*Chapter Two*
I woke at midnight with a furious claw in my gut. I gasped at the pain. It felt like somebody had slashed my stomach with a knife. I quickly adverted my eyes to the window. They were still locked. My closet was still open. But the pain in my abdomen wasn’t imagined. It was crippling. I heaved in. What had I done?
I wasn’t sick. This wouldn’t happen when I was sick.
I wasn’t hurt.
Suddenly, I remembered. I hadn’t eaten since . . .
When had I last eaten? It dawned on me I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday at school . . . at 11:30. I hadn’t eaten in twelve and a half hours. And now I paid the price. A hard bargain.
With pain comes beauty, I thought halfheartedly. I tried to push myself out of bed. I was so unbelievably starving I barely could. But with a shove, I rolled myself off the mattress. Thud.
Cringing at the noise, I silently told myself to cut the drama and stand up already. I walked down the stairs to the kitchen and poured some cereal. They were the most delicious, gorgeous Cheerios I’d tasted in my life. I slurped down spoonfuls of the oats, and drank the milk. They filled the empty pit in my stomach with a warm fullness. I walked up stairs, rejuvenated, but still bone-tired. My head hit the pillow and I was out immediately.
My alarm buzzed at my side. It was 6 AM, and time for school. I groaned. After the midnight adventure I had, I kept convincing myself that the hunger wasn’t that bad, so I decided to skip breakfast, too.
After I slipped on some new clothes-- a red pullover hoodie, dark acid wash skinny jeans, and some black Converse-- I pulled my hair into a messy side braid. I thought it looked good. I applied some brown mascara and electric pink eyeliner. Throwing a canvas messenger bag over my shoulder I ran down the stairs to the kitchen. I instinctively reached for a glass of juice, but I pulled my hand back. Diet, I thought as hard as I could. Instead, I rushed out the door. I was about twenty minutes early. I took out my bike from the garage, situated my bag on my lap, and pedaled down the driveway. I had ridden to a friend’s house down the street last week, but school was a mile away. I would definitely get some exercise from it.
The farther down the street I got, the more tired I realized I was. I began to regret skipping breakfast; but I then imagined how beautiful I could look. I pedaled harder.
I slipped my phone from my bag and texted my mom I was biking to school instead of the bus, looking up every two seconds. A car either decided it wasn’t a good idea for me to do that or they weren’t exactly “sober.”
The key moment when I realized that was as they drove halfway up the sidewalk. I freaked out, putting my phone in my pocket, which wobbled the front tire. My bike shook as I stored my phone away, tried to avoid the car, and tried to get to school on time. They finally took a hint and rode away. I was tempted to fire the one-fingered salute, but my patience got the best of me and I only stuck my tongue out.
Ten uneventful (thankfully!) minutes later, I had arrived to school, exhausted. I thanked the cold air for preventing me from sweating. I spritzed some extra perfume on anyway-- just in case.
Anybody to arrive to school early has to go to their homerooms. Hitching my bag higher up on my shoulder, I headed to Ms. King’s eighth-grade Honors English class. I pushed my bag into my locker; yes, it was against the rules, but I was five minutes ahead of when I expected to be here. I didn’t think anybody would truly care.
The best thing about Ms. King’s classroom was that she had a lounge in the back of the room with a rug and beanbag chairs. Her excuse was that we could get started on our next reading assignments after we finished our work, but why would she stock the shelves with books we had never been expected to read? I didn’t care at the moment. I flopped onto the comfiest beanbag. It was so luxurious... I could feel the soft fabric on me, and it felt so nice. I could take a nap right there. It was just so...
I dozed off before I could finish the thought.
A loud bell woke me up with a start. Crap! Oh; just the five-minute bell.
I ran again to the girl’s room to fix my rumpled hair and slept-in make up. There was no fixing the eyeliner (I only carried an extra brown one), so I just refreshed my mascara.
The halls now flooded with kids going to their class, I walked over to my locker and grabbed my Algebra and Spanish books.
A locker slammed loudly next to mine. “Schist!” I cried, using the rock to catch myself just in time. Our school had a strict language policy, and swearing meant a detention.
Peeking out through the vents I recognized the eyes. It was Gabby Nochwell.
“Come out, Gabbison,” I teased, banging on the door.
“Ow!” she yelled from the inside, the metal reverberated and made her louder.
I rolled my eyes and laughed. She could be a real drama queen.
“Out,” I commanded, unlocking the door and gesturing out to the open hallways. “Two minutes until Spanish.”
She huffed and jokingly stomped out. “You never let me have any fun,” she teased.
I laughed. Gabby was my Irish BFFL; red hair, freckles, and a strange hate for serious things.
Bursting through the door of room 121, we dashed to the final two seats available.
“Thanks Iz,” I said, refering to our friend Izobel Jueves.
She rolled her deep brown eyes. “You two are the latest people I know. If I didn’t save you seats, you’d end up on the floor.” As a closer, she contorted her face into a shape many people wouldn’t think was possible.
Izobel was always really nice to me and Gabby, and she was also very funny. But she could also talk a little too much, laugh a little too late or a little too long. Her social metronome was a tick off, which was definitely annoying.
She was shy, though, today. Me and Gabby passed notes through the class, as usual.
And through Algebra.
And Science.
Until lunch.
When it was time for lunch, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in twelve hours... again!
I walked into line alone, since Gabby was finding a table. They were giving people pizza or salad today. As soon as I could, I picked a pizza.
Gabby managed to flag me down at a clean, but remote table in the corner of the cafeteria. With Izobel too, of course.
I was dead to the world in my starvation. I took a bite of the gooey cheese, lightly painted with tomato and laid on a bed of dough...
Guilt rushed my mind. Carbohydrates in the dough, fat in the cheese, sugar in the tomato. I was disgusting myself; I put down my lunch on the Styrofoam tray, silently staring at it. To eat or not to eat.
Um, Shiv, you alright?” Gabby asked. “You have gone on and on about how hungry you are all morning, and now you won’t eat?”
I shrugged and took a sip of my water. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought,” I replied.
Izobel shook her head. “You told me you didn’t have breakfast.” Gabby swiveled her head like an attack dog.
I paused. There was no getting past Gabby. The one reason she hated serious things? Nobody took them seriously. Her face turned red, and she talked slow.
“Siovhan?” She asked in a low, scary tone.
I gulped-- even at four ten, Gabby was threatening when she wanted to be. “Yes?”
Gabby leaned on her elbows across the table. “You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
My shoe laces were fascinating. The weave was so pretty. And it made me feel better than having to answer Gabby.
“And now you don’t want lunch.”
My eyes were welling with tears. She’s only doing this because she cares, I reminded myself. She cares about you.
A small voice in the back of my head piped up. It should make her scared. You haven’t eaten in a while.
The other side of my brain argued back. You want to be fat, you can stay fat.
I watched the reflection of light on my shoelace caps, rocking my feet back and forth to make it wiggle.
“You will eat this pizza. And you will eat it right now.”
I made the mistake of looking up. Gabby’s eyes had fire in them, and her cheeks were red.
Tentatively, I picked up the offending food and took a bite. Izobel picked at her salad, shrinking into the woodwork. I didn’t blame her. She had never seen Gabby upset before.
The redhead watched me, arms crossed. I swallowed the second pizza bite. I felt the pounds adding up in my stomach. But as soon as I gave my empty system the guaranteed message of food, I realized why Gabby was fighting for me. As much as I didn’t want to, I needed it. I devoured the pizza, including the crusts. I smiled at my friend.
Flush disappeared from her face and she smiled back. Izobel sat up again and started to talk. Everything was okay.
But I knew around Gabby I would still need to walk on eggshells. She was going to remember today for a long time, and she would remember any funny business with lunch.
Cringing at the noise, I silently told myself to cut the drama and stand up already. I walked down the stairs to the kitchen and poured some cereal. They were the most delicious, gorgeous Cheerios I’d tasted in my life. I slurped down spoonfuls of the oats, and drank the milk. They filled the empty pit in my stomach with a warm fullness. I walked up stairs, rejuvenated, but still bone-tired. My head hit the pillow and I was out immediately.
• • •
My alarm buzzed at my side. It was 6 AM, and time for school. I groaned. After the midnight adventure I had, I kept convincing myself that the hunger wasn’t that bad, so I decided to skip breakfast, too.
After I slipped on some new clothes-- a red pullover hoodie, dark acid wash skinny jeans, and some black Converse-- I pulled my hair into a messy side braid. I thought it looked good. I applied some brown mascara and electric pink eyeliner. Throwing a canvas messenger bag over my shoulder I ran down the stairs to the kitchen. I instinctively reached for a glass of juice, but I pulled my hand back. Diet, I thought as hard as I could. Instead, I rushed out the door. I was about twenty minutes early. I took out my bike from the garage, situated my bag on my lap, and pedaled down the driveway. I had ridden to a friend’s house down the street last week, but school was a mile away. I would definitely get some exercise from it.
The farther down the street I got, the more tired I realized I was. I began to regret skipping breakfast; but I then imagined how beautiful I could look. I pedaled harder.
I slipped my phone from my bag and texted my mom I was biking to school instead of the bus, looking up every two seconds. A car either decided it wasn’t a good idea for me to do that or they weren’t exactly “sober.”
The key moment when I realized that was as they drove halfway up the sidewalk. I freaked out, putting my phone in my pocket, which wobbled the front tire. My bike shook as I stored my phone away, tried to avoid the car, and tried to get to school on time. They finally took a hint and rode away. I was tempted to fire the one-fingered salute, but my patience got the best of me and I only stuck my tongue out.
Ten uneventful (thankfully!) minutes later, I had arrived to school, exhausted. I thanked the cold air for preventing me from sweating. I spritzed some extra perfume on anyway-- just in case.
Anybody to arrive to school early has to go to their homerooms. Hitching my bag higher up on my shoulder, I headed to Ms. King’s eighth-grade Honors English class. I pushed my bag into my locker; yes, it was against the rules, but I was five minutes ahead of when I expected to be here. I didn’t think anybody would truly care.
The best thing about Ms. King’s classroom was that she had a lounge in the back of the room with a rug and beanbag chairs. Her excuse was that we could get started on our next reading assignments after we finished our work, but why would she stock the shelves with books we had never been expected to read? I didn’t care at the moment. I flopped onto the comfiest beanbag. It was so luxurious... I could feel the soft fabric on me, and it felt so nice. I could take a nap right there. It was just so...
I dozed off before I could finish the thought.
A loud bell woke me up with a start. Crap! Oh; just the five-minute bell.
I ran again to the girl’s room to fix my rumpled hair and slept-in make up. There was no fixing the eyeliner (I only carried an extra brown one), so I just refreshed my mascara.
The halls now flooded with kids going to their class, I walked over to my locker and grabbed my Algebra and Spanish books.
A locker slammed loudly next to mine. “Schist!” I cried, using the rock to catch myself just in time. Our school had a strict language policy, and swearing meant a detention.
Peeking out through the vents I recognized the eyes. It was Gabby Nochwell.
“Come out, Gabbison,” I teased, banging on the door.
“Ow!” she yelled from the inside, the metal reverberated and made her louder.
I rolled my eyes and laughed. She could be a real drama queen.
“Out,” I commanded, unlocking the door and gesturing out to the open hallways. “Two minutes until Spanish.”
She huffed and jokingly stomped out. “You never let me have any fun,” she teased.
I laughed. Gabby was my Irish BFFL; red hair, freckles, and a strange hate for serious things.
Bursting through the door of room 121, we dashed to the final two seats available.
“Thanks Iz,” I said, refering to our friend Izobel Jueves.
She rolled her deep brown eyes. “You two are the latest people I know. If I didn’t save you seats, you’d end up on the floor.” As a closer, she contorted her face into a shape many people wouldn’t think was possible.
Izobel was always really nice to me and Gabby, and she was also very funny. But she could also talk a little too much, laugh a little too late or a little too long. Her social metronome was a tick off, which was definitely annoying.
She was shy, though, today. Me and Gabby passed notes through the class, as usual.
And through Algebra.
And Science.
Until lunch.
When it was time for lunch, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in twelve hours... again!
I walked into line alone, since Gabby was finding a table. They were giving people pizza or salad today. As soon as I could, I picked a pizza.
Gabby managed to flag me down at a clean, but remote table in the corner of the cafeteria. With Izobel too, of course.
I was dead to the world in my starvation. I took a bite of the gooey cheese, lightly painted with tomato and laid on a bed of dough...
Guilt rushed my mind. Carbohydrates in the dough, fat in the cheese, sugar in the tomato. I was disgusting myself; I put down my lunch on the Styrofoam tray, silently staring at it. To eat or not to eat.
Um, Shiv, you alright?” Gabby asked. “You have gone on and on about how hungry you are all morning, and now you won’t eat?”
I shrugged and took a sip of my water. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought,” I replied.
Izobel shook her head. “You told me you didn’t have breakfast.” Gabby swiveled her head like an attack dog.
I paused. There was no getting past Gabby. The one reason she hated serious things? Nobody took them seriously. Her face turned red, and she talked slow.
“Siovhan?” She asked in a low, scary tone.
I gulped-- even at four ten, Gabby was threatening when she wanted to be. “Yes?”
Gabby leaned on her elbows across the table. “You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
My shoe laces were fascinating. The weave was so pretty. And it made me feel better than having to answer Gabby.
“And now you don’t want lunch.”
My eyes were welling with tears. She’s only doing this because she cares, I reminded myself. She cares about you.
A small voice in the back of my head piped up. It should make her scared. You haven’t eaten in a while.
The other side of my brain argued back. You want to be fat, you can stay fat.
I watched the reflection of light on my shoelace caps, rocking my feet back and forth to make it wiggle.
“You will eat this pizza. And you will eat it right now.”
I made the mistake of looking up. Gabby’s eyes had fire in them, and her cheeks were red.
Tentatively, I picked up the offending food and took a bite. Izobel picked at her salad, shrinking into the woodwork. I didn’t blame her. She had never seen Gabby upset before.
The redhead watched me, arms crossed. I swallowed the second pizza bite. I felt the pounds adding up in my stomach. But as soon as I gave my empty system the guaranteed message of food, I realized why Gabby was fighting for me. As much as I didn’t want to, I needed it. I devoured the pizza, including the crusts. I smiled at my friend.
Flush disappeared from her face and she smiled back. Izobel sat up again and started to talk. Everything was okay.
But I knew around Gabby I would still need to walk on eggshells. She was going to remember today for a long time, and she would remember any funny business with lunch.
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