Skinny (12 page)

Dad smiled. “Cute. Seriously, Mel. In the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” she said and nodded.

When he closed the door, Melissa took the bowl, waited a few minutes, snuck into the bathroom, and rinsed the ice cream down the drain.

B
eeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep.

Like on every other school morning, Melissa’s alarm went off. Like on every other school morning, she went to the bathroom, turned on the shower to heat up the water, weighed herself, brushed her teeth, showered, got dressed, and applied lip gloss and a layer of brown mascara.

She clunked down the stairs in her saddle shoes, her uniform skirt brushing her thighs.

Yesterday seemed like a fog. Melissa half-wondered if it had been a dream. She hadn’t eaten dinner, hadn’t even opened her backpack to do the homework that was due today, and had even fallen asleep with her lights on! She thrived on being organized and following the plan and the rules. Had she really let last night happen?

She tried to step lightly into the kitchen. The fluorescent lights surprised her. Mom and Dad sat at the table in their robes.

Melissa jerked back, tripped, and landed on the floor. A sharp pain sprang from her bottom.

She nervously laughed at herself. “You guys surprised me,” she said, pulling herself from the ground. “What are you doing up?”

“Remember, we were going to talk this morning,” Dad said softly.

He had said that, but she had hoped he hadn’t meant it or that he wouldn’t remember.

“Why don’t I get you some breakfast? You go ahead and sit down.” Mom nodded toward Melissa’s place, where a glass of orange juice already sat. Melissa assumed it wasn’t diluted with water. She would only be able to drink half the glass.

“Tanner will be here in, like, five minutes.” Melissa’s voice shook and her eyes darted from side to side.

“I called him last night,” Dad explained. “He’s not coming.”

“Okay.”

Melissa sat down, not sure if her parents were letting her be late to school or if they were driving her and hoped to talk on the way.

“And I called school this morning.” Mom brought over a plate piled with bagels to the table. “I told them you’re not coming.”

Melissa looked at her mom and back at her dad. These were the people who didn’t let her miss school unless she had a fever or was throwing up.

“We have things to take care of that are even more important than school.” Dad put his hand on Melissa’s. “Your hand is freezing. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little chilly this morning.” She pulled her sweater tighter around her uniform.

“Eat a warm bagel, honey. I’ll make some hot chocolate. You get warmed up and filled up and relax. Dad and I will talk first.”

Melissa nodded. She put half a bagel on her plate. It did feel warm. She took a bite. It tasted so rich and smooth, even better than normal. She ate another bite and another, then noticed little yellow drips on her plate. “Butter!” she squealed in dismay.

“Don’t you like your bagels buttered?” Mom asked.

Melissa instinctively spit out the half-chewed piece of bagel that was still in her mouth. She wanted to spit out the other bites that were already somewhere down her throat. In her mind, butter was poison. It was fat. It was actually called fat.

Tears slid down her face as she gagged. She wiped her tongue clean with her napkin. The thin paper shredded on her wet tongue. She grabbed her juice to wash down the butter and paper remnants but remembered her drink was full strength, thus full of calories. She put her glass down in frustration. She felt totally out of control. She wanted to run, but Mom and Dad were now both really staring at her. There was nowhere to go.

Mom pulled her from her chair and hugged her tight.

“My goodness, Melissa. There’s nothing left of you under that sweater!”

Dad put down his coffee and joined in the hug. Melissa fought their arms, feeling like she was being constricted and measured. She loved wearing sweaters because they hid how fat she felt. She now realized the bulk had also hidden the weight she had lost. She had worked so hard to lose those pounds. They couldn’t criticize her for that. She squirmed in their hold, still crying. Then she collapsed against her parents.

When she gathered her breath, what must have been at least ten minutes later, Dad lowered her back into her chair.

“We’re ready to listen, Mel, if you’re ready to talk.”

Why was she crying? Because of butter on a bagel? Because she couldn’t go to school or practice? Because Todd certainly wouldn’t pick her for captain now? Because of Beau? Where should she start? What should she say?

“It’s everything! You wouldn’t understand!” she blurted.

“You’ve got a lot going on.” Mom nodded with compassion.

“I can’t go to practice today, and now I know I won’t make captain!”

“Because you’ll miss one practice?” Dad asked, angling his brows.

“No. Yes. No.” Melissa tilted her head from side to side. “Because Todd sent me home yesterday, and he won’t think the kind of girl who’s sent home from practice is the kind of girl who could lead his team next year.” Melissa kicked off her saddles, letting them thud on the floor. She didn’t feel worthy to wear them. “He won’t even let me perform tonight.”

“Let’s talk about that,” Mom offered. “Why did Todd send you home?”

There was nothing she could make up that would make sense. Todd said she couldn’t come back until she’d seen a doctor. She would have to come clean.

“I fainted.”

“And,” Dad probed.

“That’s it. I fainted, and Todd overreacted and thinks I need to see a doctor. He won’t let me perform until I do.” Melissa nibbled on her nails. “I guess we’d better call Dr. Ferrone, right?”

Mom glanced at the clock on the stove.

“I called her office when we got home yesterday. You have an appointment in an hour.”

Melissa couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t like she was sick.

“And,” Mom continued, “I called Todd last night to see why he was so bent on you seeing a doctor.”

Melissa dropped her eyes to her shoes under the table.

“He thinks you’re not eating, sweetie,” Mom whispered.

Everything got blurry as large tears gushed from Melissa’s eyes.

“I eat,” she squeaked.

“I have to admit, I haven’t been paying attention to what you eat, Mel,” Dad chimed in. “I assume you’re old enough to know when you’re hungry and what’s good for you. You always have breakfast before we wake up and lunch at school. Dinner just depends on our schedules, and between your practices, Mom’s volunteering, and my crazy deadlines, we only eat together a couple of times a week.” He put his hand on her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” Melissa sputtered between the tears that kept falling. How could Dad blame this on not eating dinner together?

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Mom said, placing her hand on Melissa’s other hand. “But we’re all in this together. We’ll find a way to fix things.”

M
elissa wished Mom had stayed in the waiting room. She felt uncomfortable undressing in front of her. She knew it was her own mother, but it was still kind of weird. And today she knew Mom would be scrutinizing her. She turned toward the wall when she pulled off her sweater and quickly pulled the paper gown around her.

Mom gasped. “Mel, you’re just a skeleton!”

Melissa turned back around and only now, with the gown partially covering her legs, slid off her jeans.

“Hardly,” Melissa said.

The room was cold. Goosebumps crept down Melissa’s arms and legs. The harsh smell of rubbing alcohol stung her nose.

Rap rap rap.

A middle-aged nurse with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, clear glasses with partial frames, and tangerine-colored lipstick stuck her head in the room.

“Good morning.” Mom smiled.

“Morning,” the nurse grumbled, looking over Melissa’s chart. She sat on the cracked black leather stool and spun toward the desk. “Are you fourteen?” the nurse interrogated without looking up.

“Uh-huh.” Melissa looked to Mom. Was this lady going to even look at her?

“And you’re here today because . . .”

Melissa shrugged.

After a cold silence, the nurse looked up and slid her glasses back on her nose. When she got no answer from Melissa, she turned toward Melissa’s mom.

“Melissa has had some fainting spells at dance practice. We just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

The nurse scribbled noisily in the file.

Melissa shivered. It was freezing in this room!

“Come with me.” The nurse rose, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.

Mom nodded to Melissa, then stood and followed.

“Put your feet on the footprints.” The nurse indicated two bright blue footprints painted on the base of the scale. Melissa had always thought it was cool when she was younger to align her feet exactly on the prints. It didn’t feel fun today. Nothing about scales seemed fun anymore. She knew she would weigh more than she wanted and less than her mom wanted. What if Mom tried to get her to gain weight after she had agonized for so long over losing it?

The nurse announced the weight to anyone within hearing distance and noted the numbers in the chart.

“Turn around,” she ordered like an army lieutenant.

Melissa turned so her back rested against the cold metal bar.

“Five feet, nine inches,” the nurse announced, slapping the folder shut. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” She tightened her lips and waddled away.

Melissa followed Mom back into the examining room and rolled her eyes. “You would think if you chose to be a pediatric nurse, you might like kids.”

“Be nice.” Mom laughed.

Melissa waited for Mom to comment on her weight, but she didn’t.

“Remember when you were little and you always hoped you would get this room?”

Melissa, flooded by a memory, relaxed for a moment. Each of the rooms was a different color. Today they were in the yellow room. She had been so proud as a toddler when the nurse had asked her to find the yellow room and she could run right to it. The walls were covered in canary-colored cartoon ducks with orange beaks. She hadn’t even noticed they were in her favorite room. She hadn’t noticed much going on around her lately.

Dr. Ferrone stuck her head in the door. When Melissa was little, Dr. Ferrone would open a plastic box she kept hidden in the desk drawer and wink one of her sparkling gray eyes as a signal that Melissa could select a sticker to wear home. When Melissa was eleven and fell out of a tree, Dr. Ferrone let Melissa choose the color of cast for her broken elbow. Melissa picked yellow, and Dr. Ferrone had confided that yellow was her favorite color too.

“Good morning, ladies.”

Melissa pulled her fingernails from her mouth to shake the doctor’s outstretched hand.

“So you’ve been feeling kind of dizzy?” Dr. Ferrone leaned onto her swivel stool and smiled. Fine lines now framed those sparkling gray eyes.

Melissa nodded. “Some.”

“Let’s find out what’s going on.”

After listening to Melissa’s heart, looking in her ears, making her follow a flashlight with her eyes, taking her blood pressure, having her say, “Ahhh,” and asking a list of questions about everything from nosebleeds to stomachaches, Dr. Ferrone leaned back. This whole routine seemed pretty generic . . . until Dr. Ferrone asked, “Melissa, how many times a day do you check your weight?”

“Usually just twice . . . why?”

Dr. Ferrone paused, looking at mother and daughter. “Neither of you will want to hear this, but both of you need to.”

Melissa’s fingernails flew back to her teeth. What was she going to say?

“In America, as many as ten million females and one million males are fighting a battle with a life-threatening eating disorder. I believe Melissa is one of them.”

Melissa saw her mom’s eyes grow wide. Melissa sat still, gnawing on a nail.

“I wouldn’t classify you as anorexic,” the doctor continued, nodding to Melissa, “but we have a problem we need to address before things spin out of control.”

Melissa’s knee bounced up and down. Tears welled up in her eyes. She kept her gaze forward. She couldn’t look at Mom.

“Melissa, you need to know that your weight and your control of your weight is a symptom, not the problem. Mrs. Rollins, it’s very important you understand this too.”

One tear spilled out of Melissa’s right eye. Her left index finger remained clenched between her teeth. She felt her face contort. An eating disorder? Right! She was just trying to be thin. Thin like Gracie and Lindsey. They didn’t have “disorders.” Thin like the rest of the dance team, thin like all of the pretty girls, so Beau would like her.

“Have you had a lot of stress or pressure lately?” Dr. Ferrone furrowed her brow at Melissa.

Melissa looked at the wall and then down. “Well, a little, nothing major, just, you know, school and stuff.”

“She and her boyfriend broke up,” Mom blurted out. “Sorry, Mel, but it’s true. Plus, you have officer tryouts for dance, and your schoolwork seems a lot more demanding than last year.”

Melissa bounced both knees now. She brushed away another stray tear.

“Thanks, Mom.” She tried to laugh sarcastically.

“A lot of changes come with high school, Melissa. Those changes can cause stress, but being under pressure doesn’t justify what you’re doing to yourself. You can’t deprive your body of the nutrients and calories it needs to function.” Dr. Ferrone swiveled on her black stool. “Your mom mentioned schoolwork being overwhelming. Your brain needs certain foods to think and stay focused. She also said something about dance. You know you need calories to give you energy for that kind of exercise.”

Melissa nodded and flipped her hair back. “But I eat,” she retorted. “I eat three meals every day.”

“I’m sure you do,” Dr. Ferrone almost whispered. “The problem is, you don’t seem to be eating enough. Let’s start with breakfast. What do you typically eat?”

Melissa regained a little composure. “A blueberry bagel, sometimes, a banana and orange juice.” Her voice quivered, but she ticked them off on her fingers confidently.