Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 8- Little Debbie Is Not My Friend

To my deepest surprise, I didn't need to be taken out of the gym on a stretcher.

Except for when walking past an imprint of my face on the ground where I had fallen, I had a faint sense of accomplishment hidden in all the embarrassment. My legs were a bit wobbly, and my stomach revolted with constant demands to be fed, but I certainly didn't die the way I'd expected. While I didn't normally like the feeling of being sweaty, this wasn't the same kind of sweaty that I felt in the summer, when my body seemed to be drowning. This was a different sweat . . . a fresher kind.

I arrived home to an empty kitchen, and started the most serious business of my day: breakfast. But my hand stopped halfway to the usual go-to of breakfast sugar cereal. Although the crunchy sweet texture was surely what I wanted, my mind strayed back to the scale at Bitsy's house.

259

I sighed, dropped my arm, and reached for the fridge instead. No overly bright bowl of sugar for this girl. No doubt Kenzie would eat something healthy instead, based off broccoli or spinach instead of the reliable, processed goodness of cereal. I swiped a light yogurt from the top tray.

The house was warm and quiet, and I enjoyed the early morning light streaming through the blinds. My stomach demanded instant nutrition, so I quickly shoveled three heaping bites in my mouth. Eat slow, Mira had instructed me on the way home. It fills you up faster and you eat less. I sighed and forced myself to wait a minute in between bites.

Mom walked into the room, interrupting my thoughts on a pop quiz I expected that morning. Mom had always been lovely thanks to careful attention to skin care and a slender frame. After Dad passed, her once beautiful laugh lines disappeared into worried frowns. She wasn't slender anymore; she was downright skinny. Too skinny. She and McKenzie were a page from the same book, while I received Dad's thick, big-boned frame. At least, that's what he always called it. I just figured I was chubby because I always had one hand in a box of cookies while the other rooted for our favorite baseball team from where we sat on the couch. Mom and Kenz bonded over shopping and walks around the block. Dad and I bonded over football games and hot wings.

Lots of hot wings.

"Good morning, Lexie," Mom said with a measured note in her voice. Her eyes flickered to the yogurt in my hand, then back to my face in surprise. I could almost see her thoughts.

Yogurt? Is this Lexie eating light yogurt? Not the sugary, childish tube kinds?

"Hey, Mom," I replied. Play it cool, I thought. Mom knew I was going to the Health and Happiness Society with Bitsy, but we hadn't talked about it. Every time the words calorie, diet, and scale popped up in this house, a volcano threatened, and all of us eventually ended up spewing the lava of tears and anger. Typically Kenz took Mom's side in a lecture on my health, backing me into an emotional corner that I could only get out of by eating. The cereal in the cupboard called my name just thinking about it.

Mom slipped past me, grabbed a whole wheat muffin from the bread box, and a knife from the drawer.

"How was your morning?" she asked.

Translation: did you actually go to the gym and work out? Am I just seeing things?

"Good."

I finished the final scoop of yogurt with a sense of accomplishment. One healthy choice down. The container landed right in the garbage can and I reached for an orange in a bowl on the counter. Mom tensed, watching every movement from the corner of her eyes, seeming to wait for the moment I broke this healthy facade and grabbed a handful of those chocolate covered donuts with the yellow cake in the middle. They had—