Letting Ana Go (15 page)

As I finished my egg I glanced down at a picture of me and Mom and Dad on my desk. I was four years old, and we were at the water park here in town. I don’t know who took this picture. Dad probably asked some stranger. Dad’s tan and young and has a goatee. Mom isn’t skinny, but she’s curvy in all the right places. She’s wearing a black one-piece suit that is cut just right for her figure and dark glasses. Her smile is beautiful and relaxed. She’s laughing along with me as we try to pose in the shallow end of the wave pool.

We look happy.

I can’t help but think we’d still be happy if Mom still looked like she does in this photo.

I was thinking about this and sipping my coffee as I opened my laptop. Maybe it was the caffeine, or maybe it was the web address I was typing into the browser, but my heart started to race as I scrolled the pictures on the site Jill showed me on Thursday. These girls are thin like Jill is. I remembered how Jack’s hands had fit around my waist as he pulled me against him in the back of his truck. These girls in the pictures know what that feels like. They have control of their lives like Susan and Jill. They are the opposite of my mother.

I will be like them. I will have more willpower than my mother. I will not let Jack leave me the way Mom let Dad leave her.

Weight:
119

School starts tomorrow. Jill just left. We planned our outfits and she posted the following on the website:

THE THIN COMMANDMENTS

1.  Thin = Attractive. If you are not thin, you are not attractive.

2.  Thou shalt do everything within your power to make yourself look thinner. This includes clothing, hairstyle, exercise, and taking laxatives when needed.

3.  Thou shalt not eat without feeling guilty.

4.  Thou shalt punish yourself for eating fattening foods.

5.  Thou shalt always count and restrict your calories.

6.  Thou shalt remember that what the scale says is the most important thing.

7.  Being thin is more important than being healthy.

8.  There is no such thing as “too thin.”

9.  Restricting calories and staying thin are the measure of true willpower and success.

I printed out a copy and taped it inside my notebook. I took a picture of it with my phone, so I can look at it if I’m feeling tempted.

Jill is down to only a hundred pounds. All of those areas she circled last month have somehow gotten smaller. I stopped writing for a while because all I could think about was Dad, and I didn’t want to deal with it. I’ve been running every day
whether Vanessa comes or not. I’ve kept my calories down to around 1,200 to 1,500 per day. Jill is restricting hers to 1,000 to 1,200 per day. She’s never danced better. I’ve never had better times running.

I don’t care if Vanessa is “concerned.”

I’m fine.

I’m better than fine.

I’m better than ever.

(Just ask Jack.)

Weight:
119

I came in second place at the invitational yesterday. Our team won the meet for the first time in four years. Coach Perkins hugged me and jumped up and down and cried when I crossed the finish line. Afterward, she gathered everybody and announced her decision to make me team captain. She told everyone that I was an example of what you could do if you put your mind to it and trained like a champion. Vanessa and Geoff could barely look at me, but I didn’t care.

We won.

I won.

Dad showed up at the meet. No Annette. He gave me a hug
and told me he was proud of me. He should be. I kicked butt. He wanted to take me out to dinner, but I saw Mom standing at the edge of the parking lot talking to Jack and Rob, and I told Dad I had to go. Jack asked Mom if she wanted to come with us to get dinner after the race. She had to run home and then head to work, but it was just like Jack to offer.

We went to meet Rob and Jill at this restaurant where they bake your pizza in a wood-fire oven. Rob and Jack ate an entire pig’s worth of pepperoni. I had a salad with Jill, dressing on the side, and I decided to allow myself a single glorious slice. I chewed the first bite slowly, and the gooey, salty, greasy deliciousness ran across my tongue and made my eyes roll back in my head. It was the best pizza I’d ever tasted. Then I took a second bite, and I realized something:

It never tastes any better than the first bite.

I put the slice back down on the plate while Rob and Jack ordered more Coke and talked to a guy from the soccer team they ran into, and Jill was checking a voice mail message on her phone. I thought about the salad I’d eaten most of, except for the croutons, and the bit of pizza I’d just swallowed, and I realized I was full. I didn’t need the rest of that piece of pizza. I’d already enjoyed the first bite, and it was never going to taste any better than that.

The thought was like a cool breeze on a warm day, and I smiled really big at Jack as he and Rob finished talking to
their friend and came back to the table. Just as they sat down, Jill’s eyes went wide with the phone pressed to her ear and she started squealing and laughing and hopping up and down in the booth, and then tears started streaming down her cheeks.

Jill: I got it! I got it!

Rob: Holy cow. Watch it! You’re gonna spill your water!

Me: Are you okay?

Jill: I’m better than okay. I’m
Clara
in the mother-effing
Nutcracker
!

Jack and I cheered like idiots, and we dragged her out of the booth and hugged her in the middle of the restaurant. I’m sure everybody thought we’d lost our minds. I didn’t care. This is what discipline looks like. This is what willpower looks like.

Take
that
, Misty Jenkins.

Weight:
119

Jack asked me to homecoming.

That sentence is amazing all by itself, but what’s even more incredible is the
way
he asked me to homecoming. I went to Jill’s last night after practice. Mom was already at work, so we hung out with James and Susan, who were watching some old romantic comedy about a hockey player and a figure skater who
fall in love. Jill crushed up four rice cakes in a big bowl and made us “skinny-girl popcorn.” If you pour enough salt on them, it almost works. I kept expecting Jack to come home, but James told me he and Rob were out shopping for supplies for some sort of science project they had to put together.

Rob and Jack arrived as the credits were rolling and both of them squeezed in next to us on the giant chesterfield sofa. Jack grinned and kissed me on the cheek. We talked with his parents for a while, then he asked if I wanted to go get yogurt at YouGoYum. I looked at Jill with raised eyebrows and she held up a hand like a stop sign.

Jill: No carbs for Clara.

Rob (yawning): Yeah, I gotta get home. My pops wants me to help him paint the garage door in the morning.

Me (to Jack): Shall I drive or do you want to?

Jack: I’ll drive.

We held hands all the way there, and when Jack made a large swirl with caramel, hot fudge, bananas, and walnuts, I told him I’d just have a bite of his. The first bite was delicious. The second one he held out I politely declined. He shook his head.

Jack: I don’t know how you do it.

Me: Do what?

Jack: Stay so disciplined—and gorgeous. You’re like an Olympic athlete or something.

I decided to let him in on my newfound secret, and shrugged.

Me: It never tastes any better than the first bite.

He laughed and shook his head, then wolfed down the rest of his yogurt and dragged me back to the car. When we got to the intersection where he should have gone right to head to his house, he turned left and drove toward mine. Before I registered that my car was still at his place, we were turning into the driveway at mine, and as we did, a huge lit sign across the garage door blinked. There must’ve been
hundreds
of little white lights that spelled out my name and the words “Will You Go to Homecoming With Me? Love Jack.” He had to have spent
hours
working on it—punching holes through giant sheets of foam board and arranging all the letters just right.

I sat there in shock as Jack reached behind the seat and pulled out a dozen roses.

Me: But—how did—

Jack: There’s no science project. Well, there is, but Rob and I weren’t shopping for that.

Me: How . . . ?

Jack: Did we turn them on? It’s a timer. I nabbed a house key from your mom last week at your meet so we could set it up.

There were tears in my eyes. I’d always gone to the dances at school with either a random guy I didn’t really like or as Geoff
and Vanessa’s third wheel. Now, for the first time, I was going to go with a boy that I really cared for—and not just any boy. I was going with Jack, the best-looking one of the popular senior guys.

Jack: Cat got your tongue?

Me: I . . . I can’t—

Jack (whispering): Move over, cat. It’s my turn.

He kissed me so gently and sweetly and fully on the mouth that the tears in my eyes spilled down my cheeks from the sheer joy of being me, in my skin, in my life at that moment. He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear.

Jack: Every taste of you is better than the last.

Jill was still up waiting for us when we got back to their house. Rob hadn’t gone anywhere either. Everybody had been in on it, and we stayed up late in the hot tub, then I texted Mom at work that I was going to sleep over at Jill’s, and this morning we went dress shopping for formals with Susan to celebrate.

Susan insisted on buying me a dress.

Susan: Please. Your poor mom is probably too exhausted from working her tail off to join us. I’ll get the money from her later.
Besides
, this is a special occasion. We’re celebrating what a great job you girls are already doing. Winning cross-country meets and ballet roles. I’m just so
proud
of you. Not to mention, you look
fabulous
.

Jill tried on seventeen dresses before choosing the first one
she’d picked up (naturally), a short black sequined sheath with a black tulle pouf that wrapped on one shoulder. I tried on four but kept coming back to a dress I didn’t have the nerve to pick up. Susan saw me eyeing it because when I opened the dressing room door, she was standing there holding it.

It was simple red organza silk, not shiny, but rich, textured and bright. It was fitted at the top with a plunging neckline and back line. No beads, no prints, no bangles, no tassels or trim. It just fell to a pool behind my feet with the tiniest train. When I opened the dressing room door so Susan could zip the back, Jill caught a glimpse of the front in the mirror and gasped.

Jill: That’s it.

Me: I’m not sure if I can pull this off. It seems a little . . .

Jill: Dramatic. It’s
amazing
.

Susan: I can almost get it closed. What size is this?

Me: It’s a two. I’m really a four.

Susan: No, you’re right in between. Let’s get you this. You have six weeks and all you need to do is take off a couple more pounds and it’ll be stunning.

Me: Are you sure?

Susan turned me back toward the mirror and told me to stand up straight. I did.

Susan: Now on your toes like you’re wearing heels.

When I stood up on my toes, the hem at the front of
the dress cascaded down, just brushing the floor, and at that moment, Susan took my long blond hair from behind and wrapped it skillfully into a makeshift French twist, just like hers.

The effect was startling.

Jill: Wow.

Susan: This is the dress. You look like Grace Kelly.

Me: You really think I can do it?

Jill: As of right now, you don’t have a choice.

This afternoon, Jill gave me something she calls “ballerina tea.” It’s made from the leaves of a plant that helps your body “cleanse.” She told me to drink a mug every day, and then again at night before bed, but not to drink it before I was going to leave the house for anything important. I just had my first mug, and about an hour later I had my first “cleanse.” She wasn’t kidding. I’m going to have to stay close to home drinking this tea.

I’m sitting here staring at this dress hanging on my closet door. I’m feeling a little panicked about being able to fit into it, but I
have
to. I will
never forgive myself
if I don’t. Mom came in a few minutes ago and asked me how it all went. I showed her the pictures I took of the sign on the garage door last night, and she hugged me. For just a minute, it was like I forgot all about the problems with her and Dad and how annoyed with her I’ve been lately. She was so happy for me.

Mom: Jack is a
good guy
.

Me (smiling): Yeah . . . he’s pretty special.

Mom: Now! Let me see you in this dress!

It took me a minute to convince her that I needed to shower before I put it on, and that I really needed to find the right shoes first, and she wouldn’t leave me alone about it until I promised her that we’d go shop for shoes together tomorrow. She wrote me a check to give to Susan for the dress and told me she was sorry she’d been so out of it and working so much. Now she’s back downstairs, and I can hear the TV.

The work begins now. I know what I have to do. I have six weeks to fit in this dress, and I intend to if it’s the last thing I do.

First I’m going to run.

Then I need to find a red marker.

Weight:
118.5

I don’t understand my mother. You’d think that after all she’s been through, she’d see what I’m doing—what I’m trying to do, the sacrifices I’m making—and put it all together. You’d think she’d be able to see that I’m just trying my hardest not to end up unhappy and divorced. Instead, she’s bound and determined to make me as miserable as she is.

It happened after my run yesterday morning. Usually, after I run, I feel
better
about things, but for some reason, when I walked into my bedroom and pulled off my sweaty clothes, I saw my homecoming dress hanging on the closet door and I just felt panicked. I caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror, and it looked way too big to
ever
fit into that beautiful red gown, and the idea of not being able to wear that dress in six weeks when Jack comes to pick me up in his tuxedo made me start to cry.