Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 13-Frankenstein

Thanks to the hearty drama provided by reality TV reruns in DVD form, my day off slipped by in a surprising blur.

I shucked my usual date to Chipotle with Rachelle in favor of a yogurt container and another episode of watching other people sweat like pigs. Keeping my insatiable appetite reined in seemed easier when I saw results from other people. Their weight loss transformations made my eyes bug out.

If they did it, I could do it.

"What?" Mira asked Monday morning when I climbed into her car and waited for her to drive to the gym. "You're not going to snap at me? You're not going to get angry? Not even a glare?"

I glanced over in surprise. "About what, Mira?"

"Working out."

Her lips, which had an unnatural amount of bright lipstick for so early in the morning, were pressed into a bundle of hot pink disapproval.

"No. Why would I get angry?"

"Because you hate the gym. You hate early mornings. And you hate exercise. At least, you have the past couple of days."

Well, she's certainly wasn't wrong. I still had a pit in my stomach just thinking about exercising around other people, my less-than-svelte frame perched on a machine that could buck me off at any moment, sending me to the ground in a fluid pile of fat and bones. My mind reviewed the TV episodes I'd been glued to, recalling the personal trainers yelling at the contestants, motivating them to lose weight and be healthier people, and I shook my head.

"I'm not exactly excited about working out so early, but I'm not angry either."

Mira studied me like an alien life form, her eyes tapered, hands clenched on the steering wheel, one eyebrow ticked up. She must have decided I wasn't a hostile invader because she backed out of the driveway without another word.

"I went over my calories yesterday," she said once we parked in the gym lot, looking as forlorn and lost as a child. My seat belt snaked across my belly with a hiss. I stared at her.

"That's okay. I'm sure we'll all have less-than-perfect days."

Mira just sighed. "Yes. I suppose."

I put my hand on the doorknob, mimicking her sigh. Here we go again. "Let's get this over with, Mira."

#

Hey! I didn't get a chance to talk to you all weekend. Seemed weird, didn't it?

Bradley's message popped up while I sat in my computer chair, printing off the homework I'd been ignoring all weekend. My printer chugged away, spewing pieces of paper onto the floor. Steam from my bathroom still curled into the bedroom from my shower after the gym, and I dreamed of a Jimmy Dean sausage sandwich that I wouldn't let myself eat because Bitsy's drill sergeant voice rang in my head.

Yes! I typed, wondering if I should have left the exclamation mark off. I was pretty busy hanging out with some friends. How about you?

I cocked my head to the side, nearly breaking my towel turban, and wondered if all the contestants on the TV show could be qualified as "friends." I sent it with a shrug. He'd never know.

Homework mostly for me this weekend, he replied. Hanging out at my dinky apartment by myself, trying not to feel like a loser while my friends make their way across Europe.

My heart clenched. His friends were in Europe? How wonderful would that be!

Oh? I returned, my heart hammering. Where in Europe?