Always June, page 1
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Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Karyus Quinn, Kate.
Title: Always June / Kate Karyus Quinn.
Description: New York : West 44, 2023. | Series: West 44 YA verse
Identifiers: ISBN 9781978596382 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781978596375
(library bound) | ISBN 9781978596399 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Children’s poetry, American. | Children’s poetry,
English. | English poetry.
Classification: LCC PS586.3 K39 2023 | DDC 811’.60809282--dc23
First Edition
Published in 2023 by
Enslow Publishing LLC
2544 Clinton Street
Buffalo, NY 14224
Copyright © 2023 Enslow Publishing LLC
Editor: Caitie McAneney
Designer: Katelyn E. Reynolds
Photo Credits: Cvr VectorPot/Shutterstock.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in
any form without permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer.
Printed in the United States of America
CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CW23W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC at 1-800-398-2504.
“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world
where it was always June.” - L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island.
If you or someone you know has an eating disorder
and needs help, call or text the helplines at
anad.org and nationaleatingdisorders.org.
WINTER
THE TRUTH
will set you FREE. That’s what they say. Like FREE is the best thing anyone can be. Like maybe I should THANK my sister’s ex-boyfriend Er-ick for taking a video of me puking into my kitchen sink. Like he did me a favor showing it to the whole darn school. Did Er-ick set me FREE? Cause I don’t feel FREE. To be totally honest, this truth that Er-ick let loose feels like a trap worse than the lie (I’m not hungry) that lined my old cage.
THE DIFFERENCE THOUGH IS THIS
A lie can be uncovered or confessed. But truth is forever. Or at least until I graduate. The truth hurts. That’s another thing they say. That one— I believe.
I’D BEEN INVISIBLE
A wallpaper type of girl. No one noticed me. I liked it that way. Mostly. Then … the video. One 47.3- second clip. Me with my finger down my throat, my face stretched and ugly as I viciously vomited. The whole school has seen it. In the last two months, the whole WORLD has seen it. (Thanks a lot, internet!) And they will NOT let me forget it.
NOW
I am KNOWN. Kids call me Scarf and Barf. Or sometimes just Barf. One boy barks it at me like a confused dog. BARF! BARF! Another time, a girl pointed right at me. Said, That’s her? But … I don’t get it. She’s not skinny. I tuck my chin(s) and pretend not to hear and pretend not to see and pretend that none of this bothers me.
KEEP YOUR HEAD HELD HIGH!
That’s what my older sister Mae said after my secrets became a joke. And the punch line was always me. Don’t let them get to you, she said. Who cares what those idiots think? I do. I care.
I DON’T KNOW HOW NOT TO
I am not like Mae. She has always been certain and sure. She is who she is. Her pretty, homemade, old-fashioned dresses made to fit her proudly plus-size figure. The kitten heels and curled hair. She created the world she wanted to live in. A world where she never diets. A world where she posts on social media a pic of herself taste testing her latest batch of brownies and somehow ignores the nasty comments. A world where she’s NEVER anyone other than herself. Wherever she goes she is Always Mae.
I ENVY THAT
Even now, when everyone knows my worst secret, I don’t feel FREE to be always me … whoever that might be.
SOMEHOW
there’s TOO MUCH of me … but also not enough. I wonder what it’s like to live in my body without wishing that I’m anybody other than me.
THE SCHOOL COUNSELOR
Mr. Mann calls me to his office. I’m honestly surprised it took him this long. He apologizes for the backlog. He is kind and concerned as he tells me, You’re not in trouble. (But it feels like I am.) However, I’m very concerned about the contents of that video. Eating disorders are a matter we take seriously.
EATING DISORDER
I hate those two stupid words. It sounds like a handwritten sign OUT OF ORDER stuck onto a vending machine that’s stopped working. At least he didn’t use words like aNOreXia or BuLiMiA. June, Mr. Mann prods. Tell me, is this a regular thing?
I TRY TO DISAPPEAR
into the battered old chair. (Lately I’m always trying to disappear.) Trying to forget how I told Mae I’d do better. I’d fix this. Fix myself. Which is great … in theory. In reality, though … I can barely eat in front of others these days. It feels like everyone’s watching each bite counting each chew noting each swallow. Why can’t we eat privately? Like how we pee? ///In separate stalls/// ///divided/// ///ignoring/// ///the bodies/// ///on either side/// ///of us./// Wouldn’t that be nice? To never again watch someone else moving wet mushy food around inside their mouths? Or maybe that’s just me.
LOOK,
Mr. Mann says into the silence. We have a school psychologist who comes once a week— if you need help, we’ll squeeze you in. squeeze me in. Where I don’t fit. Again, taking up too much SPACE. No thank you. I can do this alone. Since the Homecoming Dance, I haven’t puked. Since the Homecoming Dance, I’ve eaten … most meals. Since the Homecoming Dance, I’ve gained ten pounds. It’s probably mostly water weight. (I hope it’s mostly water weight.) I don’t need the school psychologist. I’m not going to waste her time. It’s just food. It’s just eating. It’s just self-control. I can do this. I’ve got this. I just have to try harder.
FIGHTING
every day to be better to do better. Winter is all about willpower while the blurrrrrrr of gray days keep whirling by. Nothing good in them except when one ends. Mae is busy applying to colleges while I focus on avoiding ALL holiday cookies. I only gain five pounds over the break. Mom is busy with her new boyfriend Bill, who she spends every second with. Back at school, my best friend Lacey meets a boy on stage crew and now is in love and with him all the time. Leaving me alone. And I’m trying not to notice all the Get in Shape for the New Year things all over the place. I keep trying to eat normally … whatever that even means. I dump the leftover Christmas candy into the trash. I DON’T let myself think of the leftover Valentine’s heart full of fancy caramels Mom’s new boyfriend gave her. And I pretend not to see Toby— Toby who once kissed me. Toby who is a boy with secrets and I was one of them. —while he pretends not to see me, even when we’re both walking down the same street in the same direction on our way home.
SPRING
WINTER BOOTS
change to sneakers as trees bud and the school year is nearly done. And my jeans from last year are too tight, and I know it’s all the jelly beans in my jelly belly, so I cut out sugar— just sugar— because everyone knows it’s bad anyway. And drink green tea to help with the water weight. This is healthy. And I have NOT puked. So, I’m better now. The dance was months ago. Everything has changed since then. I’ve changed. I’m now just a normal girl who doesn’t eat sugar, fat, dairy, or carbs, fasts on Wednesday and Saturday, drinks 30 ounces a day of pure green tea with a slice of lemon, and prefers fruit and veggie smoothies as meal replacements.
WHEN MAE GETS
her college acceptance letter, we celebrate. Her dream is coming true. New York City. Fashion School. She is getting away. She is getting out. When Mae gets her acceptance letter, I cry. Secretly. Alone. At night in my bed into my pillow to conceal the sound. I am losing the one person I can count on. When Mae makes a cake to celebrate, I eat a slice and pretend it is fine and that I’m definitely not calculating calories from all the butter and sugar and heavy cream.
LATER,
even after brushing my teeth twice, I can still taste the slick sweetness on my tongue. It It makes makes me me sick. hungry. Everyone is asleep as I creep down the stairs. The cake is on the pretty pedestal Mae got for Christmas. I grab a fork, lift an edge of the plastic wrap and stab. One bite. Just one bite. It’s so small it doesn’t even leave a dent. I lick the fork clean. One bite. That’s what I promised myself. One bite wasn’t so bad. One bite wasn’t enough. Just one more one bite more one bite more one bite more one bite more one bite more one bite more one bite more one bite— There’s no more. The plate is empty. My stomach is full. I don’t I don’t want plan to be to be sick. sick. It just happens. All the cake comes back up up up up. I brush my teeth once more. And then I wash the pretty pedestal platter, put it away, and go to bed.
THE NEXT DAY
I wait. Sick, hating myself. Knowing Mae must hate me, too. But Mae never says a thing.
BILL WASN’'T JUST ANOTHER GUY
We knew it was serious with Bill when Mom started going out every Friday night, squeezing into her tummy-tucker, butt-lifter jeans. What? she demanded when she caught Mae and I exchanging glances. You want me to die alone? We didn’t. And Bill seemed … okay. But it turns out Bill was married. Mom found this out just last week. He told her as he bit into the grilled cheese he’d just made himself— My wife doesn’t let me eat dairy. We’re a vegan household. YOUR WIFE! And then Mom grabbed the pan from the stov
I GUESS THAT MOMENT WAS
A TURNING POINT
because Bill left his wife (or she kicked him out). Either way, Bill and ALL his things soon FILL our small house. He moves in on a Thursday afternoon while Mae and I are at school. We come home to find him cooking dinner. You girls like tacos? he asks with a grin. Of course they do, Mom answers for us while shooting us THE LOOK that tells us to keep our mouths SHUT. So we do. And the only response I’m allowed is to StOmP upstairs and then SLAM SHUT my bedroom door.
ONE MORE PERSON
doesn’t seem like much. But Bill takes up A LOT of room. First off, he works odd hours, depending on his shifts at the plant. It means he’s always around when you don’t want him to be. And it doesn’t matter that he’s trying so hard to fit in and be extra helpful: getting groceries, making dinner, doing the dishes, even asking if he can make me a brown-bag lunch.
TRUTH IS
Bill might be the nicest guy Mom’s ever dated. But all the meals he cooks fills our house with new smells— making it foreign. And he stuffs the fridge with cheese while ice cream overflows the freezer. For him, he’s making up lost time from all those vegan years. For me, though, it’s a temptation too hard to resist.
PLUS HE HAS THIS HABIT
of taking off his socks wherever and whenever. Then just leaving them lying on the couch or floor or kitchen chair. Sorry, sorry! he says when I find one and pick it up between two fingers. Taking it, he stuffs it in a pocket. Bad habit. I got hot and cold feet. Always taking my socks on and off, then on again. He’s embarrassed and I should tell him it’s okay. But I am a new June. A tough June. A June pushed to her limits and uninterested in making friends. And this June says to Bill, Well, they smell. And then walks away before he can reply.
PACKING
Sorting. Boxing. Giving stuff away. Mae prepares for college like she is leaving forever. Tidying up ALL the loose ends. (including me) In a week, she will graduate. She goes to grab more boxes, leaves her phone out on her bed unlocked. I grab it, laughing, planning to take a funny selfie for Mae to find later. But the phone opens to Mae’s chat with her new college friends. She always makes friends so easily. Already they are besties. And I see my name. June binged again yesterday I stare at the those words in black and white. And I can’t breathe. 1. You don’t talk about it. 2. You don’t name it. 3. You pretend not to know. Those are the rules. And Mae broke them. Mae broke us.
I KEEP READING
her friends’ replies with poison in my veins. They feel sorry for her for having to deal with me. Oh that must be so hard! She needs help. You should say something. I want to write back, YOU DON’T KNOW US—NOT REALLY! But instead, I just stop eating.
COLD SHOULDER AND NO LUNCH
FOR A WEEK
And then Mae says, June, we gotta talk about your eating. I give her the same hard look that I have perfected on Bill. I shoot back, Maybe we should talk about YOUR eating, You’re too FAT to gain the freshman fifteen. I have never called Mae FAT. It’s a word we never use. But she broke the rules first. So I say this awful thing even though the words in my mouth taste like the worst kind of bile. I hate them. I hate myself. But I don’t say I’m sorry. And I don’t take it back.
IT DOESN'’T END THERE
Mom doesn’t like to be told. Mom can’t be pushed. Mom must be nudged. Slowly. Cautiously. But Mae is determined to make my eating a thing. She finds Mom in the kitchen. Says, June isn’t just dieting. She’s binging and purging. She’s skipping meals. She’s sick. Mae says all of this in front of me, Mom, and also Bill. I am so mad. I can’t even speak. So Bill talks first. Of all people. BILL! I don’t wanna butt in, but that does sound serious. Then Mom comes to my rescue. She tells Bill he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Then she turns to me. June, are you sick? I shake my head. No. Not hesitating. Not caring about truth or lies. I am too mad at Mae for picking at this now when I’ve tried so hard all year. All the sacrifices I made to seem better, perfect, fine. All Mae sees are the slipups. No, I say again. Are you kidding—? Mae starts. Mom holds up a hand, stopping her. That’s enough, Mom says in her do-not-make-me-lose-my-temper voice. But Mae is past caring. June needs help. Therapy. Can’t you see? She doesn’t know how to stop. Mom slams her hands on the table. I don’t see anything. Mae doesn’t even flinch. No, because you’re too busy looking the other way while June kills herself. SLAP! Mom’s hand meets Mae’s cheek. Hard and fast. We all freeze for a moment, shocked. Even Mom. Then Bill grabs Mom. Mae runs to her room. And I head straight for the bathroom to throw up everything I’ve ever eaten.
SUMMER
THE FIGHT
means an icy June. It means that Mae leaves in July instead of August. She decides to rent a place with friends and get a head start on job hunting in the city. The Fight means that Mae looks at me and says, I need to get away. If you decide— if you need— when you get help, call me. But otherwise, I need a break. The Fight is how I lose my sister. My ally. My one true friend.
I CAN’'T FORGIVE
Mae for leaving. Or for everything she said. I hold onto my anger. I feed it scraps to keep it alive. Like Bill. He now watches me all the time, but especially when I eat. Or don’t eat. And I notice him keeping track of what’s in the cupboards. When a bag of chips disappears, he says, Hey June, it’s not a problem but I noticed the chips are gone … He acts all pretend-casual, but beneath that, I can feel his tension. So I lie. I tell him that I have no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. Even though he nods and says, Yeah, okay, sure.
THIS IS MAE’'S FAULT
What I eat shouldn’t be Bill’s business. And I hear him talking with Mom. Well, maybe she does need help? he says, hesitant. Oh, gimme a break, Mom says. I was always worrying over my weight at that age, too. She brushes him off so easily. Then switches the conversation to something else. Later, when I tell her that Bill’s all up in my grill every time I enter the kitchen, I expect her to take my side. Instead, she snaps. You’re weird about food, June. Everyone in this house knows it. Eat normal. Stop splashing puke all over the porcelain. Then maybe Bill and everyone else will get off your case. I am stunned. Mom’s never minded my … dieting. That’s what she’s always called it. But Mae, and now Bill, put it in her head that I’m broken. OUT OF ORDER That I’m a problem. I don’t tell her that I’m trying to do better. That I’m not binging. (as much) That I’m eating … maybe not normal. But more. Enough so that my stomach doesn’t feel like a constant ache inside of me. I can’t tell her because the words are all knotted up inside of me … Along with the fear that maybe trying isn’t enough. I’m starting to think that maybe I don’t even know how to be how to eat normal Not anymore.
I HIDE IN MY ROOM
for all of July, cause it’s the only place Bill won’t go. Mae doesn’t text (fat chance). Lacey doesn’t text (not anymore). Toby doesn’t text (obviously). I’m left alone. But in August, it’s too hot with AC only downstairs. My fan does nothing but stir the same sticky air. I escape outside and start walking with no destination in mind. Just away. But then, at the end of the block, there it is. Like an old friend I’d forgotten.
