THIRTEEN
Lemon
Now I turn to deception.
I pedal fast, furiously pumping my legs. There’s a shortcut to the mall, but taking the long way will burn more calories. I told my parents I’m going to the mall with a friend and then having dinner at her house.
Only the first part is true.
I wonder if Evelyn is really my friend. We made a pact, but that doesn’t make a friend, does it?
...It doesn’t...
When I get there, I’m sweating, which I figure isn’t very attractive. At least I burned some calories.
Evelyn lurks at the entrance of the mall. Tight pink halter top, skinny jeans, blue eyes narrowed dangerously: she doesn’t look like someone you’d want to step within twenty feet of. She smiles when she sees me, though.
“You haven’t eaten anything yet, have you?” she asks.
My stomach aches and I feel dizzy; I’m not sure how long I can keep this up. No amount of skim milk and sugar-free fruit juice can alleviate my pain.
“No,” I say sadly.
“Good. Now we’re going to buy you baggy clothes for you to wear around the house. So your parents don’t notice. I bet your parents are really paranoid about dieting, aren’t they?”
My mom has been nagging me to go on a diet for almost a year, but I think she’d object to this diet. “Yeah, I guess.”
Evelyn doesn’t reply. She whips a pen and her phone out of her back pocket. “How much do you weigh?”
“Last night I was 140. About a pound less than usual.”
“Awesome.” Evelyn carefully writes my weight on my right hand in the purple pen. She makes the numbers scratchy and messy on purpose, like mugshots where the criminal is weepy and disheveled. “Take off your coat. Hold your hand under your chin so I can see the number. Perfect.”
She snaps a picture of me with the camera on her phone. “Alanna’s Diet: Day Three,” she says aloud as she saves the photo under those words. “Perfect.”
She links her skinny arm through mine and drags me into the mall. The heated building is a welcome change from the just-below-freezing chill outside. Still, after the brief but cold photo shoot, I shrug on my winter coat again. It’s puffy and an obnoxious lemon yellow and a little too big--it’s a hand-me-down from my older cousin--but what matters is that it’s warm. Evelyn looks like she could catch frostbite in that pink halter top. She’s shivering a bit. I guess that’s the price to pay for being fashionable.
“C’mon,” Evelyn says. “Let’s try Chateaux. And then Stacy’s, and maybe--”
“Those stores don’t exactly do baggy,” I comment. They tend to sell racy tube tops and short shorts that resemble denim underwear.
“You’re right. How about Fashion Police? It’s new, but I love it sooo much.”
I’m not so sure about this.
Evelyn practically has to drag me into the crowded, dimly lit Fashion Police store. You can hardly see the price tags in what little lighting they have, which might be the general idea. She refuses to acknowledge any of the other girls as she snatches clothes for me. From oversized sweaters printed with cartoon characters, to sweatshirts that look big enough to drown in, to neon sweatpants, I hate everything she chooses. This style looks fine on trendier girls, but I’m into flowery shirts and bootcut jeans, the kind of thing I’m wearing now.
Do you want to be skinny or not? I tell myself sternly. At least, do you want to be skinny without your parents noticing and shutting you down?
In response, my stomach growls.
“How much will these cost?” I ask.
“Well, there’s a really good yay-new-store sale...” Evelyn does some math with the calculator app on her phone. The screen’s glow is nearly blinding in the near non-existent light. “Somewhere around seventy dollars?”
Wincing, I check my wallet. I have more like eighty dollars--I rarely spend my allowance--but I was saving what I had after the makeup splurge. Saving it for something special, new art supplies or something. In a small voice, I say, “I can do that.”
“Hon, chill. I was going to buy it for you and have you pay me back.”
“No, no, I have the money. It’s fine.”
“Perfect.” Without warning, Evelyn plucks my wallet out of my hands and goes up to the clerk to pay.
Sighing, I lean against the wall next to a vacantly staring mannequin. “Don’t you carry plus sizes?” I ask it.
The mannequin ignores me.
“You belong to an idiotic store, do you know that? I mean, do they ever turn on the lights?”
I swear I see it shrug, but that must be a hunger-induced hallucination.
“You’re way too disproportionate to be realistic. I don’t even know how they fit real clothes on you.” I pluck at its tank top, which is lemon yellow and even uglier than my coat.
I don’t notice Evelyn coming back until it’s too late. Smirking, she says, “Well, everyone’s always known you’re a weirdo. Talking to a mannequin must be a new personal low.”
When I bite my lip shamefully, she air-kisses my cheek. “Ohmygosh, I’m just kidding. I totally love you, Alanna!”
How long has she “loved” me? Since our pact yesterday?
I pull a slouchy black sweater out of her hands. It has Mickey Mouse, the graphic eye-achingly bright with lurid lemon-yellow shoes, on the front. It looks like it will fall to my knees.
“Perfect,” I say. “Just perfect.” And if there’s any sarcasm in my voice, it’s subtle enough that Evelyn doesn’t seem to notice.
YOU ARE READING
Spectrum
Novela Juvenil>>>>TRIGGER WARNING<<<< Alanna Moore has been the ugly, fat girl for as long as she can remember. Evelyn Pry is slim, trim, and beautiful. Who better to ask for advice? Evelyn tells her to eat less. And Alanna realizes that starving herself isn't so...
