Skinny Page 10

  Mom gasped. “Mel, you’re just a skeleton!”

  Melissa turned back around and only now, with the gown partially covering her legs, slid off her jeans.

  “Hardly,” Melissa said.

  The room was cold. Goosebumps crept down Melissa’s arms and legs. The harsh smell of rubbing alcohol stung her nose.

  Rap rap rap.

  A middle-aged nurse with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, clear glasses with partial frames, and tangerine-colored lipstick stuck her head in the room.

  “Good morning.” Mom smiled.

  “Morning,” the nurse grumbled, looking over Melissa’s chart. She sat on the cracked black leather stool and spun toward the desk. “Are you fourteen?” the nurse interrogated without looking up.

  “Uh-huh.” Melissa looked to Mom. Was this lady going to even look at her?

  “And you’re here today because . . .”

  Melissa shrugged.

  After a cold silence, the nurse looked up and slid her glasses back on her nose. When she got no answer from Melissa, she turned toward Melissa’s mom.

  “Melissa has had some fainting spells at dance practice. We just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  The nurse scribbled noisily in the file.

  Melissa shivered. It was freezing in this room!

  “Come with me.” The nurse rose, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.

  Mom nodded to Melissa, then stood and followed.

  “Put your feet on the footprints.” The nurse indicated two bright blue footprints painted on the base of the scale. Melissa had always thought it was cool when she was younger to align her feet exactly on the prints. It didn’t feel fun today. Nothing about scales seemed fun anymore. She knew she would weigh more than she wanted and less than her mom wanted. What if Mom tried to get her to gain weight after she had agonized for so long over losing it?

  The nurse announced the weight to anyone within hearing distance and noted the numbers in the chart.

  “Turn around,” she ordered like an army lieutenant.

  Melissa turned so her back rested against the cold metal bar.

  “Five feet, nine inches,” the nurse announced, slapping the folder shut. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” She tightened her lips and waddled away.

  Melissa followed Mom back into the examining room and rolled her eyes. “You would think if you chose to be a pediatric nurse, you might like kids.”

  “Be nice.” Mom laughed.

  Melissa waited for Mom to comment on her weight, but she didn’t.

  “Remember when you were little and you always hoped you would get this room?”

  Melissa, flooded by a memory, relaxed for a moment. Each of the rooms was a different color. Today they were in the yellow room. She had been so proud as a toddler when the nurse had asked her to find the yellow room and she could run right to it. The walls were covered in canary-colored cartoon ducks with orange beaks. She hadn’t even noticed they were in her favorite room. She hadn’t noticed much going on around her lately.

  Dr. Ferrone stuck her head in the door. When Melissa was little, Dr. Ferrone would open a plastic box she kept hidden in the desk drawer and wink one of her sparkling gray eyes as a signal that Melissa could select a sticker to wear home. When Melissa was eleven and fell out of a tree, Dr. Ferrone let Melissa choose the color of cast for her broken elbow. Melissa picked yellow, and Dr. Ferrone had confided that yellow was her favorite color too.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  Melissa pulled her fingernails from her mouth to shake the doctor’s outstretched hand.

  “So you’ve been feeling kind of dizzy?” Dr. Ferrone leaned onto her swivel stool and smiled. Fine lines now framed those sparkling gray eyes.

  Melissa nodded. “Some.”

  “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

  After listening to Melissa’s heart, looking in her ears, making her follow a flashlight with her eyes, taking her blood pressure, having her say, “Ahhh,” and asking a list of questions about everything from nosebleeds to stomachaches, Dr. Ferrone leaned back. This whole routine seemed pretty generic . . . until Dr. Ferrone asked, “Melissa, how many times a day do you check your weight?”

  “Usually just twice . . . why?”

  Dr. Ferrone paused, looking at mother and daughter. “Neither of you will want to hear this, but both of you need to.”

  Melissa’s fingernails flew back to her teeth. What was she going to say?

  “In America, as many as ten million females and one million males are fighting a battle with a life-threatening eating disorder. I believe Melissa is one of them.”

  Melissa saw her mom’s eyes grow wide. Melissa sat still, gnawing on a nail.

  “I wouldn’t classify you as anorexic,” the doctor continued, nodding to Melissa, “but we have a problem we need to address before things spin out of control.”

  Melissa’s knee bounced up and down. Tears welled up in her eyes. She kept her gaze forward. She couldn’t look at Mom.

  “Melissa, you need to know that your weight and your control of your weight is a symptom, not the problem. Mrs. Rollins, it’s very important you understand this too.”

  One tear spilled out of Melissa’s right eye. Her left index finger remained clenched between her teeth. She felt her face contort. An eating disorder? Right! She was just trying to be thin. Thin like Gracie and Lindsey. They didn’t have “disorders.” Thin like the rest of the dance team, thin like all of the pretty girls, so Beau would like her.

  “Have you had a lot of stress or pressure lately?” Dr. Ferrone furrowed her brow at Melissa.

  Melissa looked at the wall and then down. “Well, a little, nothing major, just, you know, school and stuff.”

  “She and her boyfriend broke up,” Mom blurted out. “Sorry, Mel, but it’s true. Plus, you have officer tryouts for dance, and your schoolwork seems a lot more demanding than last year.”

  Melissa bounced both knees now. She brushed away another stray tear.

  “Thanks, Mom.” She tried to laugh sarcastically.

  “A lot of changes come with high school, Melissa. Those changes can cause stress, but being under pressure doesn’t justify what you’re doing to yourself. You can’t deprive your body of the nutrients and calories it needs to function.” Dr. Ferrone swiveled on her black stool. “Your mom mentioned schoolwork being overwhelming. Your brain needs certain foods to think and stay focused. She also said something about dance. You know you need calories to give you energy for that kind of exercise.”

  Melissa nodded and flipped her hair back. “But I eat,” she retorted. “I eat three meals every day.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Dr. Ferrone almost whispered. “The problem is, you don’t seem to be eating enough. Let’s start with breakfast. What do you typically eat?”

  Melissa regained a little composure. “A blueberry bagel, sometimes, a banana and orange juice.” Her voice quivered, but she ticked them off on her fingers confidently.

  “Good, Melissa. That does sound healthy. But do you ever, say, water down your orange juice? Or have you ever secretly discarded food to make people think you’re eating when you’re not? Or would you ever do something like induce vomiting?”

  Melissa looked to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mom’s hand silently clasp an open mouth.

  Dr. Ferrone shook her head. “Two-thirds of all eating disorders are actually obsessive/compulsive disorders. It seems this is the root of Melissa’s problem. When everything else seems to be spinning out of control, Melissa controls her food.”

  The doctor rolled her chair close to Melissa and put one hand on hers. She looked up at her and asked, “What do you think? Did I get any of it right?”

  Melissa just kept her eyes on the floor—wishing she was under it right now—trying to avoid her pediatrician’s compassionate gaze.

  Dr. Ferrone leaned back and clapped her hands together. “Okay, ladies, here’s what we’re goi
ng to do. We need to take things slowly. First, I’ll write a note excusing Melissa from school for the next week. That will give us a chance to start combating this thing. Second, you two need to come back here one week from today—that’s next Friday—and Melissa will need to gain three pounds between now and then.”

  Three pounds! She knew it. Melissa had done all of that work for nothing. She looked to her mom to see if she was buying all of this. Mom was watching the doctor intently, nodding her head. Melissa then knew she was outnumbered; she would never win against Mom, Dad, and Dr. Ferrone. But deep down, she was almost relieved for someone else to be in on her secret, someone else to be in control.

  “You both have separate assignments. Mrs. Rollins, either you or your husband need to eat every meal with Melissa. I know you’re busy, and you all are probably used to eating on the fly, but it is very important to establish consistent eating rituals. Now, don’t use these times to play police.” Dr. Ferrone smiled. “Just spend mealtime as a social time to ensure everyone is having meals.”

  Melissa saw Mom nod and lick her lips. She saw the wheels spinning inside Mom’s head as she mapped out their new routine.

  “Your job, young lady,” Dr. Ferrone said to Melissa, patting her hand, “is to eat and to take a break from exercise.”

  Melissa nodded. “I already eat. No big deal.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to eat more than you’re eating now in order to gain three pounds by the next time you see me,” Dr. Ferrone answered. “And if you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to send you to a clinic for evaluation, potentially even to be checked in for treatment.”

  Melissa felt a wave of nausea. The back of her throat burned. A clinic? Treatment?

  “But if you can gain the weight, I’ll refer you to a counselor so you can start sorting things out.”

  As they walked to the car, Melissa put her left hand up to her head with her index finger and thumb shaped like the letter L. “Loser,” she whispered, not being able to say anything else without losing control.

  “You’re not a loser,” Mom assured her. She shoved the literature on eating disorders into her purse and wrapped her arm around her daughter. Melissa felt trapped by the weight of Mom’s arm. She didn’t want to be babied. She didn’t have a problem. She just had a lot going on.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mom pulled the bean burrito, diet soda, and tortilla chips from the paper bag and set them in front of Melissa. Melissa stared at all of the fatty food in front of her. She winced just thinking about eating sour cream and cheese. Mom sat down and waited. Melissa felt Mom’s eyes on her. She willed Mom to stop staring. It didn’t work. How could she eat or even move under such scrutiny? She took a sip from her straw to look busy. The bubbles calmed her stomach. She looked at Mom, tilted her head, and smiled weakly.

  They chitchatted about everything except Melissa’s eating disorder as Mom polished off her soft taco smothered in hot sauce and Melissa ate a few forkfuls of black beans and nibbled at the edges of her tortilla.

  She started to wrap up the mostly uneaten lunch back in its foil wrapper as Mom planned all the fun things they could do with Melissa’s week off from school.

  “Wait a minute, sweetie. You barely touched your food. I thought you loved El Munchitos!”

  “I do, Mom. I’m just not that hungry, okay? It’s been kind of a rough morning,” Melissa snapped. Then she shook her head and said, “Month, actually.”

  “Okay,” Mom agreed, but her eyes showed concern. “Try to eat more at dinner?”

  “Deal.”

  The next few meals were like that. Mom bought or cooked something fattening, and Melissa was grossed out by the overwhelming gooeyness or greasiness of the food.

  On Saturday night Melissa felt like she was going to throw up when Dad lifted the lid of the white cardboard box to reveal a super-stuffed pizza with all the toppings. She turned away and tensed her jaw as he pulled a piece onto a plate.

  “Mel, you’ve got to eat something,” Dad pleaded when he saw her cringe.

  “Yeah, something, Dad, but not that. I’m trying, really, but that’s gross! That pizza’s so loaded with fat and cholesterol and calories and carbs. I mean, who really eats sausage and pepperoni and double cheese and hamburger all at once? It could give you a heart attack!”

  Dad nodded. “I get it. Would a slice of plain cheese work?”

  Melissa inhaled and closed her eyes. God, please help! Where are You?

  A wave of calm filled her.

  “I’ll try.”

  Dad picked up the phone and ordered a small cheese pizza. It tasted surprisingly yummy. In fact, Melissa ate a whole piece. She almost grabbed a second slice but stopped herself. She and her parents were laughing by the end of dinner. It felt nice to be a person again, for food to taste good, to laugh, and not to be worried about school, friends, or Beau for just a night.

  After dinner the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Yellow.” Gracie’s voice seemed to smile.

  “Hey.”

  “So is everything all right? When you weren’t at school yesterday I called, but your mom said you were sick, and you didn’t call back. Lindsey said you passed out at practice. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Melissa curled her legs around herself in the wooden kitchen chair. “I’m such a loser for fainting! What did Lindsey say?”

  “I don’t know, just that you passed out and Todd kind of freaked out and sent you home and made her tell your mom to take you to the doctor. We’ve all been totally worried.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you. With Beau and school and everything, I just hadn’t felt like eating much, and I got kind of dizzy. No big deal.”

  “You’ve always been kind of dizzy,” Gracie teased.

  “Thanks a lot.” Melissa laughed.

  “So why the doc?”

  “Just to make sure it wasn’t anything big.” Melissa paused. “And it’s not. She just wants me to stay home for a week to get my strength up. Anyway, I’ll need you to one, fill me in on all the gossip, and two, help me get caught up in French—in that order, of course.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Melissa spent the week with Mom, who cancelled all of her social and volunteer obligations. She felt like she was five years old. They went to the mall and to the grocery store. Melissa got to pick out foods that sounded good to her like salads and fruit—things she could eat without feeling overwhelmed.

  After school every day Gracie came over and brought Melissa’s assignments and books. They sat and chatted in the family room for at least an hour sipping diet sodas.

  “So, Yellow, how are you?” Gracie asked every day.

  “Fine, everything’s great—really great. What could be better than getting the week off from school and not even being sick? Right?” Melissa grinned and nodded. She hated lying to Gracie. She knew her best friend could see right through her. Gracie and the rest of the crew must suspect something. It was weird that she had to stay home for a week when she looked and acted normal, but she couldn’t tell them, not even Gracie.

  By Wednesday Melissa was bored of lounging around the house. She had really focused on her homework and gotten caught up in all of her classes. She stretched and practiced her dance moves every day, as if she were at real practice, since Dr. Ferrone and Todd had both made it clear they wouldn’t let her go back yet. She painted her toes electric blue and her fingernails shocking pink, and she even organized all of her photos and music on her computer.

  When Melissa woke up Thursday morning, she shuffled in slow motion, went to the bathroom, and took off her pajamas. Naked, she stood on the scale.

  “Two pounds,” she said aloud. Two pounds wasn’t awful, but it was so much work to lose them and way too easy to gain them back. She stepped off the scale. Sometimes if she waited for a minute, she could weigh back in at a lighter weight.

  Then Melissa remembered. She screamed, covering her mouth with her hand. She ste
pped to the sink and in a frenzy brushed her teeth. “Maybe the toothpaste will add something,” she mumbled to herself. She slathered herself with lotion and exhaled.

  She stepped back on and held her breath. Her eyes grew as wide as waffles. Now the scale teetered between a one- and two-pound gain. Melissa’s heart thumped like the bass on Todd’s speakers. She tossed on jeans and a yellow sweatshirt and scampered down the stairs.

  “Mom!” she cried.

  Mom wasn’t in the kitchen.

  “MOM!”

  She wasn’t in the family room, the dining room, or the living room. Melissa scanned every room. Her palms grew sweaty. Her neck prickled.

  “What is it, sweetie?” Mom ran through the laundry room door with a basket of clean clothes. Her face was pale and panicked. “What’s wrong?”

  Melissa stared wide-eyed at Mom, her mouth hung open like The Scream by Edvard Munch, and she began to bawl. She felt like the person depicted in that painting—all alone, stranded, and misshapen.

  Mom put down the laundry, and Melissa collapsed into her. She was relieved Mom didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t have any answers or any words. After several minutes Melissa pulled her head up enough to eke out, “Mom?”

  “What is it, Mel?” Mom whispered.

  “Dr. Ferrone. You know how she said I had to gain three pounds?” She choked back a sob. “By tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think will happen if I don’t?”

  Mom breathed deeply, stepped back, and looked her daughter in the eye. “How much have you gained, Melissa?”

  “Two pounds. I mean, I stepped on the scale, and it said I’d gained two, but I stepped on again after I brushed my teeth and lotioned up and it said I gained one. Which is really weird because toothpaste and lotion add weight,” she rambled.

  Mom laughed sympathetically and hugged Melissa tighter. “You thought you could gain weight by brushing your teeth or putting on lotion? Honey!”