Measuring Up

This time I really do smile.

“Second, I’m sorry that happened to you. High school sucks. It won’t be like that in college. Only three more semesters for you and you’ll be done.”

Another kiss.

“And third, I’m totally going to kick Billy’s ass if I ever see him.”

I know he’s only saying that to make me feel better, and it works. I do.

“I guess it’s my turn now…you know, the whole opening up thing…”

There’s something about his voice, I can tell he doesn’t want to. That he’s not ready yet, so I try to lighten the moment the way he always does for me. “Or… we

can just make-out instead. Unless—”

My words are cut off by his lips. I’m guessing he’d rather make-out.

Chapter Seventeen

BUSTED

It’s been two weeks since my little confession to Tegan and I haven’t regretted it once. I feel like I’ve cleared the air and I’m one step closer to becoming the person who doesn’t need to run. Who would have told Pammie where she could stuff it when she brought my weight into it.

The cool part? It has nothing to do with the twelve freaking pounds I’ve lost since the begi

who wishes I could have dropped more, who feels like I’m losing weight slower than a grandma drives, but from everything I’ve read, that’s the way to do it. That’s what Tegan says. If you drop it too quickly, you’ll gain it back, I’m building lean muscle. Yada, yada. I’m not going to lie, I kind of tune out some of that stuff. I’m trying to focus on the part of me that realizes I’ve lost twelve freaking pounds and that’s pretty kick butt if you ask me.

Eighteen more and I’ll be at my target. One thirty-five. A number I haven’t seen for years. One that Mom would probably hire a trainer if she ever hit, but for me, it’s perfect.

I’m leaning against a pole while Tegan’s doing his round of biceps. We rotate now, him and me, working out together. It’s like a partnership and I love it. The

view isn’t so bad either.

“What are you smiling at over there?” He lets go of the bar.

“You.”

“Because I’m so hot?”

“Because you’re not a grunter.”

One of Tegan’s eyebrows rises. “Aw, you’re so sweet. Wait till I tell the guys my girl doesn’t think I’m a grunter.”

I snap him with my towel. “Shut up. I mean, some of the guys in here are all loud and grunt when they lift. I think they do it so people look at them, which I don’t understand, but I’d wondered about you. If you’d be a grunter and now I know you’re not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re so weird, but I still love you.”

Defibrillator anyone? Jumper cables? I’ll go for anything to help jump start my heart right now. Does he mean love me, love me or is it just one of those passing comment things? Passing comment. It has to be, but all of a sudden, it’s really hot in here. I’m feeling a little dizzy like I have a bad case of heat stroke. What if he means it? Does he really love me? I mean, we’re young. He starts college in September and though it’s local and I plan to be there in a year, would it be smart to go falling in love right now?

“Breathe, A

“Come on. We still have abs to do and then I have to clock in.”

Did I mention I really want to know if he really loves me? Because I’m kind of scared that I’m more than halfway in love with him.

***

I spoon steamed vegetables onto my plate, cut the piece of chicken in half because it’s huge and I don’t need that much anymore, and add a small amount of red

potatoes. It’s a healthy meal, none of it fried or anything, not that Mom’s ever been big on frying, but I know just by eating less, I’m doing something good for myself.

The part that rocks even more is that I’m full after this amount of food. I don’t understand why I ever thought I needed more than this.

Mom’s late to the table, coming in after my and Dad’s plates are made. Surprisingly, there’s no phone with her. Instead she’s looking at Dad and he’s looking

back at her and I know something’s up.

“What’s wrong?” All sorts of thoughts are going through my head. Divorce, sickness. I choose to ignore the fact that I automatically go to worst case scenarios.

“I ran into Emily today.” Mom’s voice is tight, angry.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

It’s Dad who replies. “Pumpkin, she said she hasn’t seen much of you lately. Your mother commented about your staying out with her a couple times and asked

about the movies, but she had no idea what she was talking about.”

Holy crap. Leave it to me to finally get a life and get caught lying about it.

“Of course she tried to cover, but the damage was done. What have you been doing, A

“I…”

“Why were you lying? Are you on drugs? You’re leaving the house early every morning, and you look thi

It’s sad that a little part of me does a cheer that she noticed. It’s like a compliment she’s issued even though she’s accusing me of doing drugs to lose weight at the same time. But she’s noticed and it feels better than it should.

“Drugs, Paulette? You can’t be serious.”

“You always defend her! Always try and make me the bad guy.”

I want to plug my ears so I don’t hear their fighting. It’s me. Always about me. “Of course I’m not on drugs!” The only reason I raise my voice is so they’ll hear me.

“Then who are you with? Why have you lied about where you are?” Then, a light bulb goes off in Mom’s eyes and I realize she knows. This shouldn’t bother me,

but it does. They’ll burst mine and Tegan’s bubble. Both him and what I’m doing won’t be mine anymore. It will be theirs to dissect and question me about.

To my surprise, she then shakes her head. “No, it couldn’t be a boy.”

Pain pierces my chest. My eyes sting. Anger and hurt wrestle inside me. My heart jumps when Dad’s hands come down on the table, shaking the glasses.

“You always do this to her. Why can’t it be a boy? Because she’s not you? Because she doesn’t spend three hours with her face in the mirror every day?”

Mom pushes to her feet. “I always do this to her? You always do this to me. You’re always putting words in my mouth so you’re her savior and I’m the witch. I

only meant that she wouldn’t keep a boy from me. That’s something a daughter shares with her mom.”

I don’t even have it in me to feel guilty. I can’t believe she thinks I would share it with her. We never talk about anything that matters.

“So you think she’d be on drugs before she might keep something from you? Hell, Paulette, all she did is lie about where she was. All teenagers do it.”

Back and forth they yell about me. Fight about me. They think they know who I am. What I do. What’s best for me. Their voices are an echo, a muffled echo

beating against my brain until I can’t take it anymore. I’m pushing to my feet. My chair falls backward on the floor. “Enough! I can’t do this! Stop fighting about me like I’m not here!”

It hurts to breathe, to talk, but I keep going. “I joined a gym and got a trainer because I’m tired of being fat. He’s the only person who lets me be me. Who isn’t telling me what I need to do, offering me makeovers, defending me, or trying to fix me—which is fu

about what I want and now he’s my boyfriend and that’s who I’m with every day. And I lied so I could avoid this!”

The room is dead quiet. As always Mom looks perfect, regal in her royal room. She’s almost too calm. Me? I’m a live-wire, thrashing around because I’m not sure

I did the right thing. Not sure I should have told them anything.