn into her mom’s arms and have her problems go away with a kiss and a Band-Aid, she was also embarrassed by Mom’s gushing emotion.

She fell down. She was fine. Period. Well, she wasn’t completely fine, but what was she going to say? Melissa climbed into the car.

“Lindsey said Todd wants you to see a doctor.” Mom bit her top lip but kept her gaze straight ahead, maneuvering out of the parking lot. “What’s going on, Mel? How long haven’t you been feeling well?”

Melissa wasn’t sure which was worse, riding home with Mom or being banished from practice by Todd. She didn’t have the words to explain to Mom
what
was going on. She didn’t know
how
long
it had been going on. Was it when Beau broke up with her? Was it before? Was it him or the eating or her grades? Was it captain tryouts or trying to act to her friends like none of it really mattered when all of it really did matter? It mattered a lot.

“It’s nothing, really. I just fell, whatever,” Melissa started to choke out, but instead of more words, sobs started from somewhere in her hollow stomach, racked her rib cage, and poured uncontrollably from her mouth and eyes.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Mom took Melissa’s hand in hers. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

Once home, Melissa bolted to her room, turned on her music, and buried herself in pillows. She cried and cried until she didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Glancing at the clock, she realized she was usually still in practice at this time. She definitely didn’t feel like studying. She wasn’t ready to face Mom. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready for that. She felt splotchy and smeary and achy all over. Her cheeks stung from the saltwater of her tears. Her eyes burned from her melted mascara.

She nibbled on her ring finger’s nail, stood up, and changed the music from melancholy Rickie Lee Jones to melodic Sting, then meandered into the bathroom. She moved slowly, as if someone had pushed the frame-by-frame button on a remote control. Melissa turned on the shower. All of the thoughts swirling around her head disappeared in the soothing heat. The beads of water washed away her overwhelming sadness, leaving her numb. She felt like a robot drying off and dressing in fleece sweats. Melissa plopped on her bed and looked at her clock again. She had no direction, no purpose.

Picking up a magazine and flipping through a few pages, her gaze went right through the words and pictures. She put the magazine back next to her Bible.

“Of course,” Melissa whispered. She picked up the heavy book. The smooth leather cover felt familiar and comforting in her hands. She flipped to the index and slid her finger up and down the topics until she found
food.
She turned to one of the passages.

At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, “Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.”

But Abraham replied, “Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.” (Luke 16:20-25)

Melissa hastily grabbed the pen with purple ink from her nightstand and wrote in her journal:

The rich man in Jesus’ story lives in eternal anguish after eating rich feasts, but the poor starving Lazarus, longing for even scraps, goes to heaven. This must say something about pigging out on cake and popcorn. God wants me to eat meekly, so I can be meek. Right?

Melissa scribbled, finally feeling like she had heard an answer from God. She was so relieved to find Scripture that compared people who ate a lot to those who didn’t. She was so worked up in what she thought the Bible said, she didn’t take time to finish reading the passage. She knew she should pray about this, to make sure God was leading her to His conclusions instead of hers, but she knew what she wanted it to say.

Knock knock.

“May I come in?” Mom called softly from the door.

“Yeah.” Melissa looked up.

“Sorry to interrupt, sweetie. I’m glad to see you writing in your journal. It helps to sort through your feelings.”

Melissa nodded. She didn’t want to sort through those feelings with Mom.

Mom waited, as if she hoped Melissa would divulge what she was writing. She had no intentions of sharing. “Well, dinner’s ready. Did you want to come down, or should I bring you up a tray?” Mom offered.

Melissa couldn’t possibly eat.

“I’m really not hungry.”

Mom nodded. “Okay. I’ll put a plate for you in the fridge in case you change your mind later. We’re having tacos—with guacamole!” Mom grinned, rubbed Melissa on the back, and when she got no response, slowly left the room.

“Guacamole is, like, so loaded in fat!” Melissa said under her breath.

Melissa switched music again. The Beatles were perfect. Paul and John belted their hearts out about love and heartbreak, politics and nonsense, and her toes tapped and her heart ached right along with them. She painted her nails Pink Pizzazz. She organized her drawers, carefully folding every pair of underwear and matching the wayward socks that had been floating around the bottom of her drawer for months.

Around eight o’clock there was another knock at her door.

“Pumpkin?” It was Dad.

“Yeah,” Melissa answered lazily.

Dad poked his head in the door to find Melissa surrounded by a pile of jeans and sweaters that she had emptied from their homes. He raised his eyebrows.

“Wow! I barely saw you there with all those clothes.”

Melissa smiled.

“I snuck you up some fried ice cream. Mom went all out on her Mexican theme.”

Melissa peeked in the bowl and saw a round ball of cinnamon crunch. The honey topping smelled sickeningly sweet. Her stomach contracted.

“It’s awesome,” Dad said. “Warning, though, you need to eat it fast or that hot shell melts all of the ice cream inside.”

“I’ll proceed with caution,” Melissa said in a low voice, then gave him a mock salute.

“I know you’re not ready now”—Dad gently cupped her chin in his hand—“but tomorrow we’ll need to talk about what’s going on.”

Melissa’s eyes shifted to her carpet.

“There’s definitely something wrong, sweetie. Cleaning your room is not normal behavior for a teenager.”

Melissa laughed at Dad’s attempt at humor. “Okay. I’m a closet cleanaholic. I’ve been hiding it from you guys, but now I’ll come clean.” She winked.