Page 5 of Fade into You
“And you look…” She holds me out at arm’s length and smiles. “Exactly the same, except, well, your hair’s longer and more… mermaidier.”
Kayla’s mom gives me a wide-eyedmomlook as she scoots behind us to place her coffee mug in the sink. “Girls, I’m headingout to work but I’m leaving some cash here—so why don’t you go to the mall and get some pizza or burgers or fries, or you know, whatever. My treat. Okay?” she says, nodding at me pointedly.
“Okay,” I answer. “Thanks.”
“Kayla, did you hear me?” her mom says loudly. “I want you to get some food.Realfood. I’m serious.”
“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles, not looking at her mom.
So, this is new.
Kayla waits until her mom is out the door before she grabs the twenty-dollar bill and stuffs it into her pocket. Then she’s pulling me into the living room to sit on their plush oversized couch, which, unlike ours, hasn’t endured years of butts flattening the cushions and improperly cleaned food spills.
I thought my first question would be about that watercolor class she was supposed to be taking; ask to see what she’s been working on. I’d show her some of the new stuff from my notebook and she’d drive us to the mall and we’d get some Panda Express and Mrs. Fields and try to find a way to sneak into a matinee. But no, that can’t be my first question now. Because this is all wrong. Her.She’sall wrong.
“Sorry. But did you, like, lose a bunch of weight?” I ask stupidly, because it’s so freaking obvious, yet how am I supposed tonotask?
“Yeah, girl! Twenty-seven pounds and counting!” She does a little catwalk sashay and twirls with her spindly arms over her head. This from the girl whose ideal Friday night used to consist of Pizza Hut buffet followed by movie theater jumbo extra-butter popcorn. This from the creator of our lunch-table battle cry:Chunky girls unite!“Thank you, Dexatrim and Crystal Light,” she adds with a grin.
“What?”
“And the demonic-possession side effects of fat-free Olean Doritos that had me shitting my brains out for an entire month.”
“What?”I repeat.
“Yeah, it was totally gross, but I lost the first thirteen pounds that way.”
“You didn’tneedto lose anything, though,” I try to tell her, which is something she’s told me and our other friends a million times.
“Please. Yes, I did. Besides, there’s no thinspiration like someone seeing you naked to wanna keep the weight off. But, I mean, well, I guess you know how it is… I mean, judging from your letters. Which, okay, spill already. Did you end up having sex with that guy from the summer thing? I mean, that’s what it sounded like, anyway. Are you still, you know, a virg—”
“Hold on, hold on.” I raise my hand, take a moment to try to digest everything she’s said. Like, did I just seriously hear her saythinspiration? “Can we just pause for a sec and back up? You know those pills are really danger—”
“Okay, Mom.”
“No, I’m serious. You’ve lost a fuck-ton of weight. Like, do you even realize how skinny you are?”
“Thank you!” she shouts, arms raised toward the heavens. Then quieter, “Yeah, I do realize. I’m finally rid of the baby fat—I was disgusting.” The way her face twists up, I can’t help but think, does that mean she thinksI’mdisgusting? Because we’ve alwaysshared clothes and we’ve always said we didn’t care about all those magazine girls and beauty-myth bullshit. “Dade thinks I’m beautiful,” she continues, crossing her rail-thin arms over her concave stomach. “And hot and sexy, and you know what? I actually feel good about myself for once in my life. So please don’t—”
“Are you okay?”
“Areyouokay?” she mimics, a sharp edge to her words that makes her sound nothing like the best friend I said goodbye to only two and a half months ago. Her arms unfold and her shoulders soften. “Ugh, Birdie, don’t look at me like that. Come on. Just be happy for me, will you?”
I literally have to bite the inside of my cheek to shut myself up.
“So, this guy, Dade?” I try to smile even though I already hate everything about this guy Dade, who apparently thinks women are all supposed to look like fucking waifish Kate Moss clones. “Soulmate, huh? So does that mean you… you and him have had… you know, sex?”
“Yeah. Well, almost. I don’t think it really counted, because we sort of started, then stopped. He said he wants our first time together to be special. And I do too. More special than in the backseat of my car, anyway.” She stops and laughs, and I get this sinking feeling in my stomach like I’m in the process of watching my best friend walk off the edge of a cliff.
“So, then. Youdidn’thave sex?” I ask.
“No. Not really. There was a lot happening and I was kind of”—she moves closer to me and whispers—“high.”
“High?” I repeat. “Like on drugs high?”
She nods, smiling like she’s delighted with herself. “Me, high. I know, right?”
“Are you high right now?” I try to laugh, just to let my body release some of this tension I feel stitching itself between us like cobwebs.
