Letting Ana Go (19 page)

When I got home, Mom was really upset. She’d been crying and trying to call me. I had turned off my phone because I figured she’d hit the roof when she got the message from Coach.

She did.

Instead of getting angry with her, I just slowly and calmly walked upstairs to my room and started to get undressed. She followed me, warning and pleading, yelling and crying. As she did, I quietly pulled the dress out of its plastic bag and slipped it off the hanger. I slowly slipped one leg into it, and then the other. The light, slick fabric of the silk lining whispered over my thighs and hips. As I slid my arms into the sleeves, Mom began begging me to talk to her, begging me to be honest with her.

Mom: What is it that you want? What do you
need
from me?

Me: I need you to zip me up.

I turned my back to her, holding my hair up out of the way with one arm, while the other held the front of the dress across my chest. I watched in the mirror as she snapped out of her crying jag and really saw me for the first time since I’d gotten home. She realized that I was finally trying on the dress for her.

Slowly, she reached forward and slid the zipper up. I grabbed a hair clip and wound my hair up in a loose twist, then dropped my arms and pushed up on my tiptoes like I had done for Susan and Jill in the dressing room and took a step back from the mirror. The dress fit perfectly.

Mom gasped.

I glanced at her in the mirror, and her eyes were wide, like she was seeing a vision. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, then for the first time since I’d gotten home she spoke without sounding angry.

Mom: That dress . . . you look . . .

Me: Amazing. I look amazing.

We stood there staring at my reflection in the mirror for a moment.

Mom: You look like something out of a magazine.

After a minute or so, Mom sank down on the edge of my bed, and I slipped the dress off and back onto the hanger.

Me: This is all I wanted. I just wanted to look beautiful for Jack. Can you understand that?

Mom: Sweetheart, you were beautiful enough for Jack before you lost all this weight. It’s getting dangerous now.

Me: Just let me have this one night. I just want a perfect homecoming dance, and then you can stuff me full of burgers and french fries. I promise.

I sat down on the bed next to her, and Mom put both arms around me.

Mom: I’m scared. I don’t know how to help you.

Me: I don’t need any help.

Mom: That’s what scares me the most.

I’ve been thinking about why she said that. I’ve been wondering why she would be scared that I don’t think I need any help. It makes me angry that she can’t see what I’ve accomplished with my body. It makes me feel like throwing things at the wall that she could see me in that dress and tell me I look like something out of a magazine and not be
thrilled
. How could looking that beautiful ever be a problem?

Jill’s coming over to pick me up and we’re going to go buy the shoes.

Weight:
111

Mom let Jill sleep over last night. I think she’s decided that she can’t keep me from hanging out with Jill, so she might as well keep both of us under her watchful eye. I don’t know what it is she thinks she can stop by being in the same house with us, but I didn’t try to figure this out. Sometimes my mother baffles me completely.

Jill was right about the shoes. They’re silver heels with a slightly rounded toe and crystals embedded in a ring around a thick heel. They look like a souped-up version of something Marilyn Monroe would have worn. Something about them says old-school glamour just like the dress, and when I walk you can just barely see the silver toe flash through the drape of the skirt in the front. Jill was as loud as Mom was speechless when I slipped into the dress for the first time. She squealed and jumped up and down like she had when she got cast as Clara. She insisted on taking a picture to post on the website.

Jill: You have to provide some inspiration for all the other girls on the forum.

Me: I don’t know. I’m not sure I want my face on the Internet.

Jill: I’ll crop out your face. Oh! Or better yet, look over your shoulder and I’ll take it from an angle where we can only see your hair.

Jill snapped the picture on her phone, then loaded it into an app and chose a filter that made the color wash out in the center just bit. She added a textured white frame that made the whole image appear to be a snapshot from the 1940s or ’50s.

Jill: You look like a legend of the silver screen.

I blushed and giggled, then we logged on to the forum, and
Jill registered as a new user for me. After some debate we settled on a username: weigh2go. She posted the photo and underneath it wrote these words:

“Don’t think about how hungry you are. Think about how skinny you’re getting.”

She tagged the picture “thinspiration.”

Weight:
110

I hate myself right now.

Everything was going great today. Got up this morning and did a hard forty five-minute run. I weighed in a pound lighter than I was on Sunday, then ate an egg, a plum, and a spoonful of peanut butter for breakfast. At lunch I only had a salad, and then Mom grilled fish for dinner and I had a few pieces of broccoli. Then I was upstairs doing my homework and I smelled it: cookies.

I went downstairs to the kitchen, and Mom was taking out two giant silver baking sheets of homemade chocolate chip cookies—just like she used to make for me when I was a little girl on the last day of school.

Mom: Thought you might need a study break.

Me: Mom! You know I have homecoming in three days.

Mom: Oh, c’mon. One cookie is not going to kill you.

I couldn’t
stop myself
. I
had
to eat one. The chocolate chips were all warm and gooey. The cookie melted on my tongue, and when I opened my eyes after the first bite, Mom was standing there holding a frosty glass of milk.

I ate
six
. I am such a fatty fatso. They were delicious, but I can’t stop thinking about it now. I can almost feel my stomach growing as I write this. I hate myself for not being strong.

I just went onto the website a few minutes ago and posted about it. Jill must’ve seen it, because I got a text:

Jill: Cookies????

Me: I might throw up.

Jill: COOKIES???

Me: I know. I feel like total crap.

She called me after that and we talked. She suggested that I make a “Do This Instead” jar. This sounded like a great idea. I found an old shoe-box downstairs from my running shoes and I got some wrapping paper out of the hall closet and wrapped the box and the lid in bright solid red. Then I took a Sharpie and wrote “Do This Instead” in big, bold letters across the front.

I tore three sheets of paper out of my notebook and wrote out other things to do besides eating:

• 
Take a nap/go to bed early.

• Practice my Spanish.

• Text Jill for help.

• Look at “thinspiring” blogs online

• Really look at yourself in the mirror and remember
why
you’re doing this.

• Read a book.

• Take a nice bubble bath.

• Read a book in a nice bubble bath.

• Weigh yourself and see how far you’ve come.

• Try on your tightest clothes.

• Go for a run.

• Research colleges.

• Do your cardio workout.

• Watch a movie.

• Write a note to slip in Jack’s locker tomorrow.

I felt a little better when I was done, but I still made a mug of Jill’s special ballerina tea. I posted a picture of my “Do This Instead” box on the forum. Jill saw it and posted right back:

Way to go, weigh2go!

It made me smile and hate myself a little less. We’re going to have so much fun at homecoming.

Weight:
110

Tomorrow’s the big day. Jill and Vanessa and I are meeting each other for mani/pedis tomorrow morning, and then we’re going to Susan’s stylist to get our hair and makeup done. Jill didn’t want Vanessa to come.

Jill: After what she did to you with the whole cross-country thing, I don’t know how you can stand her.

Me: It’s not that big a deal. She didn’t do this. I did this. I look better than I ever have.

Jill (sighing): I guess it won’t hurt to have her in the pictures. It will give everyone else a point of reference for how thin and gorgeous we look.

Jill said Jack had already picked out my corsage. I actually bounced up and down on the bed.

Me: Please please please tell me he got roses and it’s for my wrist.

Jill: Are you kidding? Like Mom would let him ruin the neckline of that dress. Yes. White roses, no baby’s breath, wrist corsage.

Me: Is it pretty?

Jill: If it looks like the picture of the one he showed me on his phone, it’s perfect.

Mom insisted that the limo come by our place so she can take pictures at our house instead of me going over to Jill’s. I’m glad she did. It will be fun to walk down our big staircase in this dress and see the look on Jack’s face.

Weight:
Don’t know

The look on Jack’s face when he picked me up for the dance was priceless. Dad had stopped by to take pictures, too. He and Mom have been talking again since they saw each other at the hospital after that race where I went down. Anyway, Jack was in midsentence joking around with Dad. When he saw me, his voice trailed off, and he just stared. I’d practiced walking down the stairs four or five times before he got there so I wouldn’t trip on the dress or break my ankle in the heels. I felt like a model—a superstar. I took his breath away.

It wasn’t the only time that it happened that night.

The limo was so long we could’ve fit twelve more people in it. Rob somehow managed to sneak a bottle of champagne under his jacket and Jack had another one stashed under the seat. Everyone but Vanessa had a glass on the way to the school, but thankfully, she didn’t make a big deal out of it. She did roll her eyes when Geoff poured a second glass for himself,
but who can blame him? He probably needed a third glass just to deal with her attitude. The driver dropped us off at the door, and Rob and Jack agreed on a time when he should come back to pick us up.

When we got out of the car, I wobbled just a little, then giggled. The bubbles and sugar had gone straight to my head. Jack offered me his arm and was the perfect gentleman for the entire dance. He never left my side for a second. We turned heads everywhere we walked, and girls who had never spoken to me in the halls for the past two years stopped me to tell me how beautiful my dress was. We danced for hours, and I was amazed that my feet didn’t hurt in these heels. I guess you get what you pay for.

I got dizzy after a couple of hours, but I decided it must just be the champagne, and besides, I had the best-looking date at the dance (even if Rob was named homecoming king). After a while the band slowed things down, and I just leaned into Jack while we danced. I could feel him pressed up against me, and his breath on my ear sent goose bumps running down my arms.

Jack: Are you cold?

Me: No. You just do that to me.

Jack: Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me tonight in that dress?

Me: I think I can feel what I’m doing to you.

Jack: Just a little?

Me: It’s not so little.

He winked at me and smirked, but he was blushing. Hard.

Not long after that, Rob declared that it was time to hit the after-party. One of their friends on the soccer team had rented a room at an old hotel that used to be the estate of a movie star. Now it was a resort with three swimming pools and lush grounds where you could lie in a hammock or play a game of croquet, all with a view of the mountains.

Geoff and Rob broke open the second bottle of champagne and Jack and I shared another glass while Rob told the driver he needed a burger. We wound up taking the limo into the drive-through. My head was so buzzy from the champagne and I got really hungry all of a sudden. Not just hungry: ravenous. Jack asked me if I wanted anything, and I opened my mouth to tell him yes, but Jill caught my eye and gave me a look.

Me: I’ll just have a couple of your fries.

Jack: You sure?

Me: Yeah, I’m good.

Jill looked at me across the limo and mouthed the words “stay strong.” I smiled at her as Jack ordered, and mouthed back “thank you.”

I should have eaten those fries. I wish I had ordered a whole value meal and a chocolate milk shake for myself. If I had, I
wouldn’t be writing this from a hospital bed on the thirteenth floor.

I still can’t remember exactly what happened. I remember pulling up to the high front wall of the hotel. I remember the valets in salmon-colored pants opening the limo. I remember Jack stepping out of the car then turning back to offer me his hand. I remember stepping out of the car and the breeze on my cheek. I remember turning toward the tall, orange doors of the hotel lobby and walking through them on Jack’s arm. The entire hotel has been designed in this retro 1960s glamour-puss style, and there are two suits of armor guarding the bathroom doors by the front desk. I remember thinking that Jack was my knight in shining armor, and I was about to tell him as we walked by the mod round fire pit by the back door, but the next thing I knew, I was lying on a couch by the door, and everyone was on their phones, except Jack.

Jack: Hey, babe. Are you with me? Can you hear me?

I tried to sit up and he gently took my hand and laid me back down.

Jack: I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

Me: I . . . I’m fine.

Jack: My dad is on his way.

When he said that, I got scared. If parents were involved, this was not going to be the night I had wanted. I’m not sure
why I yelled at Jack. I think it was because I was scared.

Me: Why did you do that? God!

I pushed myself up on the couch. I tried to stand up but fell forward. I slipped through Jack’s arm and hit my chin on the coffee table next to the couch. Blood was everywhere. Vanessa screamed; Jill ran between the two suits of armor and came back with paper towels. The hotel manager was there asking if I was drunk, and at that moment Jack’s dad walked in. I don’t remember what he said to Geoff or Rob, or Jill or Vanessa. I don’t remember how he talked the hotel manager out of calling the police.