Perfect (6 page)

Even though I knew that later, after Mom was in bed
pretending to he asleep, I would get up and sneak downstairs and open the refrigerator door. I would take out the
howl of leftover mashed potatoes and eat every last hit of
them with my hands. Standing up. Cold hard lumps of
potato greasy with butter, washed down with half a quart
of milk straight out of the carton.

And in the morning, no one would say a word about it.

THE NEXT DAY WAS GROUP. As soon as we sat
down Trish handed out Pens, the really nice felt-tip kind,
With our names taped on the side. Even Rachel couldn't
complain.

Trish asked us to take out our blank books.

"Journaling is a great exercise," she said. "It's a way to
release some of that emotion building up inside you. You
know how if you fill a balloon up With too much air ..."
Trish held both hands out in front of her and moved them
farther and farther apart, making a whooshing sound out of the side of her mouth. Then, she clapped so loud we all
jumped. Pot) !

"Well," Trish continued, "emotions work the same
way. If you don't find a way to let those emotions out,
whatever they are-anger, fear, sadness-you can start to
feel like you're going to explode. Writing is a way to let
some of the air out of your balloon, before you pop, so to
speak."

If Mr. Minx were there, he would be nodding up and
down like crazy at Trish and her feeling-balloon. A+ for
use of figurative language.

I was sitting on the same couch as last time, Mathilde
on my right. I was glad that Dawn sat on my left, instead
of Lila. Ashley came in late. Her cheeks were pink, like
she'd been running.

"Sorry," she said.

Trish smiled. "Good to see you, Ashley. We're talking
about journaling." She handed Ashley a pen.

"Thank You," Ashley said. She sat in Dawn's old chair
and bent over to unzip her backpack.

Turns out, Ashley's journal is just a plain black memo
hook like mine. Funny, I expected something leather, with
her initials engraved in gold or something.

Dawn's journal is covered in sunflowers. Mathilde's
has a picture of a kitten on the front, dangling by its claws
from a tree branch, with bright pink script saying Hang in
there.

Our first journal assignment was to form two lists: on
the left-hand page, the things we like about our bodies; on
the right, the things we'd change if we could. We might be
doubtful at first, 'Irish said, but once we gave journaling a chance, we would be amazed at what we could discover
about ourselves.

"Um, Trish?" Lila raised her hand. "Does penmanship
count?"

Phase.

Trish said no, and neither did spelling. Journaling is
just for us. Unless we want to share, the contents of all
journals will be kept confidential. Ten minutes of journaling, starting now. Hmmm.

If Trish thought I was going to share this list out loud,
she was crazy. It's not like anyone needed me to announce
how gross I am. They could tell just by looking.

When I was done writing I started doodling all over
the front of my journal. I'm pretty good at drawing vines.
Also, tiny footprints.

According to the clock on the wall there were still six
minutes left. If I were Ashley Barnum, would six minutes
be enough for me to finish writing down every single thing
I love about myself?

Lila was writing furiously in a notebook the size of her
hand. Microscopic mouse-print, invisible to the human
eye.

Mathilde's cursive, large and loopy like a little kid's,
was easy to read. There wasn't one thing she liked about
herself.

"Time!" said Trish.

She told us to close our journals and our eyes. "Now,
raise your hand if you wrote down more things you don't
like about your body than you wrote things you do like."

Obviously, this was some kind of test. Trish was checking to see if we're normal or messed up, right? Fine.

I raised my hand.

Trish told us to open our eyes but keep our hands in
the air. "Look around," she said. "Everyone in this room
has her hand in the air. So, if you think you're alone in
this, think again. We're all in it together."

Rachel snorted.

I didn't blame her. Trish was grating on my nerves too.

But then, she surprised us. She told us to trash what
we'd written. "Rip those pages out. Tear them into tiny
pieces and dump 'cm!"

Trish held the trash can up in the air, like it was a trophy.

"But, Trish," said Lila. She sounded like she was about
to cry. "My pages aren't perforated."

"That's okay, Lila," said Trish. "Just do the best you
can.

There was all sorts of ripping and tearing and crumpling of paper. We got to shoot baskets from wherever we
were sitting.

Once all the paper was in the trash, Trish started telling us how the first battle we were going to have to learn
to fight was our voice of negativity.

Huh?

Trish explained. "That little voice inside you that
tells you you're too fat, or your thighs are too big, or you
shouldn't eat this and you shouldn't eat that, otherwise
you're a horrible person? That voice."

But what if you really are fat and you are gross and
your thighs are too big?

"The trick," Trish said, "is to replace the voice of negativity with something that makes you feel good rather
than had. Instead of heating yourself up all the time, you
can build yourself up by changing the dialogue in your
head."

Rachel snorted again. I got the feeling she was going to
be doing a lot of snorting.

Trish ignored Rachel and asked us to partner up.

Flashback: fourth-grade gym, picking teams for dodgeball. I was horrible at dodgeball. I was always one of the
last kids standing, staring at my feet, while the captains
argued with each other. "You take her.... No, you take
her."

Trish had to have noticed that we were all staring at
our feet because she said, "Okay then! Partners are . . . Dawn and Mathilde ... Lila and Rachel ... Isabelle and
Ashley."

Isabelle and Ashley.

"Don't move yet," Trish said. "Let me tell you what
you're going to do. You're going to face each other like
you're looking into a mirror."

Great. Me, playing Ashley Barnum's reflection.

"And you're going to take turns. First, one of you will
say out loud something that your voice of negativity often
says to you, like `You look fat,' or `You shouldn't eat that.'
Something along those lines. Then, the other one of you
will replace that voice with something positive, something
encouraging. After a minute or so, I'll let you know it's
time to switch. Okay? ... Go to it!"

There was a whole lot of shuffling around and dragging
of chairs. Ashley and I met in the corner by the window.

She had her hair in braids. There were skinny blue ribbons woven all the way through each one. You can tell
Ashley's a real blonde because there are so many colors
of blonde, from light brown underneath to almost white
around her face. She has the prettiest hair you've ever
seen in your life.

"Hey, Isabelle," she said.

"Hey," I said, scooting my chair in close and focusing
on her knees, which were perfectly tan. Everything about
Ashley is perfectly tan.

She said, "You want to be the negative one or the
encouraging one first?"

"I don't care," I said. "Whichever."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay. I'll he negative to start."

"'Kay."

Trish told us not to hold back. "Be honest with yourselves," she said. "That's the way this exercise will work."

Somehow I knew Ashley Barnum was going to throw a
zinger. She always follows directions.

"You look fat today," she said.

"Thanks a lot," I said. I knew she wasn't really talking
to me, Isabelle. I was just the mirror. Still, when somebody
like Ashley Barnum looks you straight in the eyes and tells
you you're fat, you can't help but react.

Ashley's cheeks got all red. "Not you," she said. "Me.
I'm talking to me. I look fat."

"Kidding," I said. "I'm just a mirror, remember' And
no, you do not look fat. Urn, your eyes look good with that
shirt. Matchy."

Ashley was wearing a light blue scoop neck with a
strand of darker blue ribbon woven along the edges, the
same color as the ribbon in her hair.

"Thanks," she said, picking at her chin.

I didn't know what she was picking at. Ashley Barnum
has absolutely no zits.

"Okay," she said. "Ashley' ... Don't ear that third cupCake, you fat pig."

"Ashley," I said. "Have the third cupcake. It you really
want it. There's nothing wrong with the third cupcake,
just like there was nothing wrong with the first two. It's a
delicious, frosted treat, not a cardinal sin."

"Isabelle!" Ashley started busting up.

I made her laugh. I made Ashley Barnum laugh.

"I don't even want the third cupcake anymore," she said, laughing. You could see the metal hands of her retainer. "Where are you when I need you? When I'm about
to eat my five hundredth?"

Where am I when she needs me? Where am I when
Ashley Barnum needs me?

Trish told us to switch, so we did. Now I got to be the
mean one and Ashley got to he sweet as pie.

"Isabelle," I said, focusing on Ashley's chin. "You are
disgusting. Stop stuffing your fat face."

"Isabelle," said Ashley softly, leaning forward and putting her hand on top of my hand. "You do not have a fat
face."

I felt my cheeks get hot. "I don't?"

"No. You have great eyebrows."

"I do?"

Ashley leaned hack and squinted. "Uh-huh. Delicate.
Like bird wings."

"I never thought about my eyebrows before."

"Well, you should. They're one of your hest features."

"Yeah, well." I didn't know where to look, so I looked
at my feet.

"Okay," Ashley said. "Do another one."

This time I made eye contact. Ashley's eyelashes
are so long, they look like they could get tangled up in
themselves. "Face facts, Isabelle," I said. "Your thighs are
gross."

"Your thighs are not gross," Ashley said, not even
looking at my thighs. "Besides, did you hear that story on
the news last week? About that girl? She had to have both
legs cut off after a boating accident. She swam right into
the propeller. You know? We could be her."

"She really doesn't have any legs?" I said.

"True story."

"Gross."

"Yeah. And sad too."

"Yeah," I said. "We are lucky not to be legless."

"I know it," said Ashley.

We sat for a minute, looking down at our legs and trying to feel lucky.

It's hard to feel lucky when your thighs are as disgusting as mine are. I hate sitting down because they squoosh
out a mile wide. If I had Ashley's legs it would be a different story. Ashley's legs are long, thin, and tan. They look
like they came from some supermodel mail-order catalog.
I could feel the little hairs on my knees rubbing up against
her smoothest of all possible legs.