Blob Read Free Page B

“Mom, don’t leave me any more articles about food!” I snap. “It makes me crazy. I’m trying to diet and it’s hard enough. I hate being fat. I hate dieting, and your articles are making everything worse.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Eve,” says Mom. “I was only trying to help. And you’re not fat. You’ve gained a few pounds this summer. That’s all. You’ll lose them.”
    â€œWell, the articles are not helping. And I’m not a food addict. I just hate that I can’t fit into my clothes.”
    â€œWhy don’t we go shopping before dinner? You could pick up a few things. I promise I won’t say a word about dieting.”
    I know I need new clothes. I can’t keep wearing the same pair of jeans and Dad’s shirts. I should have gone shopping before school started. Mom suggested it a few times, but I kept saying no.
    I used to love shopping before a new school year, but this year the thought makes me sick. I’m terrified of trying on clothes. What if I bump into someone from school while I’m standing beside a rack of giantsized clothes? And how many sizes bigger am I anyway? One? Two? Three?
    I wish someone could just whisk clothes over to me that make me look fabulous and skinny. I wish that I’ve only gone up one size. I wish I looked different. I can wish all I want, but I can’t change anything right away. The seven-day diet will take time to work. In the meantime, I have to get new clothes. Not a lot. Just enough to keep me going till I lose weight.
    â€œOkay,” I agree.
    Before I know it we’re at Sanders department store. It’s packed with kids and parents. I don’t see anyone I know. We walk past the rack with small sizes. Zoe and Sarah could fit into these jeans, but not me. Not now.
    We pass a rack with larger sizes. I look around. No one I know is here. I grab a few pairs of blue jeans in different sizes and zoom into a dressing room. Mom follows me and waits outside.
    I lock the door. I stare at the jeans. Which one should I try on first?
    I try on the largest pair. They’re huge on me. Hooray! I’m not that big. Now for the real test. I grab the smallest pair. I slip one leg in and try to pull the jeans up. I wiggle and wiggle but they’re stuck around my mid leg. I yank them off and slump down on the stool.
    I stare at the jeans the next size up. “You’d better fit,” I say. I slide one foot in, then the other. The jeans are halfway up and still moving. I yank them up higher. They’re a little snug at the waist, but I can breathe. I can just manage to zip them up. I suck my gut in just a little and I can button them. I sit down. I don’t think I’ll split my pants but they’re tight. I’d better not gain an ounce or they won’t fit.
    I pop out of the dressing room. “These work,” I tell Mom. “Let’s take two.”
    â€œYou need shirts too. You can’t keep borrowing Dad’s.”
    We find two white shirts and one red shirt. They hang loose over my pants, but I know I’m not fooling anyone. Under these shirts, I’m still fat. I’m a blob, and everyone can see it.
    â€œYou look good in white and red,” Mom says cheerfully.
    â€œI look fat.”
    â€œYou’re not fat. You’ve gained some weight. It’s no big deal. You’ll lose the weight, although I’m not sure the fruit and veg diet is the best way to go.”
    â€œI’m trying this diet for now. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I won’t faint or anything.”
    Mom says nothing. I know she thinks this diet is dumb.
    At home, I hang up my new clothes. Then I eat a giant fruit salad. I used to love fruit, but now I’m beginning to hate it. And in two days I will only be able to eat bananas and milk. I’d rather have my teeth pulled.
    That night I dream of roast chicken, grilled steak and stuffed turkey. I dream of