Measuring Up

Copyright © 2012 by Nyrae Dawn.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic

or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and

retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted

by law.

Published by

Nyrae Dawn

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real

persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

MEASURING UP

BY

Nyrae Dawn

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever felt like they don’t quite “measure up”. You do. To anyone who doesn’t feel beautiful. You are.

To the people out there, who like so many of us, struggle with our weight. It doesn’t define us.

We’re all beautiful in our own way. There is something—no a lot of things—about all of us, which makes us special. This includes you.

Chapter One

165.8

Let’s Get Physical?

I look up at the neon green sign in disgust. It sounded cute when I called, but now that I think about it, isn’t that an 80’s rap song? I’m not sure, but the name coupled with the sign seems more like a strip club or one of those bordellos disguised as a massage parlor than it does a gym. But then, it is on the seedier side of town so maybe it is a freakin’ strip club, or worse. “Oh my God.” I shake my head. I made an appointment with a trainer at a strip club! Boy, are they going to be disappointed when they get a glimpse of me.

I turn, walking back to my BMW, kicking a small rock in the cracked sidewalk. See? This is what happens when you try to lose weight on the sly. I can’t head to

the gym on my side of town or I’ll run into Mom and her posse of gym rat friends who spend every afternoon ru

I fall into my car, letting myself sink into the brown, leather seats. What am I supposed to do now? Risk the Hillcrest Gym Rats, or my virtue in the strip club/possible gym in Ghettoville? My head falls forward against the steering wheel. Ugh, I hate it when I think stuff like that. What makes me any better than the people in Let’s Get Physical? Let’s face it. I know I’m not, which is why I’m sitting here pretending to be afraid of a fictional sex ring rather than getting my big butt out of this car and going inside to work out said butt.

Okay. Must get out of the car.

A car creeps by me on the left. The guy in the passenger seat smiles. It’s fu

For the third time—yes, I said third—I get out of my car and head back to the building with the flashing neon green letters. They really need a new sign. It would help with the confusion on whether or not people are coming in to work on their bodies or dance on a pole.

I drop my head back to gaze at the sky. Stop getting sidetracked and get inside. I want to do this. Just think of the look on everyone’s face when there’s a new me.

Oh, wow. That cloud kind of looks like a butterfly.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I go inside? “Ergh!” I stomp my feet.

“You okay?”

I stand here with my hands over my face, afraid to see who spoke. It was definitely a guy, but why wouldn’t it be? That’s the way it goes with something like

embarrassment, right? It’s either a hot guy or a gorgeous girl who reminds me of everything I’m not.

Before I seem like an even bigger nutcase, I slide my hands down to look at him. Standing in front of me is the embodiment of everything that has brought me to

this place. Well, not the overweight part, but the gym part. And he’s not my mom either, but he’s everything else that brought me here.

My age, check.

Gorgeous, check. Sandy blond hair, a little on the longish side, kind of shaggy and in his eyes, dark, melted chocolate eyes. Mmm, chocolate. Stop!

Thin and muscular, with plumpish lips, check, check, and check.

His eyes hold mine and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. What’s this girl doing at the gym? She definitely needs it. Think again, because it’s not going to work? I wonder how many times she’s been on a diet?

“I hear ya,” Mr. Gym Boy says, shifting a paper cup from one hand to another. “The gym seems to have that effect on people. You should go in, though. Who

knows, you might enjoy it.”

It’s ridiculous when people say things like that. He hears me? Yeah, right. I have major doubts he knows what it’s like to be me. “No, I’m not going in. I forgot I have something to do.”

For the fourth time this morning I start back to my car. This was a stupid idea. What? Did I think I could come here, drop the weight I’ve fought all my life, and prove to the jerks at my school they’re wrong about me? That Mom will finally have something in common with me? Never going to happen.

“It’s okay to be nervous, ya know? I mean, if you’re scared, I get it. Tons of people are scared of stuff like this.”

My feet become too heavy to move. I will them to keep going, but they fight me. It’s one thing to be afraid. Because I am. I’m scared as hell of a lot of stuff, but it’s an entirely different thing for people to know I’m afraid. They already have enough ammo to use against me, so why give them more?

Slowly, I turn to face Gym Boy. “I’m not scared. In fact, I have an appointment with a trainer. Like I said, I forgot I had…another appointment.”

His body language screams that he doesn’t believe me. I think he’s fighting a smile. That just a

“Okay, if you say so.”

What? What? Who does this guy think he is? My a

know. “If I say so? What does that even mean? Why would I lie about an appointment?”

Gym Boy shrugs. It’s strange because even though you can tell he’s one of the pretty people, there’s something a little harder about him. Like he’s a bad boy in

disguise. Actually, I’m leaning toward wa

“I didn’t say you lied about the appointment. I’m talkin’ more about the not scared part.”

“You have some nerve. You don’t even know me. Jerk,” I mumble, but his eyes aren’t on me anymore. Gym Boy slips around me and heads to the curb. Yes, I

know I should just walk in and forget him, but I can’t. He called me scared. Never mind that I am, but what kind of person calls you on it?

And weren’t we talking? Who just walks away like that? I turn and see Gym Boy standing at a large van. The side door is open and there’s a young boy sitting in

front of him.

“The ramp isn’t fixed?” Gym Boy asks a woman, who gets out, a cast on her arm. They all kind of look alike. I can’t help but wonder if they’re family.

“No. Joe got him in. Maybe one of the guys can help you get the chair out.” The woman looks frazzled, in a hurry.

“Um, hello? I hate it when you guys talk about me like I’m not here.” The boy pouts.

“No,” Gym Boy snaps at the woman. “I can do it.”

“I’m crippled, not helpless,” the boy says at the same time.

“Let me help you get the chair. You can lift him and put him in.” The woman starts to walk toward the back of the van.

Gym Boy walks away from the kid. “I got it. Don’t want you to hurt your arm.”

My feet propel me forward. Yes, he was being a jerk a few minutes ago, but I can’t leave him to do this by himself. “I can help.”