“Anyway, I love it. I’ve listened to it so much. It really does cheer me up.”
He smiled a little. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’m sorry I got so mad the other day. I overreacted.” I sat on the bench.
He sat next to me. “Nah, I probably should have left you alone.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
He looked relieved. “Really?”
I nodded.
“Hey, can I get your number?” Tristan pulled out his phone. “So I can call you when you’re out?”
I nodded. He handed me his phone and I made a contact for myself.
I handed it back and we sat for a moment in silence before he said, “So … have you talked to anybody from school today?”
“Are you talking about the picture?”
His body stiffened. “You know?”
“Katrina told me. Is it bad?”
“Pretty bad.”
“They don’t let us online in here. I wish I could, though.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe it’s for the best.”
I was sick of everybody trying to protect me. I had anorexia, not wimporexia, for God’s sake. “Tristan, you follow Heather on Instagram, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
“Will you show me the picture?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled, making his cheeks puff. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He put his phone in his pocket.
“Tristan,” the voice came from behind me. Simone was back. I turned. “Show her the picture. She has a right to know.” Her face was makeup-free. I’d never seen her without eyeliner before. She looked younger and softer and not as scary.
“I thought you went inside,” he said.
Simone stepped next to me, arms crossed. “I forgot my sweater. And it’s her photo. Show her.”
“Don’t order me around. And no. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Simone rolled her eyes. “Tristan, she’s going to see it eventually, and isn’t it better that she sees it here, where there’s doctors and counselors everywhere?”
“Hey!” I wasn’t their little sister, but they were treating me like one. “Hello? I’m right here? Tristan, I need to know what I’m dealing with. If I don’t see it on your phone, I’ll find some other way, and I’d rather watch”—and here I paused, because I still wasn’t sure what Tristan and Simone and I were to each other—“with friends.”
With one last glare at his sister, he took the phone out of his pocket. “Fine.”
I stood too and looked around. The nurses’ station was empty. My hands twitched as I watched him scroll through the posts, stop, read something, frown, scroll more, frown more.
“Look, people are assholes,” he said. “I think that might be all you need to know.”
“God, Tristan! Just give it to her, already!”
Thank you, Simone.
“Fine!” Tristan shoved the phone at me.
And there I was. The photo caption read, Skelorexics out to eat. The too-bright flash gave Jean and me red-eye. Jean’s collarbone peeking through the V of her shirt was so distinct it almost looked like there was no skin covering it at all. The phone’s flash washed all color out of her face; she looked like a worried zombie.
My mouth was half open, like I was saying something, and my eyes popped out of my head. My hand was up in protest, and each knuckle bulged out like knots in a tree. In the background Nurse Jill leaned over, fork in her mouth. She was taking a bite of Jean’s unfinished dinner.
There were sixty-two comments.
I read every single one. Tristan and Simone watched, the same wary expression on both of their faces.
People I didn’t even know had posted comments, things like: nasty
freaks
eat something
someone get them some fries this shit ain’t for human eyes now I can’t unsee this nightmare!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And the worst: THEY SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES.
I couldn’t breathe. How was I supposed to go back to school in four days with this out there?
Halfway down the page was a post from Katrina: Leave them alone!!! People like you are the reason women today have so many issues with their bodies. A$$holes!
I love that girl.
I saw a bunch of similar comments from Shay and a bunch of people I didn’t even know, like You guys are disgusting. Leave them alone. Even strangers were coming to my defense. Some guy named Tripp wrote, HEATHER I DON’T KNOW YOU AND I AM SO GLAD BECAUSE YOU MUST BE A TERRIBLE PERSON. And then, posted an hour before, was the last one, from Tristan. You all need to get a life. Don’t be assholes.
I handed the phone back to Tristan. “Thanks.” I didn’t know if I was thanking him for the phone, or the comment, or both.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Was I okay? I’d just been humiliated by the most powerful girl at school.
But so many people had defended me. Tristan and Simone were here, as my friends. Shay had popped up after a month of silence to stick up for me. Even people I didn’t know said nice things.
And Heather was just one girl being a bully.
So was I okay?
“You know what?” I said. “I’m hanging in there.”
41
Day 40. Go-Home Day. Unable to sleep, I was the first at weights and vitals. The night nurse said, all cheery, “Hey, Elizabeth! Congratulations! We’ll miss you! Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again.”
I laughed and stood, my back to the scale like always.
The nurse clapped her hands. “Honey, you did it. We are so proud. Your body thanks you.”
I watched her hand write down three numbers. I bet I was more than 104 now. I swallowed the panic thickening in my throat. It’s a good thing, I repeated over and over in my head. A healthy thing.
Breakfast and lunch flew by in a blur. After lunch, I went to my room to pack. I tossed my suitcase onto Lexi’s old bed. I’d hurt her feelings when I told Nurse Jill that I didn’t want her as a roommate. We’d barely spoken since, and I missed her.
I peeled the purple-and-blue-pinstriped comforter from my bed, folded my sheets, and threw my yoga pants and all my other clothes into my suitcase. I rolled up my taped-together kitten poster, wrapped up what was left of my jar of sand in a T-shirt, placed the plastic ring in its little bubble container, and put it all with the umbrella and journal in my backpack. I wondered if Tristan would text me once I got home, or if it would be awkward at school next week.
Mary knocked on my door right before two o’clock. “Elizabeth, your parents are here.”
“Be right out.” I looked around. The room no longer felt like mine. In less than five minutes, I’d stripped it of all evidence of me.
Right as I was about to head out to the common room, my door opened and Margot slipped inside, wearing her usual getup—a faded black T-shirt and ripped, faded black jeans. I hugged her.
She stiffened but didn’t immediately pull away. “Hey. I just wanted to tell you goodbye, in private, because I don’t think I can do the whole group farewell thing.”
I nodded. “That’s okay. I understand.”