Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) Read Free Page B

option. An option about as viable as a diet based on forgiveness.
    â€œSo if you won’t try the diet then will you at least write to me every day you’re gone?” he asked as he readied himself to leave. “Not just texts, e-mails too. Long, epic ones.”
    My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and read the text he’d somehow sent when I wasn’t looking. You my girl.
    He’d never told me how he’d managed that trick either.
    Not that it mattered. Tonight, just like every other night, I’d fall for him all over again. I’d believe I was his girl. I’d accept that someone so extraordinary could have a thing for me—someone so ordinary.
    And fat.
    So fat .
    From: [email protected]
    To: Toby Jacobson
    Subject: twas the night before fat camp…
    dear TJ
    i never stopped writing you emails. i only stopped sending them. i bet i’ve written u fifty this past year. That’s almost 1 for every pound I gained. Not that u noticed.
    That’s what’s called a lead-in, TJ. u taught me that. Like in ur magic shows when i’m supposed to bait you with a well-timed, “Now, TJ. Where did those magical doves get to?” or, “Hey, TJ, is it just me or is my Sprite foaming?” I’m still giving you lead-ins. Only in real life u never answer.
    At 7 AM tmrw I leave for Utopia. I really hope ur awake. I hope u flag down the minivan. Barricade urself in front of it. I hope u call Jackie a traitor and punch Doug in the face. Then I want u to get ur bullhorn and tell everyone up and down Falls Road that ur sorry about last year. Sorry about what happened between us. Of course I’ll forgive u. Forgive u everything. I’ll let u take me back to your room. Lean me back on ur bed. Let u kiss my face and neck. My bra unhooks in front, TJ. know that.
    I will tell u everything. like how when I was thirteen I started imagining u… Naked. Always @ the most inconvenient times too. Homeroom, fire drills, American Envy marathons. Then the tingles started. Tingles tingled places I never imagined tingling. ur shoulder blades underneath ur shirt, jutting out like wings, it does things to me. Makes my knees weak. Makes me sneak in the bathroom and fan my red face. And u reading ur trick books and biographies, TJ, I swear it makes me swoon more than anything else. More than ur grunts when u swish basketballs into the net. More than when u cup doves in ur hands like a secret. Something about ur gold-rimmed glasses, shirt off, belt threaded thru loops, a thick book fanned in front of u well, it kills me.
    See what happens when I write to u? I guess that’s why I stopped. I’m too afraid of where I’ll go. Maybe you are too.
    ~bee
    PS: you dumbass…I still freaking love you
    PPS: I am still sorry re: the doves

5
    WHAT I’M PACKING
    IT WAS STILL dark outside when Jackie flung open my blinds the next morning.
    â€œOperation Fat Camp,” she barked. “Let’s go.”
    I hadn’t even packed. Guessing as much, Jackie scurried around my room, her ponytail swinging violently. She opened drawers and snatched shorts and tank tops. She grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand and tossed everything in a duffle bag. When I rolled over, my eyelids growing heavy again, she hauled me out of bed by my ankle.
    â€œNo you don’t,” she warned. My sister, who weighed one hundred and five, maintained a freakish strength. When I finished brushing my teeth, she shoved my still-wet toothbrush in the bag.
    Mom was already downstairs making breakfast. On the table sat a plastic jug of orange juice, whipped cream in a can, and sliced strawberries. She slurped coffee from her favorite Zyprexa Pharmaceuticals mug.
    â€œI used real butter too,” she said, presenting me with a plate of waffles. “And real syrup.”
    Mom hadn’t eaten sugar in ten years—at least not in front of me. She was the