And then two p.m. rolls around and my stomach is singing a chorus of starvation songs.
This freaking sucks.
By three, I’m hunched over the front counter, my stomach clenching together in pain. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Fat girls like me love to eat, and our stomachs simply won’t let us forget it.
“You look awful,” Julie says, peering at me over a rack of souvenir shot glasses. “You feeling worse?”
Ironic how I skipped lunch by faking sickness, and now I really am sick. “I’m hungry,” I say, wincing as my stomach rolls into itself.
“You missed lunch,” Julie says. “Why don’t you run get something?”
“You sure?” I ask, but what I really mean isdon’t let me leave. I’m not supposed to eat.
“Of course. You gotta eat.”
With a sigh, I grab my purse and take her advice, slipping out onto the strip. I figure I’ll get a salad from the pizza place a few shops over. I’ll get light dressing, and I’ll try not to eat much of it.
The smell of melted cheese and crispy pepperonis fill my lungs, making me dizzy with hunger the moment I step into the pizza place. My stomach rolls and growls and before I know it, I’m ordering a pizza.
“Pepperoni pizza, please,” I say to the short red haired guy behind the register.
No, no, no!my brain screams, but I ignore it.
“Small, medium, or large?” the guy asks, his finger hovering over the register buttons.
Small!
“Medium,” I say.
Guilt slams hard into me, but I push it away, reaching for my wallet to pay for my order before I get the good sense to cancel it.
I sit alone at a tall table near the window, watching people in bathing suits head to the beach, smiles on their faces and friends all around them. Guilt presses into me, but even as I wait for my food, I know I’ll only eat one or two slices. I’ll save the rest, give to Grandma or eat some for dinner. This will be okay.
The guy brings my pizza on a platter, and I mean to ask him for a to-go box, but be slips away before I can find the words. I eat a slice, and then two slices. Then I pick off the cheese and pepperoni from a third slice. Minutes fly by in just a few seconds, and before I realize what’s happening, only one slice is left on the tray.
Tears fill my eyes. I can’t even try to hide them as I scramble off the chair, grab my purse, and leave.
I cry the whole way back to Aiden Jane, knowing it’s probably totally ruining my mascara. Of course, dripping mascara lines are the least of my worries compared to eating two thousand calories of pizza in one sitting.
Julie is talking excitedly with a customer near the back of the store, so I slip in undetected, toss my purse behind the counter, and hide behind a display shelf of sandals.
My shoulder is killing me, my stomach is so full it hurts, and I can’t stand being stuck here in my own skin. I’m embarrassed, ashamed, and grossed out.
Why am I such a failure?
I wipe at my eyes, knowing my mascara is all screwed up, but not finding enough energy to care.Get it together, Bess.Julie will see me any minute. I’ll lose my job. Or worse—she’ll want to talk about what’s wrong.
I take a slow, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. Though I’m still wracked with guilt, at least the tears have stopped.
I hear Julie say a cheerful, “Hi, can I help you?” and then it dawns on me that someone just came into the store and I’d been too distracted to pay attention to the bell chiming a few seconds ago.
“Does a girl named Bess work here?”
I recognize the voice immediately. Chills prickle over my arms, fear stabs into my heart. Josh Graham is here, and he’s looking for me.
And I’m sitting on the floor wiping tears from my eyes.
