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  “And in and out and in and out.” Todd’s foot tapped the rhythm.

  Melissa kicked, but she felt like she was spinning. The music lost its beat and sounded like a roar.

  “And stag leeeeap!” Todd stretched out the word to fill the space in the music.

  Melissa jumped and popped her hands, one up high and one to the side. The flecks took over until the silver swarmed into black.

  Thud!

  “Stacey, get the music!” Todd barked, trotting to the spot on the floor where Melissa had gone down.

  Melissa heard Todd talking to her. She heard girls whispering.

  “Is she okay?”

  “What happened?”

  “Did anybody see?”

  Her eyelids pressed down as if they were taped shut. Melissa didn’t want to open them. It was so much easier to lie still. She didn’t want to face them—all the thin, bright-eyed dancers who were staring at her. She didn’t want to take her Chem test tomorrow or explain all of this to her parents or face Beau in class yet another day. If only she could keep her eyes closed.

  “Melissa, girl.” Todd shook her gently. “Melissa, girl, time to get up.”

  Melissa lay there, the cold, hard floor enveloping her body. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

  “You won’t get away with that,” Todd scolded. She could smell his spicy deodorant activated by his sweat. He placed his warm hand behind her back and lifted her to sitting.

  “I’m okay,” Melissa blurted, suddenly aware of her error. She realized how urgent it was for her to get up and dance. This was the second time she’d passed out at practice. Captains don’t pass out.

  “Everyone take five, except you, Lindsey,” Todd called out. “Girls, get a drink, stretch those legs, rest up. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Melissa smiled as she leaned to stand. Todd gently pushed her back to sitting.

  “I don’t know what’s up, Mel. But you’ve fainted twice in two weeks. Skipping breakfast might have done it the first time, but there’s more to it. You’re one of my best dancers. I need you the rest of the season and the next couple of seasons too.” His face was only inches from hers, so she couldn’t dodge his stern gaze.

  “I’m fine, really. I promise I’ll take it easy tonight after practice.” Melissa nodded.

  “Practice is over for you, honey. And I can’t let you perform tomorrow night.”

  A cold, clammy sweat oozed from Melissa’s pores, like garlic through a press. This couldn’t be happening! She scrunched her eyebrows and shook her head so vehemently her ponytail slapped her face.

  “It’s not a punishment, Melissa. It’s just reality. You need to take care of you. You need to see a doctor. What if there’s something to all of this?” Todd turned to Lindsey. “Call her mom, Linds. You know the number?”

  “Sure!” Lindsey trotted to her gym bag to retrieve her cell phone.

  Todd stood and extended his hand. “Let me know what the doc says, and then we can put you back in.”

  “What about Saturday morning?” Melissa croaked.

  “See the doctor, then we’ll talk.” Todd squeezed her hand and motioned her toward the bleachers.

  “Okay, girls. That’s more rest than you deserve. Now let’s see if you remember what we worked on.” Todd flicked on the music, and the team, minus Melissa, went to their places. Lindsey ran over to Melissa.

  “Your mom’s on the way.” She gave Melissa a kiss on the cheek and ran to join the squad.

  Melissa now felt like that empty M&M’S bag crumpled into the bottom of a stinky garbage can.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Are you okay, honey?” Instead of waiting in the car like usual, Mom came trotting to the side door of the church with her arms stretched out toward Melissa. Melissa flashed back to falling off the jungle gym on her first day at preschool and Mom running toward her. As much as Melissa wanted to turn into her mom’s arms and have her problems go away with a kiss and a Band-Aid, she was also embarrassed by Mom’s gushing emotion.

  She fell down. She was fine. Period. Well, she wasn’t completely fine, but what was she going to say? Melissa climbed into the car.

  “Lindsey said Todd wants you to see a doctor.” Mom bit her top lip but kept her gaze straight ahead, maneuvering out of the parking lot. “What’s going on, Mel? How long haven’t you been feeling well?”

  Melissa wasn’t sure which was worse, riding home with Mom or being banished from practice by Todd. She didn’t have the words to explain to Mom what was going on. She didn’t know how long it had been going on. Was it when Beau broke up with her? Was it before? Was it him or the eating or her grades? Was it captain tryouts or trying to act to her friends like none of it really mattered when all of it really did matter? It mattered a lot.

  “It’s nothing, really. I just fell, whatever,” Melissa started to choke out, but instead of more words, sobs started from somewhere in her hollow stomach, racked her rib cage, and poured uncontrollably from her mouth and eyes.

  “It’s okay, sweetie.” Mom took Melissa’s hand in hers. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

  Once home, Melissa bolted to her room, turned on her music, and buried herself in pillows. She cried and cried until she didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Glancing at the clock, she realized she was usually still in practice at this time. She definitely didn’t feel like studying. She wasn’t ready to face Mom. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready for that. She felt splotchy and smeary and achy all over. Her cheeks stung from the saltwater of her tears. Her eyes burned from her melted mascara.

  She nibbled on her ring finger’s nail, stood up, and changed the music from melancholy Rickie Lee Jones to melodic Sting, then meandered into the bathroom. She moved slowly, as if someone had pushed the frame-by-frame button on a remote control. Melissa turned on the shower. All of the thoughts swirling around her head disappeared in the soothing heat. The beads of water washed away her overwhelming sadness, leaving her numb. She felt like a robot drying off and dressing in fleece sweats. Melissa plopped on her bed and looked at her clock again. She had no direction, no purpose.

  Picking up a magazine and flipping through a few pages, her gaze went right through the words and pictures. She put the magazine back next to her Bible.

  “Of course,” Melissa whispered. She picked up the heavy book. The smooth leather cover felt familiar and comforting in her hands. She flipped to the index and slid her finger up and down the topics until she found food. She turned to one of the passages.

  At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

  The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, “Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.”

  But Abraham replied, “Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.” (Luke 16:20-25)

  Melissa hastily grabbed the pen with purple ink from her nightstand and wrote in her journal:

  The rich man in Jesus’ story lives in eternal anguish after eating rich feasts, but the poor starving Lazarus, longing for even scraps, goes to heaven. This must say something about pigging out on cake and popcorn. God wants me to eat meekly, so I can be meek. Right?

  Melissa scribbled, finally feeling like she had heard an answer from God. She was so relieved to find Scripture that compared people who ate a lot to those who didn’t. She was so worked up in what she thought the Bible said, she didn’t take time to finish reading the passage. She knew she should pray about this, to make sure God was leading her to His conclusions instead of hers, but she knew what she wanted it to say.r />
  Knock knock.

  “May I come in?” Mom called softly from the door.

  “Yeah.” Melissa looked up.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sweetie. I’m glad to see you writing in your journal. It helps to sort through your feelings.”

  Melissa nodded. She didn’t want to sort through those feelings with Mom.

  Mom waited, as if she hoped Melissa would divulge what she was writing. She had no intentions of sharing. “Well, dinner’s ready. Did you want to come down, or should I bring you up a tray?” Mom offered.

  Melissa couldn’t possibly eat.

  “I’m really not hungry.”

  Mom nodded. “Okay. I’ll put a plate for you in the fridge in case you change your mind later. We’re having tacos—with guacamole!” Mom grinned, rubbed Melissa on the back, and when she got no response, slowly left the room.

  “Guacamole is, like, so loaded in fat!” Melissa said under her breath.

  Melissa switched music again. The Beatles were perfect. Paul and John belted their hearts out about love and heartbreak, politics and nonsense, and her toes tapped and her heart ached right along with them. She painted her nails Pink Pizzazz. She organized her drawers, carefully folding every pair of underwear and matching the wayward socks that had been floating around the bottom of her drawer for months.

  Around eight o’clock there was another knock at her door.

  “Pumpkin?” It was Dad.

  “Yeah,” Melissa answered lazily.

  Dad poked his head in the door to find Melissa surrounded by a pile of jeans and sweaters that she had emptied from their homes. He raised his eyebrows.

  “Wow! I barely saw you there with all those clothes.”

  Melissa smiled.

  “I snuck you up some fried ice cream. Mom went all out on her Mexican theme.”

  Melissa peeked in the bowl and saw a round ball of cinnamon crunch. The honey topping smelled sickeningly sweet. Her stomach contracted.

  “It’s awesome,” Dad said. “Warning, though, you need to eat it fast or that hot shell melts all of the ice cream inside.”

  “I’ll proceed with caution,” Melissa said in a low voice, then gave him a mock salute.

  “I know you’re not ready now”—Dad gently cupped her chin in his hand—“but tomorrow we’ll need to talk about what’s going on.”

  Melissa’s eyes shifted to her carpet.

  “There’s definitely something wrong, sweetie. Cleaning your room is not normal behavior for a teenager.”

  Melissa laughed at Dad’s attempt at humor. “Okay. I’m a closet cleanaholic. I’ve been hiding it from you guys, but now I’ll come clean.” She winked.

  Dad smiled. “Cute. Seriously, Mel. In the morning, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said and nodded.

  When he closed the door, Melissa took the bowl, waited a few minutes, snuck into the bathroom, and rinsed the ice cream down the drain.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep.

  Like on every other school morning, Melissa’s alarm went off. Like on every other school morning, she went to the bathroom, turned on the shower to heat up the water, weighed herself, brushed her teeth, showered, got dressed, and applied lip gloss and a layer of brown mascara.

  She clunked down the stairs in her saddle shoes, her uniform skirt brushing her thighs.

  Yesterday seemed like a fog. Melissa half-wondered if it had been a dream. She hadn’t eaten dinner, hadn’t even opened her backpack to do the homework that was due today, and had even fallen asleep with her lights on! She thrived on being organized and following the plan and the rules. Had she really let last night happen?

  She tried to step lightly into the kitchen. The fluorescent lights surprised her. Mom and Dad sat at the table in their robes.

  Melissa jerked back, tripped, and landed on the floor. A sharp pain sprang from her bottom.

  She nervously laughed at herself. “You guys surprised me,” she said, pulling herself from the ground. “What are you doing up?”

  “Remember, we were going to talk this morning,” Dad said softly.

  He had said that, but she had hoped he hadn’t meant it or that he wouldn’t remember.

  “Why don’t I get you some breakfast? You go ahead and sit down.” Mom nodded toward Melissa’s place, where a glass of orange juice already sat. Melissa assumed it wasn’t diluted with water. She would only be able to drink half the glass.

  “Tanner will be here in, like, five minutes.” Melissa’s voice shook and her eyes darted from side to side.

  “I called him last night,” Dad explained. “He’s not coming.”

  “Okay.”

  Melissa sat down, not sure if her parents were letting her be late to school or if they were driving her and hoped to talk on the way.

  “And I called school this morning.” Mom brought over a plate piled with bagels to the table. “I told them you’re not coming.”

  Melissa looked at her mom and back at her dad. These were the people who didn’t let her miss school unless she had a fever or was throwing up.

  “We have things to take care of that are even more important than school.” Dad put his hand on Melissa’s. “Your hand is freezing. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just a little chilly this morning.” She pulled her sweater tighter around her uniform.

  “Eat a warm bagel, honey. I’ll make some hot chocolate. You get warmed up and filled up and relax. Dad and I will talk first.”

  Melissa nodded. She put half a bagel on her plate. It did feel warm. She took a bite. It tasted so rich and smooth, even better than normal. She ate another bite and another, then noticed little yellow drips on her plate. “Butter!” she squealed in dismay.

  “Don’t you like your bagels buttered?” Mom asked.

  Melissa instinctively spit out the half-chewed piece of bagel that was still in her mouth. She wanted to spit out the other bites that were already somewhere down her throat. In her mind, butter was poison. It was fat. It was actually called fat.

  Tears slid down her face as she gagged. She wiped her tongue clean with her napkin. The thin paper shredded on her wet tongue. She grabbed her juice to wash down the butter and paper remnants but remembered her drink was full strength, thus full of calories. She put her glass down in frustration. She felt totally out of control. She wanted to run, but Mom and Dad were now both really staring at her. There was nowhere to go.

  Mom pulled her from her chair and hugged her tight.

  “My goodness, Melissa. There’s nothing left of you under that sweater!”

  Dad put down his coffee and joined in the hug. Melissa fought their arms, feeling like she was being constricted and measured. She loved wearing sweaters because they hid how fat she felt. She now realized the bulk had also hidden the weight she had lost. She had worked so hard to lose those pounds. They couldn’t criticize her for that. She squirmed in their hold, still crying. Then she collapsed against her parents.

  When she gathered her breath, what must have been at least ten minutes later, Dad lowered her back into her chair.

  “We’re ready to listen, Mel, if you’re ready to talk.”

  Why was she crying? Because of butter on a bagel? Because she couldn’t go to school or practice? Because Todd certainly wouldn’t pick her for captain now? Because of Beau? Where should she start? What should she say?

  “It’s everything! You wouldn’t understand!” she blurted.

  “You’ve got a lot going on.” Mom nodded with compassion.

  “I can’t go to practice today, and now I know I won’t make captain!”

  “Because you’ll miss one practice?” Dad asked, angling his brows.

  “No. Yes. No.” Melissa tilted her head from side to side. “Because Todd sent me home yesterday, and he won’t think the kind of girl who’s sent home from practice is the kind of girl who could lead his team next year.” Melissa kicked off her saddles, letting them thud on the floor. She didn’t feel wo
rthy to wear them. “He won’t even let me perform tonight.”

  “Let’s talk about that,” Mom offered. “Why did Todd send you home?”

  There was nothing she could make up that would make sense. Todd said she couldn’t come back until she’d seen a doctor. She would have to come clean.

  “I fainted.”

  “And,” Dad probed.

  “That’s it. I fainted, and Todd overreacted and thinks I need to see a doctor. He won’t let me perform until I do.” Melissa nibbled on her nails. “I guess we’d better call Dr. Ferrone, right?”

  Mom glanced at the clock on the stove.

  “I called her office when we got home yesterday. You have an appointment in an hour.”

  Melissa couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t like she was sick.

  “And,” Mom continued, “I called Todd last night to see why he was so bent on you seeing a doctor.”

  Melissa dropped her eyes to her shoes under the table.

  “He thinks you’re not eating, sweetie,” Mom whispered.

  Everything got blurry as large tears gushed from Melissa’s eyes.

  “I eat,” she squeaked.

  “I have to admit, I haven’t been paying attention to what you eat, Mel,” Dad chimed in. “I assume you’re old enough to know when you’re hungry and what’s good for you. You always have breakfast before we wake up and lunch at school. Dinner just depends on our schedules, and between your practices, Mom’s volunteering, and my crazy deadlines, we only eat together a couple of times a week.” He put his hand on her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” Melissa sputtered between the tears that kept falling. How could Dad blame this on not eating dinner together?

  “It’s not anyone’s fault,” Mom said, placing her hand on Melissa’s other hand. “But we’re all in this together. We’ll find a way to fix things.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Melissa wished Mom had stayed in the waiting room. She felt uncomfortable undressing in front of her. She knew it was her own mother, but it was still kind of weird. And today she knew Mom would be scrutinizing her. She turned toward the wall when she pulled off her sweater and quickly pulled the paper gown around her.