Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped

by Melody Carlson

  3. What do you think caused Emily’s distorted body image? Why did she still see “thunder thighs” after she lost weight?

  4. How did you feel when Leah decided to get breast-reduction surgery? What advice would you have given her?

  5. Leah was highly influenced by the fashion industry. Do you think our American culture is partially to blame for the way women perceive themselves? Explain.

  6. How much influence did Emily’s parents have on her in regard to her weight and eating disorder? What could they have done differently? How could Emily have asked for these things (if at all)?

  7. Why do you think that Emily’s bout with anorexia built a wall between her and God?

  8. How do you think God wants you to treat your body?

  9. Do you think you spend more time focused on your exterior person (looks, weight, . . . ) or on your interior person (heart, soul, mind, . . . )? How can you stay balanced?

  10. Emily finally reached the place where she was thankful for the way God designed her. Have you come to that place yet? Why or why not? What would it take to get you there?

  Resources for more help and

  information on eating disorders

  National Eating Disorders Association

  603 Stewart St., Suite 803, Seattle, WA 98101

  Business Office: (206) 382-3587

  Toll-free Information and Referral Helpline: (800) 931-2237

  http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org

  Christian Answers Network

  PO Box 200

  Gilbert, AZ 85299

  http://www.christiananswers.net/q-eden/eatingdisorders.html

  http://kidshealth.org/teen/food_fitness/problems/eat_disorder.html

  TrueColors Book 10

  Bright Purple

  Coming in September 2006

  The story of a girl who has to tackle the tough questions about

  homosexuality without losing her friends in the process.

  One

  MY BEST FRIEND JUST TOLD ME SHE’S A LESBIAN. A LESBIAN!

  Just like that, as we’re sitting in the food court at Greenville Mall, Sam calmly makes this little announcement, then adds, “I just thought you should know.”

  “Real funny.” I roll my eyes at her and attempt to turn my attention back to my half-eaten veggie burrito. Sam and I have been best friends since grade school, and she’s always had this really offbeat sense of humor. “Give me a break,” I tell her. “Can’t you see I’m trying to eat here?”

  “I’m serious, Ramie.”

  “Yeah, right.” But even as I try to brush her words away, my head begins to feel a little fuzzy and my upper lip actually starts feeling numb. And somewhere, deep down in the pit of my stomach, I think maybe she really is serious.

  “I decided to come out of the closet,” she continues. “And I need you to believe me, Ramie. Trust me, it’s not like it’s easy to say this to you.”

  I force myself to look at her now. Her expression is dead serious, and I don’t think she’s joking. But at the same time, she doesn’t really look quite like herself either. Something is different, and I’m wondering if this really is the same Samantha LeCroix that I grew up with. The girl who moved in down the street when we were in fourth grade? The girl who taught me how to play soccer and basketball? Is this really the same girl I’ve shared secrets and sleepovers with? Oh, sure, she has the same short, curly brown hair, those same dark, penetrating eyes, but something is different. And it’s like I suddenly feel frightened of her. A shockwave of this reality shoots through me. “You really mean this,” I manage to say in a raspy voice. My upper lip is so numb that it feels like it’s been shot with Novocain, and I actually reach up to touch it, to see if it’s still there.

  She just nods, her dark brows pulling together in a deep frown.

  “Sam?” I hear the strain in my voice as I stare at her, making this silent plea with my eyes, like, tell me this isn’t really happening. Or that it’s just a lame joke. Or wake me up and announce that I’ve been having a horrible nightmare.

  She sighs, then presses her lips together as if she’s afraid to say another word. And that’s when I start to feel sick, like I’m going to hurl, like I better get out of here fast.

  “I gotta go,” I say as I make a dash to the bathroom, barely in time to lose my lunch in the toilet. I stay in the stall for a while, trying to catch my breath as I lean my back against the cool metal of the door and blankly stare at the bright purple walls that surround the toilet. I am trying to process what I’ve just heard. Trying to decide whether this is for real. It’s possible that Sam is just pulling a fast one on me. Maybe she’s trying to teach me a lesson, to get me off her back for trying to match her up with Joey Pinckney from youth group. Okay, I’ll admit the kid is kind of nerdy, but at least he’s a nice guy and a strong Christian too.

  “You left your purse at the table,” she says from the other side of the door.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, still unable to emerge from my temporary shelter.

  “You okay, Ramie?”

  “Must’ve been that stupid burrito,” I say as I flush the chunky remains down the toilet. “Guess those beans were bad or something.”

  “Yeah, I’ve warned you about that restaurant. BJ still swears she got food poisoning from their fish tacos.” Her voice sounds a little lighter now, and as a result I experience this faint flicker of hope, like maybe this really is just a hoax. Maybe it’s like that Tom Green Show where people get scammed while the camera is running. Maybe Sam is wearing a minicamcorder right this minute.

  “You were jerking me around out there, weren’t you?” I say as I tear off a big strip of toilet paper and wipe my mouth, then loudly blow my nose. “You didn’t really mean what you said, did you, Sam?”

  No answer.

  “Sam?” I take in a deep breath, steadying myself to go out and face her now, to convince her that this joke is in really bad taste, but I won’t hold it against her—if we can simply forget the whole thing.

  “I just wanted to be honest with you, Ramie. I thought it was about time I told you the truth about me.”

  I lean my head against the door with a dull thud then tightly shut my eyes. How can this be? How can we be sitting there, happily eating our lunch, and Sam suddenly announces that she’s gay? Like who does that anyway? And how is it possible that I never even saw this coming? I mean, if your best friend can’t guess that you’re gay, how can you be sure that you really are? And what does that suggest about me? Does Sam think that maybe I’m gay too? That she and I can be lovers now? Ugh! Or is it possible that I actually am gay and don’t even know it? And what will our friends think when they find out about this? Or our families? Or the church for that matter? And how can Sam still be a Christian if she’s a lesbian?

  Way too many questions race around in circles through my head until I am seriously dizzy. I feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, trapped inside the little farmhouse that’s being spun by the tornado. Only I’m trapped in this purple metal cubicle that’s whirling around and around, as my entire life spins totally out of control.

  about the author

  MELODY CARLSON has written more than one hundred books for all age groups, but she particularly enjoys writing for teens. Perhaps this is because her own teen years remain so vivid in her memory. After claiming to be an atheist at the ripe old age of twelve, she later surrendered her heart to Jesus and has been following him ever since. Her hope and prayer for all her readers is that each one would be touched by God in a special way through her stories. For more information, please visit Melody’s website at www.melodycarlson.com.

  Laura L. Smith

  Chapter One

  Melissa posed as perfectly as a marble statue. Her head was bent at a forty-five degree angle, her fingers were spread equidistantly, rigid, and exactly in line with her thighs. The music pulsed in her veins. She inhaled and silently counted along with Todd.

  “Five, six, seven, eight.” Even though he was on
ly five foot five, Todd had a booming voice that commanded the attention of every girl in the room. The rhythm of the music vibrated from the speakers on the church’s glossy gymnasium floor.

  Like a marionette brought to life by invisible strings, Melissa jerked her hands up, forming a V with her arms, snapped her head upright, and flashed a radiant smile.

  “And turn, six, seven, eight. Lift and lift and slide and slide,” Todd continued like a metronome. The pulsating beat pulled Melissa’s body back and forth.

  Abruptly, Todd’s solid muscular body relaxed. The coach turned his back to the group of girls and padded across the wooden floor to turn off the CD. Since dance team was somewhere low on the priority list of varsity sports at Spring Hill High, they were allotted zero gymnasium time for practices. The school’s gym was designated for the football players, the basketball players, the track team, and the softball team, but not the dance team. Luckily, the church Melissa’s family attended allowed the girls to practice in their gym.

  “Okay, any questions? No? Good. Then let’s continue.” Todd’s dark skin shone with perspiration as he flawlessly demonstrated the next sequence. Tiny yellow beads woven into the ends of his cornrows bounced lightly against his strong bare shoulders, bulging from his gray tank top. His compact body moved effortlessly across the floor while his chocolate eyes kept constant contact with the team.

  Melissa replayed his every move in her head, trying to make his motions and words translate into her body’s executing the dance correctly.

  Feet pounded the floor. Arms stretched to the ceiling. Hips swayed.

  Melissa turned to the left.

  Everyone else turned to the right.

  Melissa missed bumping into Jill by a fraction of an inch. Jill was a junior who could kick higher than the rest of the team and had an attitude to match. Jill’s flawless pale skin and sleek black hair were reminiscent of Snow White, but Jill certainly didn’t act like a fairy-tale princess. Jill shot Melissa a glare from her bright green eyes that could have come from an evil stepmother.

  Flames of shame pinched Melissa’s nose and ears. She caught her breath and stumbled to get back in step. How many of the others had seen her mess up? The other girls looked so pretty, so thin, so together. Melissa felt large and conspicuous, like an elephant stomping across the gym. Feel the music, she told herself.

  “Okay. That’s all for today,” Todd said between gulps of bottled water. “Not bad, but we have a lot to learn, ladies. We perform in two days.” Todd wiped drops of water from his manicured mustache.

  “Oh, and, girls, no cake between now and Friday. You want to look spectacular in your uniforms.” He winked.

  Sweat slid down Melissa’s forehead and stung her eyes. She tried to shrink inside her T-shirt. She darted for her dance bag, grabbed it, and walked as fast as she could until she was safe behind the girls’ room door. Protected by the wooden barrier, she pulled on her sweatshirt and yoga pants and exhaled.

  Finally her cumbersome body, the one that had turned the wrong way, the one Todd was clearly making the cake comment about, was covered. Tears threatened to escape from her eyes. Melissa waved her hand in front of her face in an attempt to fan her embarrassment and anger away. She peered into the full-length mirror and groaned at her reflection.

  Melissa slid into a stall and shut the door. She’d read in magazines about girls who threw up to lose weight. Melissa had thought about doing it before but never had the guts. How exactly should she do it? How would she position her body?

  Melissa knelt in front of the white toilet. Thankfully, her yoga pants provided a thin barrier between her knees and the germs and sludge on the once-white tiled floor. The stench of urine almost made her gag. She wouldn’t need to do much. Looking down at her hand, Melissa stuck out her index and middle fingers, ready to plunge them down her throat. Those two fingers could empty her of this feeling.

  Squeak! The bathroom door swung open.

  “Mel, is that you?” Lindsey asked.

  “Uh-huh.” Melissa’s face was blasted with heat like when she opened the oven door. She tried to stand and turn as silently as possible, then swung open the door.

  “Do you think there’s any way I’ll get this routine down by Friday night?” Lindsey rolled her eyes and smiled. The girls had met only about three months ago when they both made the Spring Hill High dance team. They had gone to different grade schools but had bonded immediately. They were inseparable at practice.

  Lindsey was Melissa’s physical opposite: five one and so tiny she could still buy her clothes from the kids’ department. Her blonde curls framed her pretty face and her pale blue eyes, which sparkled when she spoke. She looked like one of Melissa’s dolls she had dressed and fed when she was younger.

  Melissa was five nine. She usually wore her straight dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail revealing her round face, forest green eyes, and the freckles that spotted her nose. Friends told her she was slender, but she described herself as “medium-sized.”

  “You’ll get it, Linds. You’re basically awesome.”

  “Hardly. I’m lucky to have even made this team.” Lindsey pushed open the restroom door with her back.

  “Right,” Melissa began. “I was the one who almost fell flat on my face. Todd moves so fast.”

  Just then, Jill sauntered through the door as if Lindsey were opening it for her.

  “Nice turns.” She nodded toward Melissa.

  “Nice makeup,” Lindsey whispered when they were out of earshot in the hallway, commenting on Jill’s overdone face. Lindsey looked around to make sure no one was listening, then gave Melissa a silent high five and whispered, “I don’t care what Jill thinks. We rock.”

  Melissa tried to imitate Lindsey’s confidence, but she was still humiliated by her misstep, and her hands shook from almost being caught in the bathroom. Rock was not a word to describe her, unless, of course, it was the round, heavy kind.