much weight as possible while you’re here.)
Dr. Chu leafed through Bones’s file, checking off little boxes. “Since you lost weight—even with two stainless steel knives in your gown, it’s obvious you’ve been purging. Either by vomiting or—”
(We have closed-circuit cameras and hidden microphones in your room.)
“Or engaging in unauthorized exercise.”
(Bingo!)
“I know this may be difficult,” Dr. Chu said. “But the nutritionist and I have decided to raise your calories.”
(We won’t be satisfied until you resemble a scrap-fed hog.)
“Are you listening to me, son?”
Bones’s eyeballs hurt from so much nodding. “Yes, sir.”
(Fuck you!)
“One-hundred calories isn’t as bad as it sounds.” Dr. Chu dropped his voice, forcing Bones to lean forward in his chair. “That’s it for now.”
Bones got up and headed to his bathroom, where he stripped, cold and shaking. He stood on the overturned waste can, knowing he’d never see his ribs again. Not with an extra one-hundred calories per day. He focused on his collarbone, his sternum. His reflection flashed: The object in mirror is larger than it appears.
He grabbed the can of shaving cream and doused his pathetic self in menthol foam.
12
Lard sat slouched at his desk reading Great Meals for Couples or Crowds . He’d added two-for-one restaurant coupons to his bulletin board. “How’d it go with Chu Man?” he asked, looking up.
“I feel like I’ve sucked a dozen raw eggs,” Bones said.
“Don’t do that, man.” A Lard snort kicked in. “You’ll get salmonella.”
Bones passed the rest of the afternoon in an invisible cloud.
The only thing clear was Alice’s absence. Nancy said she was downstairs undergoing tests and took the opportunity to explain the seriousness of electrolyte imbalance. Blah, blah, blah .
Bones opened his journal and flipped to his last entry. He’d been writing about the day the scales dipped below 107 lbs. I felt like I’d sunk the winning basket in a tie-breaker game because that’s how people treated me. Being skinny made me a winner .
He closed his journal, barely remembering he’d written that. He and Lard decided to spend the hour before dinner on the roof. Bones was surprised to see Alice there, lounging on a yoga mat.
“Hey there,” she said, smiling at him.
Bones shook off his cloud of doom and stepped into a world of sunshine. “Hi.”
He blinked at the pale skin peeking through her ripped tights, then noticed cotton taped inside her elbow. “Damn vampires,” he said.
She tucked a strand of strawberry behind her ear. “And I still have to down an eight ounce glass of some sodium crap.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Lard said.
“You have an amazing power for stating the obvious,” she said and shrugged. “I suppose they’ll want a sample of my scales to see if I’m a fish.”
Bones laughed.
But Lard said, “You’d better get back before they come looking for you.”
“You used to be more fun,” she said. “Besides, the lab’s a certified zoo—they won’t miss me for days.” Then she asked Bones to help untie her yoga mat. “The string has a knot.”
He bent down beside her, blinded by suntan oil glistening on her chest. Apparently she’d cut a hole in the mat’s seam because she slipped her hand easily inside. She made a face in concentration and drew out a silver case, matches, and a foil packet.
“There you are, you little beauties.” She tossed the packet to Lard. “Turkey jerky,” she said. “Low fat. No MSG, artificial coloring, or flavorings.”
“And I have something for you,” he said, handing her a tube of hemorrhoid cream.
“Awesomeness!” Then she explained to Bones, “I rub it on my feet to numb the pain. Pointe shoes can be a real killer.”
Who knew hemorrhoid cream was multitalented?
Alice sat on the mat with a cigarette between her delicious lips.
“Sorry, I have to ration them,” she said, lighting up. Even though
Dr. Chu leafed through Bones’s file, checking off little boxes. “Since you lost weight—even with two stainless steel knives in your gown, it’s obvious you’ve been purging. Either by vomiting or—”
(We have closed-circuit cameras and hidden microphones in your room.)
“Or engaging in unauthorized exercise.”
(Bingo!)
“I know this may be difficult,” Dr. Chu said. “But the nutritionist and I have decided to raise your calories.”
(We won’t be satisfied until you resemble a scrap-fed hog.)
“Are you listening to me, son?”
Bones’s eyeballs hurt from so much nodding. “Yes, sir.”
(Fuck you!)
“One-hundred calories isn’t as bad as it sounds.” Dr. Chu dropped his voice, forcing Bones to lean forward in his chair. “That’s it for now.”
Bones got up and headed to his bathroom, where he stripped, cold and shaking. He stood on the overturned waste can, knowing he’d never see his ribs again. Not with an extra one-hundred calories per day. He focused on his collarbone, his sternum. His reflection flashed: The object in mirror is larger than it appears.
He grabbed the can of shaving cream and doused his pathetic self in menthol foam.
12
Lard sat slouched at his desk reading Great Meals for Couples or Crowds . He’d added two-for-one restaurant coupons to his bulletin board. “How’d it go with Chu Man?” he asked, looking up.
“I feel like I’ve sucked a dozen raw eggs,” Bones said.
“Don’t do that, man.” A Lard snort kicked in. “You’ll get salmonella.”
Bones passed the rest of the afternoon in an invisible cloud.
The only thing clear was Alice’s absence. Nancy said she was downstairs undergoing tests and took the opportunity to explain the seriousness of electrolyte imbalance. Blah, blah, blah .
Bones opened his journal and flipped to his last entry. He’d been writing about the day the scales dipped below 107 lbs. I felt like I’d sunk the winning basket in a tie-breaker game because that’s how people treated me. Being skinny made me a winner .
He closed his journal, barely remembering he’d written that. He and Lard decided to spend the hour before dinner on the roof. Bones was surprised to see Alice there, lounging on a yoga mat.
“Hey there,” she said, smiling at him.
Bones shook off his cloud of doom and stepped into a world of sunshine. “Hi.”
He blinked at the pale skin peeking through her ripped tights, then noticed cotton taped inside her elbow. “Damn vampires,” he said.
She tucked a strand of strawberry behind her ear. “And I still have to down an eight ounce glass of some sodium crap.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Lard said.
“You have an amazing power for stating the obvious,” she said and shrugged. “I suppose they’ll want a sample of my scales to see if I’m a fish.”
Bones laughed.
But Lard said, “You’d better get back before they come looking for you.”
“You used to be more fun,” she said. “Besides, the lab’s a certified zoo—they won’t miss me for days.” Then she asked Bones to help untie her yoga mat. “The string has a knot.”
He bent down beside her, blinded by suntan oil glistening on her chest. Apparently she’d cut a hole in the mat’s seam because she slipped her hand easily inside. She made a face in concentration and drew out a silver case, matches, and a foil packet.
“There you are, you little beauties.” She tossed the packet to Lard. “Turkey jerky,” she said. “Low fat. No MSG, artificial coloring, or flavorings.”
“And I have something for you,” he said, handing her a tube of hemorrhoid cream.
“Awesomeness!” Then she explained to Bones, “I rub it on my feet to numb the pain. Pointe shoes can be a real killer.”
Who knew hemorrhoid cream was multitalented?
Alice sat on the mat with a cigarette between her delicious lips.
“Sorry, I have to ration them,” she said, lighting up. Even though
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