The New David Espinoza

by Fred Aceves

  “I’ll probably be able to stop by later, birthday girl,” Miguel says. Then to me: “But if not I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  We’re going to see the new Van Nelson movie. The regular-sized Van Nelson who’s starring in a comedy—a new genre for him. He looks fine, I told myself when I saw the trailer. And it’s true. Just like I know I look fine and will continue to look fine when my body gets smaller. It’s something I know deep down though. Those negative thoughts keep invading my brain, and I gotta keep kicking them out. It’s not easy.

  It won’t be easy, but I can and will beat this messed-up disorder. I can overcome anything. Even my fear of facing those kids at Culler High on Monday. It will make me into a better person.

  That which does not kill me makes me stronger.

  I read up on that quote and a theory that explains what Nietzsche might have meant. Basically, when life deals you a blow, you confront it. You don’t run away or try some cheap fix like I did. You own it, and by dealing with it, you become stronger than you were before.

  That’s the kind of strength I want. The real kind that can help me deal with the unpredictable and difficult life ahead of me.

  “I’m outta here,” Miguel says. He pounds his chest twice and flashes the peace sign.

  Gaby does the same, and accidentally smears the top of her apron with cookie goo. She looks down at it. “Dang it!”

  I open the door for Miguel, sort of sad he’s leaving. I know I’ll probably see him in a few hours. And if not, then tomorrow. It’s just that I’ve missed him so much these past months.

  “I want to thank you for being so cool about everything,” I tell him.

  “Dude, I totally understand. It all makes sense now. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I explained, sure, but I didn’t apologize. I want you to know I’m sorry. I basically ditched you, fucked off for all these months, and I’m sorry about that.”

  “Dude,” he says, and opens his arms. “We’re good.”

  Miguel is the absolute best. I hug him.

  About a half hour later the first cookies are cooling on the rack and the second tray is baking when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?” Gaby shouts from her bedroom, and keeps shouting as she runs past the kitchen.

  “It’s me!” Karina shouts from behind the closed door.

  I feel myself go warm all over, just from that sweet voice. I wasn’t expecting her until everybody else showed up.

  Gaby swings the front door open and lets out a joyous scream so loud you’d think the actual My Little Ponies, all six, were on the lawn.

  Karina sets down a present wrapped with a green bow to give Gaby a hug. “Happy birthday, Gaby!”

  I’ve forgotten how beautiful Karina is.

  “You’ve gotten so big!” Karina tells Gaby. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Let me say hi to your brother.”

  Karina gets up and gives me a quick, but still nice, hug.

  I tell Gaby to give us a minute and head outside with Karina—to the first step on the porch, where we used to sit for hours.

  When she takes a seat next to me, I say, “I’m sorry, Karina. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

  “I know. I believe you.” She meets my gaze and says, “Muscle dysmorphia makes sense. I looked it up. It sucks that you’ve been dealing with that.”

  “It’s like having an irrational voice in my head that I have to get to shut up.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ll be learning how to do it. There’s a support group at the Linden Community Center that meets every Tuesday.”

  It felt so new and magical just moments ago, when Karina walked into the house. Now there’s the old familiarity. Like no time has passed at all. I wanna reach over and hold her hand, but then I remember.

  “Um, let me ask you a question,” I say, and pause, wondering how to ask it. “I was at the downtown music concert and saw you with a guy.”

  She gives a small nod. Her face keeps the same calm expression. “What’s the question?”

  “Right. Yeah. Okay. So . . . is that your boyfriend or something?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business . . .”

  I hold my breath, feeling empty and fragile. Like if I were to slip off this step I’d shatter to pieces.

  “. . . but no, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  I release that breath. All the horrible nerves of the last three seconds drain from me.

  She says, “It’s just sex.”

  That knocks the last bit of oxygen outta me. I’m stunned, unable to think or say a word. I remember that guy and imagine them together. I catch the rage that starts to form in me, breathe slowly to cool it. If I’m going to be angry, it has to be at myself.

  I turn to face her. A smile seems to be curling the sides of her lips. She busts out laughing.

  “You’re the worst, Karina.”

  I let her enjoy the moment while I decide the guy I wanted to kill a few seconds ago isn’t too bad. In fact, he might be cool.

  When she finally stops laughing, she says, “I work at Burger King part-time now. The guy you saw me with works the drive-through. He’s okay, I guess, but we didn’t go out a second time.”

  She’s single!

  This love I feel for her, which I’ve been holding so close, doesn’t scare me so much anymore. I can be open with it.

  I offer my hand, palm up, so she can put hers in it.

  She looks at my hand then turns her gaze directly in front of her again. “No, David. You hurt me. You can’t just pop back into my life and fix everything with an apology.”

  I take back my hand. The rejection doesn’t feel great, but I guess I don’t deserve to feel great. In fact, she’s being super nice with me if I really think about it.

  “I totally understand,” I say. “I just want you to know that I’ll do anything to regain your trust. Anything at all.”

  She needs time. I get that. I turn my body so it’s easy to face her. “I love you, Karina.” I haven’t said it to her in months but the words feel normal coming out. “And I want you to know I didn’t deliberately hurt you and that I won’t hurt you again in any way.”

  Her eyes fall on me, so intense and warm. “I can forgive you, David. But it doesn’t mean that will make everything okay now. And it doesn’t mean we’ll go out again.”

  My gut twists and twists. Why wouldn’t we get back together? Somehow, I’ve missed something. “What are you saying?”

  “I’d given up on you, David. Cut you outta my life for good. I wasn’t expecting you to enter again. Now I gotta deal with all these feelings and stuff. Do a lot of thinking. You also have to deal with a lot yourself. You should really be focused on that right now.”

  It’s hard to argue with that. I need to focus on myself right now instead of on us getting back together. She’s making tons of sense.

  I run everything she’s said through my brain again, because I want to make sure I understand.

  “Let me get this straight. Are you saying we can at least try to hang out as friends?”

  “Exactly.” She smiles. “Let’s take things slow and mark us down as a maybe.”

  I smile too. Because I want us back together again, more than anything, and there’s a possibility that it will happen.

  But if it doesn’t, I know it won’t destroy me. Not permanently anyway. I’ll deal with those feelings like the tough person I want to be. This time I won’t pull another weakass stunt and try a quick fix or run away from sadness. And one day, once I get through the sadness about it, I’ll be stronger than ever.

  “Maybe is good,” I say. “I can live with maybe.”

  Author’s Note

  Back in high school my friends and I wanted to be more muscular. We lifted weights, some with more dedication than others, though we would never go so far as to take steroids.

  In health class we had learned about the h
ealth problems that steroids caused: to the heart, the liver, the kidneys, the reproductive system, not to mention the negative mental effects. So why, at the age of eighteen, did I end up taking them?

  We have to go back to when I was a sixteen-year-old cook at the local pizzeria. That’s where I met Jake (let’s call him that).

  He was a twenty-year-old delivery driver and surprisingly open about using steroids. Not that he could deny it. His bodybuilding results were staggering, unachievable without drug enhancement. In two years I witnessed him transform from a fit college student to a muscular wonder that children would point at.

  I was also impressed. By the time I turned eighteen, the pressure to have a better physique, one I associated with masculinity, became much stronger. I decided to get serious about weightlifting. I gave up basketball, got rid of the barbell set I had at home, and started training with Jake and his friends at the local gym. With all that fitness equipment, and thanks to carefully planned workouts and meals, I made great progress in the first two months, though I didn’t think so at the time.

  The steroid users I trained among were packing on muscle at a much faster rate. I thought I could use a boost. Just one three-month cycle of steroids to give me a push, and after that I would keep growing the natural way. That was how my thinking went. After all, what was the worst that could happen in that short time? The gym guys had been taking steroids for years, some for decades, and they seemed fine.

  So I went for it, not fully understanding how my body and personality would change with all that extra testosterone in my system. What used to be the occasional blemish on my face became full-on acne, covering both cheeks and dotting my upper back. Worse were my mood swings, how I quickly flew into a rage over annoyances, no matter how small.

  But I stuck with my plan. Every time I noticed my body filling out my shirt more, the side effects seemed worth it.

  When I got off the steroids my symptoms actually got worse as my body’s testosterone productions struggled to ramp up to normal. No more mood swings because the depression was steady, my energy at a low most of the day.

  I could not believe the gym guys played with their hormones this way, switching their testosterone off and then on blast several times per year.

  A couple of months later my acne and depression were done. Soon after, to my shock, so were the results. I lost all the gains I had made.

  No wonder those other guys kept taking steroids. To stop meant reversing the progress, which, for them, didn’t seem like much progress to begin with. Because they had a specific body image issue, one which didn’t have a name yet.1

  Muscle dysmorphia: a psychological disorder marked by a negative body image and an obsessive desire to have a muscular physique.

  It is sometimes referred to as “manorexia” because it affects mostly boys and men and is quite similar to anorexia nervosa. Rather than try to get as thin as possible, the people affected by muscle dysmorphia try to get as muscular as possible.

  The struggle boys face with body image issues often feel lesser known or discussed, though many boys feel insecurity about their bodies and take dangerous measures to improve their appearance.

  The pressures for boys keep increasing. Every year the physiques of bodybuilders, actors, superheroes, video game characters, and action figures become more muscular than their predecessors.

  Some experts believe that the rates for muscle dysmorphia in men may be similar to the rates of anorexia in women, but that it is more likely to go undiagnosed because of a lack of awareness.2

  With David Espinoza’s story I hope to highlight this issue that affects many boys. It is a work of fiction, inspired by people I have known and by teens and men I interviewed during my research.

  I would like to thank them for taking time to share their stories with me.

  To learn more or to get help if you are struggling with muscle dysmorphia, body dysmorphia, or any other body/eating disorder, here are some resources:

  National Eating Disorders Association:

  https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/

  The BDD Foundation: https://bddfoundation.org/

  https://bddfoundation.org/muscle-dysmorphia-body-image-in-men/

  Mental Health America:

  http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/conditions/body-dysmorphic-disorder-bdd

  http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/conditions/body-dysmorphic-disorder-bdd-and-youth

  Pope, Jr., Harrison G., Katharine A. Phillips, and Roberto Olivardia. The Adonis Complex: The Secret Crisis of Male Body Obsession. Simon and Schuster, 2000.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my talented and supportive team at HarperCollins. Rosemary Brosnan, your first yes changed my life, and your belief that I could write this second book propelled me. Thanks to my astute editor, Jessica MacLeish, who helped this story come together. Thanks also to editor Alexandra Cooper for helping with the final changes.

  Thanks to the Bent Agency and my agent, Louise Fury, who not only takes care of the behind-the-scenes stuff, but also stepped in to read my work when I was struggling the most. Your insight and enthusiasm gave me the push I needed.

  Thanks to my early readers. Marcelo Asher Quarantotto gave me excellent feedback in the early stages, and Joy L. Smith combed through the plot and assured me I had one.

  Thanks to the librarians, teachers, bloggers, booksellers, reviewers, and all publishing pros helping get my story into the hands of readers.

  Thanks to all my family who have consistently supported me, no matter how far away I happen to be living. My Tío Pedro believed in me when few people did. The infectious excitement of my sisters, Yesmin and Stefany, constantly rubs off on me and keeps me going. And a very big thanks to Mom, whose support keeps me sane, and who lives as though her main purpose on this planet is to lift others up.

  The biggest thank you of all is for you, reader. It’s because of you that I’m fortunate enough to do what I love.

  About the Author

  Photo by Jalil Olmedo

  FRED ACEVES is the author of The Closest I’ve Come, which was an ALA/YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults selection, a Kirkus Reviews Best Books of the Year selection, and a NYPL Best Books of the Year selection. The New David Espinoza is his second novel. Fred grew up in the United States and now lives in Mexico.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Books by Fred Aceves

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  Copyright

  HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  THE NEW DAVID ESPINOZA. Copyright © 2020 by Fred Aceves. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.epicreads.com

  Cover art © 2020 by NAJA CONRAD-HANSEN

  Cover design by CATHERINE SAN JUAN

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Aceves, Fred, author.

  Title: The New David Espinoza / Fred Aceves

  Description: First edition. | New York : HarperTeen, [2020] | Audience: Ages 14 up | Audience: Grades 10–12 | Summary: Obsessed with the idea that he is not musc
ular enough and tired of being bullied, David, age seventeen, begins using steroids, endangering his relationships with family and friends.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019026614 | ISBN 978-0-06-248988-3 (hardcover)

  Subjects: CYAC: Body image—Fiction. | Bodybuilding—Fiction. | Steroids—Fiction. | Drug abuse—Fiction. | Bullying—Fiction. | Latin Americans—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A216 New 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019026614

  * * *

  Digital Edition FEBRUARY 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-248992-0

  Print ISBN: 978-0-06-248988-3

  1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321

  FIRST EDITION

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