She’s always teased me about how little sunlight I let inside my room. The walls are painted navy, but I’m not a total vampire. There are twinkle lights under a white canopy over my bed that gives the room this dreamy atmosphere. It helps me sleep.
Besides the framed Frida print, there’s a giant chalkboard leaning on the wall next to my bed where I doodle and write my favorite quotes. The bookshelves are stuffed with diaries, art books and old records. A pale green chair sits next to my easel. Art supplies are scattered on the floor around it. Drawing tools mostly. Some paints. And a big stack of art pads of all sizes.
“Same place?” Sam asks.
I nod. The familiarity of our friendship makes me feel better. Our fights have never lasted long. It feels good to be reunited with both of them. All three of us haven’t hung out together since the beginning of summer. Antonia was traveling. Sam was working. I was helping Mom with her literacy campaign. Though Sam and I have known each other since elementary school, we formed our trifecta with Antonia at the beginning of high school in world history when the three of us were assigned a research project on the Middle Ages. I never thought any of us would have been friends with each other, but I guess we can thank Vlad the Impaler for bringing us together.
As Sam walks into my closet and reaches behind one of my shoeboxes, I notice how tan and muscular he’s gotten over the summer. Maybe he doesn’t need to fill out as much as I thought. He brings out the vodka, twists off the cap and offers the bottle to me.
It’s almost empty.
“Damn, Liv,” Sam says. “How much have you been drinking this summer?”
“Shut up. Just give me the bottle.”
I take the first pull. The alcohol burns its way down.
“I have a confession to make.” Antonia grabs the bottle. “Better give me a drink first.”
“Confession?” I ask. “What’s this about?”
Sam takes a double shot. After all his talk about immorality and swanky boat parties. “Maybe she’s willing to teleport after all,” he says.
I look at Antonia. She looks like she’s about to burst with secrets. Is there something she hasn’t told me about what happened during summer vacation?
“Nothing like that,” she says. “It’s this girl.”
“Girl?” Sam and I say at the same time.
“Yes, a girl. I’ve been talking to this girl from the track team.” Antonia fidgets with her front pocket. “I’m pretty sure we want to hook up with each other.”
“Are you serious?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
We’ve talked about guys before, but Antonia always turned the subject back to me. Though she has a flirtatious personality, I guess I just thought she wasn’t interested in dating people in general. She seemed to always be able to have fun on her own.
“I wanted to make sure I really knew before I told you,” Antonia says.
I hug Antonia tight. “I’m so glad you said something.”
“You guys are the first people I’ve told,” Antonia says, smiling as I let go of the hug. “Except for her, of course. I’ll eventually tell my family, but they’re open-minded. I’m not worried.”
“Dude. From the track team?” Sam says. “You’ve got some serious game.”
“There’s a problem,” Antonia says. “Better give me another drink.”
She takes the bottle from me and sends another shot down her throat.
“What is it?” I ask as she wipes her mouth.
“I think she’s scared,” Antonia says. “She doesn’t want to be labeled. You know? Her parents are pretty old-fashioned. She said her father won’t even watch a TV show with a gay character. At least that’s what she tells me about him. Real loser.”
“Screw that guy,” Sam says, taking the bottle from her. “Do what makes you happy. You should definitely go for it.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m so here for this. For you.”
“Thanks, Sam.” Antonia squeezes his bicep and winks at me. “So now that I’ve made my confession...you guys can’t leave me hanging. We’ve barely seen each other in like three months. There must be some new deep dark secret you’re dying to tell us.”
“I don’t know,” Sam says, looking down at my carpet.
“You must have hooked up with some hot surfer chicks over the summer.” I take another swig from the bottle. It’s finally starting to make me feel like the warmth is radiating from my bones. “Come on. You know you want to tell.”
As soon as I say those words, I regret asking about other girls. If there are any or have been any over the summer, I don’t want to know. Thinking of him with other girls creates knots in my stomach. Even though I don’t want Sam to be overprotective, I suddenly feel protective over him. Everything about our relationship feels like a paradox.
“Yeah. Right,” Sam mumbles. He looks up at Antonia. “Let’s talk about something else, please?”
“Come on.” I swing my arm around Sam, leaning my head onto his shoulder. “You can tell us. We always talk about everything.”
“Yeah.” Antonia shakes her index finger. “No secrets.”
“It’s really stupid, but I keep having these dreams about my brother,” Sam says. He absentmindedly tucks his hair behind his ear. “We’ll be surfing, joking around, racing each other to catch a wave, but then he disappears under the water. I can never save him.”
“Sam,” I say, hugging him, remembering how he cried into my chest the day he found out his older brother, James, had died. It broke my heart. It still does. “You okay?”
James died last year from a drug overdose at their house. It was completely unexpected. He was a super nice guy who would stop anything he was doing to help someone else. James had been visiting home from the University of Chicago, where he was on the crew team. We didn’t know until later, but a doctor had prescribed heavy painkillers for a back injury that happened during a rowing competition, which I guess led to James getting involved in doing harder drugs.
I was shocked when I found out. He’d only been back three days for Christmas break when he overdosed. Sam found his body. We’ve only talked about what happened once or twice, but Sam doesn’t say much. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I can help him with. I can’t take away his pain or erase what happened. Whenever I think about what Sam must have had to go through, I get a lump in my throat. I feel helpless.
My problems seem so trivial compared to Sam’s loss. What right do I have to fall apart when there are other people who’ve been dealt a hand much worse than mine?
“Yeah.” Sam pulls away. “It’s just a really weird feeling. I wake up and the only person I want to talk to about James’s death is...James.” We all go silent for a moment until Sam takes the bottle from me. “Anyway. I took my turn. Fair’s fair. Liv?”
“Oh man,” I say nervously. It’s my turn to do some talking about my personal issues. I think about how depressed I was this summer and how much I wanted to tell them that I felt like a ghost haunting the real world, but I couldn’t, because they were living their best lives and I didn’t want to be selfish and ruin their happiness.
Because Sam and Antonia were both gone, I started spending a lot of time online. I started looking up tips about purging and I stumbled onto a pro-bulimia forum. Then I found myself making an account so I could talk to other users of the site. My thoughts about food started getting more obsessive the more I read the posts. One night, I saw a thread where the original poster asked for photos of other people’s binge foods.
I scrolled through and examined the dozens of food photographs. The one that got to me was all of this half-eaten food spread across a table with all the wrappers—leftovers of a takeout chicken shawarma, a slab of meat lasagna, cookie batter, a chocolate milkshake. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good a nice big binge would feel. Just looking at the food made me feel excited to
eat, so I went downstairs and raided the pantry. I took everything that was either leftover or premade: bacon and cheddar potato skins, three microwave burritos, a can of sweet corn, three hot dogs, a container of cake frosting, a quarter of an apple pie, carrots and hummus, a small bag of pita bread and half a jar of peanut better.
Looking at the pictures while eating made me feel so much less alone. It’s not like I can talk to Antonia or Sam about my bulimia. What would I say? That I’ve started wearing ponytails because my hair has thinned out so much? That puking actually feels like a relief? I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. It’s uncomfortable and disgusting. But knowing other girls are bingeing too is so cathartic. It’s the easiest thing to eat.
So simple. So animalistic.
The sensory experience of chewing and tasting was euphoric. Finishing off one thing made me immediately want to start on the next. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I had to give in to it until I was so full I literally couldn’t stuff anything down my disgusting throat. Then I vomited and vomited until there was nothing left.
I’m almost certain Antonia suspects something’s going on with my eating habits after I kept hesitating every time she asked whether I wanted to eat with her. She knows me too well. I need to throw her off that trail, because she can be relentless.
“Dad says he’s running for governor,” I finally say. “He hasn’t announced yet though. He’s keeping it on the down low until he hires a campaign manager.”
“And that’s a problem?” Sam asks.
“Duh,” I say. “Get ready for your little Liv’s face to appear on the front page of the Los Angeles Times when the announcement happens. It won’t be as easy as his other elections. He’s not going to be the incumbent this time, which means a lot more media coverage. TV appearances. Articles. That kind of thing.”
“That actually sounds pretty exciting,” Antonia says.
“Mason’s coming home next weekend too,” I add. “I’m not looking forward to that either. We’ve had our share of problems.”
“That’s not a big problem,” Antonia says. “That’s just family.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say, but I don’t really agree in my heart. Not when family is my biggest problem next to a certain boy named Zach. Just thinking about him motivates me to keep restricting and purging until I reach my goal weight.
I have to talk to him again.
And I have to look good when I do.
e i g h t
“Most bad behavior comes from insecurity.”
—Debra Winger
“So, Sam told me something interesting,” Antonia says, pulling her messenger bag up over her shoulder.
Even though I want to know the gossip about Sam, I’m having a hard time listening right now. I can’t concentrate. I’m so hungry. I was starving when I woke up this morning, but I stuck to my morning grapefruit and tea. It’s working at least.
“Wait. What?” I ask.
“He joined debate club. Forensics or whatever. Why do they call it that? I thought that was supposed to be related to some kind of CSI crap.”
“He did?” I wonder why he didn’t tell me. I suddenly feel a little hurt—like maybe Sam is getting back at us for going to the party without him. “When did he say that?”
Students are spilling out into the hallway. Eastlake Prep, home of the “most talented student body” in the Los Angeles area. The pressure to be successful, to set yourself apart from everyone else, is ridiculously high. How else are you going to feel, when most of your classmates are actors on cable television and world-class athletes?
I glance around the hall. I’m desperate to see Zach again. I start to feel butterflies just thinking about him—his dark hair, his defined jawline—but then I get queasy.
Antonia slams her locker shut. “When we were walking out to our cars after we studied...I mean, after we drank in your bedroom.”
“That was like...” I start counting in my head “...a week ago.”
“I didn’t think you were going to think it was that big of a deal.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get so jealous. He just said he forgot to tell us.”
“Him? Likely not,” I say. “He’s been acting weird lately. Did you see how jealous he got when you started talking about what happened at the boat party with Jackson?”
“He’s definitely not the same guy.” Antonia curls up her arm like she’s lifting a weight. “Did you see those biceps? Those surf camp babes must have been all over him.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, dragging her toward class, though I have noticed that Sam has begun to fill out the last few months. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Wait a second,” Antonia says. “Zach Park might have a thing for you, but secretly you actually have a thing for Sam, don’t you? Since when? All along?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I say. Antonia has teased me about having a crush on Sam ever since I told her about the one time we kissed on the bench last year. “I mean Sam’s a great guy, but I know him too well. There’s no mystery there.”
I think there was maybe a chance for us once, but after I cried on his shoulder after Ollie dumped me, I felt too awkward to let myself think about Sam that way. My feelings about our friendship were confusing. It felt natural to share the details about my relationships with him, but Sam would get hurt and never say anything. I couldn’t figure out where I stood with him. In some ways, I guess I’m still trying to solve that problem.
As Antonia and I enter the building, Jackson passes by with one of his friends. He doesn’t stop to talk, but as he walks by us he says, “Looking good, Liv.”
I roll my eyes at Antonia, hoping that I don’t look completely awkward. After the way he acted at the boat party, I feel like I’d better steer clear of him for a while. I definitely don’t want Zach’s best friend to think I’m into him. So I pretend not to hear Jackson, but Antonia notices him slapping his friend’s arm and laughing after they pass.
“What was that about?” Antonia asks.
I shrug. “Guys being guys, I guess.”
“Terrible excuse,” Antonia says. “What a creeper.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Sam has never liked him. Maybe he has something there.”
“I have a theory,” she says. “About Sam.”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t think of any reason he’d ever join speech and debate unless it’s for a...”
“...girl,” we say at the same time.
“Sam doesn’t do extracurricular stuff,” Antonia says. “He’s too busy studying or surfing.”
The greasy feeling in my stomach is getting worse. I want to ditch class, curl up under my blankets at home and fall asleep with my Frida painting watching over me.
“I’m guessing you want me to ask you more about your theory,” I say.
I can’t not ask. If I try to change the subject again, Antonia will really think something’s up with me and Sam, and Antonia is the worst about prying things out of me.
“Well,” Antonia says, “just by chance I saw him talking to Nina Jaggia outside the cafeteria on Tuesday.” She leads us past the school’s chapel and toward the off-white arches at the entrance of the classroom building. We’re on our way to US history.
“So?” I ask.
“So, Nina’s on the speech and debate team.”
“And?”
“Well you weren’t there. You didn’t see their body language.”
My pulse starts to speed up. It’s not entirely because of Sam, even though I am kind of hurt he hasn’t said anything to me. We’re about to cross paths with the school’s trio of most popular girls, including Cristina. Felicity and a girl named Amy Hernandez, a former Disney Channel dancer, are walking on either side of Cristina. This is about to be trouble.
I haven’t talked to Cristina beyon
d seeing her in the bathroom at the yacht party, but you can’t go to Eastlake and not know who she is. Her parents work for an Italian car company bringing in imports, and let me tell you they have millions, and even sponsor two Formula One cars and a portion of the privatized space industry—some kind of experimental engine called the X-Change.
And Cristina is really smart. Her robotics team won some major student competition last year, and all this was before she started dating Zach and snagged that major modeling campaign. She may have been following him around on the yacht, but I’m sure that was a one-night thing, because any guy would be following her around.
With her signature long red hair, Felicity completes the trio with her contacts in the art world. Her father works as a major collector for an international luxury goods conglomerate. They know everyone. If anyone is always going where I want to be, it’s Felicity. Only she doesn’t want to be an artist herself. She just wants the limelight.
Antonia hates them.
“Don’t look now, but here comes the Hydra,” Antonia says under her breath as we stop walking. They’re literally blocking our way through the archway into the building.
“Hi, ladies,” Felicity says.
“Be careful what you call them,” Amy says. The way Amy talks makes you wonder if she’s trying to be sarcastic or if she actually hates you.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to take offense.
“I heard you and Zach had quite the conversation on the yacht,” Cristina says. “He told me you were like a little puppy dog, following him around when I wasn’t in the room. That must have been annoying.”
I’m trying to like Cristina, but she’s not giving me much of a reason to—especially the way she was actually hanging all over him at the party even though, according to Zach, they had already broken up by then.
“I was talking to him about the show,” I say, trying to add to her jealousy since she obviously thinks she still has some kind of ownership over Zach. “I’ve seen every episode of Sisters & Mothers. It’s so addicting...”
Cristina suddenly cringes, looking at me strangely when I use that word, which I actually didn’t plan to say. Now I know she’s just as afraid of my revealing her secret about snorting up in the bathroom as I am of her revealing mine.
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