FALL

  A NEW SCHOOL YEAR

  should be fresh and clean. Unblemished. A blank page like those filling my new notebooks. Studies say we forget over the summer. Forget math. Forget vocabulary. Forget how to conjugate Spanish verbs. I wish everyone would forget me. Forget what happened last year. Forget the video. But they don’t.

  BILL OFFERS

  to drive me to school in the mornings. I’m up anyway, he says. I know it’s meant as a peace offering. But to me, it’s a dilemma. Which is worse? Bill or the bus? Bill wins. (just barely) As we drive up, I see the bowling girls gathered near the stairs to the side entrance. I don’t know how to act with them at school. I pretend not to see them.

  BUT I CAN’T AVOID

  the boy who barks BARF BARF at me. After nearly a year, he still thinks this joke is HILARIOUS. And without Mae at my side, he’s bolder, too. Getting up in my face when I don’t respond— Hey, you. Can’t you hear? BARF! BARF! I take a step back but there’s a crowd gathering, pressing in, wanting a show. Tears prick at my eyes but I won’t let them fall. I hunch my shoulders, knowing the bell will ring soon and everyone will have to leave me alone. I just have to hold out until then. But before that happens, it gets worse.

  SOMEONE ELSE IS BARFING TOO

  A girl. Ricki. And Ammiah right behind her. Except … she’s not saying BARF but woofing out an actual BARK! fierce and angry. Like my own personal attack dog. She goes at Barf! boy. Snarling in his face with such intensity I wonder if she might actually try to bite him. I think he’s worried too, because he backs away. Psycho! he yells at Ricki as the bell FINALLY rings. Ricki just laughs. And then howls AWWWWWOOOOOOOO as he turns and runs away. In that moment I catch a bit of Ricki’s crazy. Her fearlessness, too. Throwing my arms out, I yell so he and everyone else can hear— You don’t mess with the bowling girls!

  AFTER THAT

  I am part of one of the inside jokes. We tell each other the story again and again. Ricki, rabid and barking. Ammiah, worrying someone will call animal control. And then quiet June, yelling out the line that becomes our rallying cry— YOU DON’T MESS WITH THE BOWLING GIRLS!

  BENNY AND I

  have three classes and lunch together. Last year (after the video), I hid in the library during lunch. I couldn’t stand the idea of people watching me eat. But I don’t tell Benny that when we compare schedules and he says, Same lunch period— Nice! Instead I just answer, Yeah, cool.

  MY LUNCH

  is turkey on wheat and a banana. All summer I’ve eaten this every day. I’ve made myself eat every bite. I’ve made myself deal with the feeling of food FILLING my belly and staying there. But now, sitting across from Benny, I can’t eat. I take a bite. Try to chew. And can’t. The food is THICK like paste, and I FIGHT to swallow it down. After that, I bring smoothies to lunch, usually still half-frozen after spending the night in the freezer. I chip away at the drink and I’m pathetically grateful when nobody says a word about it.

  THE WEIGHT ROOM

  at school is for everyone … in theory. But it smells like boys, and it’s full of boys who make it clear this is their space. It was, of course, Ricki’s idea to come here. Supposedly to help our game, but really she heard that the boys make girls feel unwelcome. The others see it as an adventure and a break from the alley. But I hate this. All the boys. All the eyes. The little snickers as we walk by. Ricki holds her head high. Don’t mind us, she announces loudly. A challenge in her voice. It’s like she wants a fight. Hey, you using this? Ricki asks, nudging a boy standing near a machine. The boy turns. And it’s Toby.

  THERE IS WEIGHT

  between us. The kind that clanks when it falls. But there’s also the weight of the past. And then finally, the weight of me. I feel every pound in this room as I take up space that isn’t mine. I grow heavier as Ricki drags us around the room, pushing her way in. I haven’t lifted a single weight but I’m sweating. It’s me. It’s Toby. It’s Ricki and all the boys staring smirking stinking and noisy, too— The weight of it all is too much. Bathroom, I gasp. And then, like a coward, I flee.

  MOM SAID

  she wasn’t going to get carried away with wedding prep. But she does. First it was just gonna be a backyard thing. But then she and Bill rent out the Fire Hall. And she starts saying things like, I saw this idea on Pinterest for how to use Mason jars and tea candles to make centerpieces. Before Bill’s proposal, Mom didn’t even know what Pinterest was. But the thing that’s making her craziest is the dress. She found the perfect one early on. It’s soft beige with lacey bits around the collar. The “perfect length” to show off her legs. It’s gorgeous. Except … it’s one size too small. Now Mom types every food into her phone before taking a bite. And sometimes she says, Aw, the heck with it, I’m not dieting on a Friday (or Saturday or Sunday or whatever day it is). Then she makes it up with a bunch of laxatives the next day.

  SHE TRIES TO HIDE IT

  From me. But mostly from Bill. He says to her, when he thinks I won’t hear, Maybe this isn’t good for June? Seeing you worrying so much about weight? Then it turns into a fight. Mom tells him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And if he’s gonna be like this, then maybe they shouldn’t get married. That’s usually when I put my headphones on. Weirdly, the next day, I’m relieved that Bill is still here. Funny, somehow the idea of Bill leaving no longer seems like the best thing ever.

  WE LOSE OUR FIRST BOWLING MATCH

  I expect Ricki to freak out. But instead, she shrugs it off. Says, It was first game jitters. Now we’ve got that out of our system! I’m not so sure … But clearly, Ricki knows better than me, because next match, we kill it. Or Ammiah does, and the rest of us don’t hold her back. I’m relieved to not be the worst on the team. Laurel, Kimi, and I are all about the same, score-wise. In my case, I tend to get hot and cold streaks. When I’m cold, I’ll throw gutter balls for five frames until I want to run in the bathroom and hide.

  IT DOESN’T HELP

  that Benny is usually at the alley, cheering us on. And that the others are noticing how he never came to all their games before. Then they laugh and send knowing lOOks my way.

  LUCKILY

  I haven’t whiffed a whole match. I tend to get hot around the end. Which is nice because that last frame rewards strikes and spares. Twice I’ve bowled turkeys. (That’s three strikes in a row). And that, unfortunately, is how I finally get my bowling girls’ nickname.

  THEY CALL ME THE GOBBLER

  It’s because they gobble at me after I bowl the turkey. It SHOULD be funny. But I hear the word GOBBLE and see myself shoving food in. I can’t tell them I hate it. So I just smile and pretend to laugh with everyone else.

  BENNY ASKS ME OUT

  by asking if I’m interested in seeing some big superhero movie. I say, Yeah, I guess. And he says, Well, let’s go together. Friday night? I’ve never been asked out before. I’ve never been on a real date.

  OR MAYBE IT'’S NOT A DATE

  Maybe we’re just friends seeing a movie together. But I don’t think so. When I tell Mae, she texts, Of course it’s a date! Don’t be a goose! Eek! So excited for you! And I can’t wait to meet him when I come for Mom’s wedding. Only three weeks away now!

  JUST READING THOSE WORDS

  makes me tense up. Mom is getting more and more wedding crazy. But I don’t tell Mae this. I don’t want her to not come. So instead, I ask if she’s bringing her man, too. Again, I wait as she … … … … Finally, she writes— Maybe.

  WE’RE WINNING

  more matches than we lose. Ammiah even breaks a record. Ricki says, We’re going to the girls’ championship for sure! But Polly says, Realistically, we’re on the bubble. Other teams are undefeated. And next week we play an undefeated team. Ricki just grins. They won’t be undefeated when we’re through with them.

  THAT'’S HOW RICKI IS

  Always optimistic. But when we lose, she never gets upset. Or points fingers. She just sets her steely gaze on a distant point that no one else can see, and says, Next time, ladies. We’ll get them next time.

  HOW DO PEOPLE

  go out with someone and act normal even though they like the person so much that it makes their hands sweat? I think about Lacey, how she might have some insight. But since she traded our friendship for Mr. Stage Crew, maybe she’s not the best person to ask. What I’d ask: Why does something that’s meant to be fun(!) and exciting(!) feel more like torture?

  I ALMOST CANCEL

  Say that I’m sick. But I can’t because tomorrow is our match against the undefeated team, and Benny will be there. So I go.

  THE MOMENT I SEE BENNY

  I feel better … Because I can tell he’s nervous, too. And weirdly, it makes me feel less alone.

  BENNY TAKES MY HAND

  as we walk into the movie theater together, where anyone and everyone can see he is with me. I’ve been invisible I’ve been picked last and left out. I’ve been Toby’s secret, the girl he liked but wouldn’t be seen with. But I’ve never been chosen. I lace my fingers with Benny’s, letting him know— I choose him, too.

  A BUCKET OF POPCORN

  sits between Benny & me. Greasy, glistening with butter, and smelling like heaven. I didn’t eat all day. I was too nervous and I wanted to wear my skinny jeans. I eat one piece— letting it melt on my tongue.

  THE MOVIE STARTS

  and I can’t help myself— I take a handful. Just one. Just one. MORE. My brain clicks off. I forget about calories and Benny beside me. I just eat. Until … My hand bumps Benny’s as we both dig into the bottom of the bucket. Hey, he nudges me playfully. You’re just as bad as Ammiah, hogging all the snacks.

  MY WHOLE BODY PRICKLES

  hot with shame. I release the handful of popcorn filling my palm. My stomach— painfully FULL— pressssssssses against the waistband of my jeans. I’m going to be sick.

  I PUSH THROUGH

  the row of people and then race down the stairs. Stomach churning, I hit the door with both hands. SLAMMING it open. The bathroom is right in front of me, and I want so badly to stand over the toilet— But I can’t, not in public. Instead, I keep going down the long hallway through the lobby, the scent of popcorn now sickening. And out into the parking lot. I gulp in air like I’ve just run a marathon. June. It’s Benny. He must have followed me. I hug myself and stare at my feet. I’m so sorry, he says, I didn’t mean … I should’ve realized … He sounds upset, his voice shaky. It’s okay, I say, but I am still unable to look at him. Not because I’m mad at him, but because I don’t want him to see me. I am a Hog. I am the Gobbler. I’m a Fat Girl with no self- control. We stand in silence until finally Benny asks, Do you want to go home, or …? I nod my head while tears pulse behind my eyelids. My first date. And I ruined it. Earlier, I’d worried over whether he might kiss me. I’d only been kissed once before. But now, as we drive in silence, I know there will be no kiss. And probably no second date either.

  BACK HOME

  my belly BULGES as the popcorn seems to GROW inside of me. I don’t want to puke. I want to be good. I want to be better. But I can’t live with this feeling of fullness. I get a glass of water thinking I’ll pee it out. That’s when I see Mom’s big bulk bottle of laxatives. I tell myself: It’s medicine. It’s healthy. It’s normal. I take three. And then later three more. Then I cry myself to sleep.

  STOMACH CRAMPS

  wake me at 5 a.m. My stomach is angry as I run to the bathroom. Our match is at 10 a.m. I need to be better by then. I can’t miss it. Without six players, we forfeit. But the cramps get worse with every hour that passes.

  AT 9 A.M.

  there’s no putting it off any longer. I call Ricki. I can’t make it today, I tell her. I don’t feel good. Typical Ricki, she wants to know more. Is it a cold? Can you take a decongestant and make it through? I don’t want to tell her it’s my stomach. I don’t want her to suspect. But she keeps pushing. She wants me to call Kimi’s dad who’s a doctor and see if he can give me something. Finally, I snap. It’s one match, Ricki! It’s not the end of the world. It’s just stupid bowling. And it’s none of your business what’s wrong with me. All right? So just leave me alone. And she does.

  I SKIP SCHOOL

  Monday and Tuesday pretending to still be sick. But Wednesday, Mom tells me, You’re going. So I go.

  I SKIP LUNCH

  avoiding Benny. I don’t want him finding me in the library either, so I wander the halls killing time until the bell rings. And that’s when I run into ... Toby.

  I EXPECT HIM TO PRETEND

  not to know me. As usual. But instead he says, June. Like he’s happy to see me. No, not happy. More like … relieved. He pulls me into the smaller gym, which is quiet and empty.

  MASTERS OF HIDING

  That’s always been Toby and me. But now … he looks different. Smaller somehow. Duller. Like some light in him has flickered out. June, he says again … But before he can say more, the door from the boys’ locker room opens. Toby and I don’t need to discuss it. Together we duck into the shadows of the bleachers, disappearing just as basketballs start BoUnCiNg across the floor. Toby grimaces. Leaning into me, he says, Coach lets us use this space to practice if we got free time. I nod but don’t understand why Toby is with me instead of them.

  THEN HIS TEAMMATES START TALKING...

  and it all becomes clear. Dude, did you see Toby’s mom at the game last night? The other two laugh in a nasty sort of way. She was druuuuuunk, the second guy adds. My mom said she smelled like a brewery. Man, I wish I’d seen her fall on her face, another voice comes in. I heard it was HILARIOUS. Maggie saw it. She tripped over nothing, and went down the bleachers till SMACK. I have heard enough, but they keep going. How she spat blood in the face of a parent who helped her up. And swore at another who wanted to call an ambulance.

  I LOOK AT MY SHOES

  Unable to face Toby. Unable to see him with all his secrets echoing across the gym.

  SILENCE

  fills the gym at last. It’s once again just Toby and me. I sneak a glance at him. Our eyes meet … hold … I’m sorry about your mom, I say. Yeah, he answers. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. My mom’s already saying how much she hates it here. And Grans is never coming out of that nursing home. So, I’ll be outta here soon.

  HE SHRUGS LIKE IT'’S NO BIG DEAL

  But I can tell … it’s a big deal. You’re really … moving? I say, shocked at how much the idea hurts. He shrugs again, the movement jerky, like a tic he can’t control. My mom never likes staying in one place too long. I say sorry again, feeling stupid. Toby gives me one of his old Toby smiles— the kind I feel in my belly. It’s fine, he says. New place, new secrets.

  I GET IT

  Somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows him. Somewhere Toby can be anyone. Well, anyone except himself. Aren’t you tired? I ask. (I want to add— Hiding. Pushing away anyone who gets close. It’s exhausting. Isn’t it?) I don’t—can’t—say it aloud. But maybe Toby hears it anyway. He gives me a sad smile. Sometimes. Yeah. But what else can I do? Unexpectedly, his hand brushes against mine, and then closes around it. I’ve missed you, June, Toby says, softly, these words I wanted so badly for so long to hear. I’ve felt bad seeing you dealing with … stuff. Here at school. I swallow hard. Knowing Toby is talking about BARF boy, and the others like him. They don’t stop. Those types— they never do. I wish you could come with me. Away. We could both start over. And then Toby leans over and kisses me, a quick press of his lips to my cheek. This is when my heart used to roll up and down like a yo-yo, terrified and thrilled all at the same time. And it does … a bit. But mostly, I’m thinking how, as long as I’m fat, I will always be the girl Toby kisses in secret. That wouldn’t change if we went somewhere else. Toby won’t change. He doesn’t want to. But I do. I am tired of hiding. And I am done with being alone. I deserve someone who holds my hand where everyone can see. I deserve friends loud and unafraid to stand up for me. I stand, and Toby grabs for my hand. Don’t go yet. I pull away. I gotta go. But … just so you know, sometimes the bullies do stop. You just gotta find someone to help you BARK back.

  BILL WAITS

  at home. He asks me to sit down. Says that the two of us gotta talk things out. He tells me, I know you don’t like me, but please hear me out. I understand— more than you might think— about what you’re going through. In high school, I wrestled and had to watch my weight. I’d cover my body with plastic wrap and then run to sweat the weight off. It was miserable. I don’t want that for you. Or your mom. He tells me that they had a big fight the other day when I was sick. He dumped Mom’s laxatives in the toilet. And he took her too-small dress and cut it into pieces. He thought Mom would kill him. But she didn’t. She told him he was paying for a new dress. And that was that. Apparently, Bill’s been online on message boards about how to deal with kids with eating disorders. He tells me he’s found a counselor nearby who he thinks maybe can help. Once he and Mom are married, his insurance will cover it. I guess even Mom is on board. And then instead of telling— he asks. He asks if I’ll go. I start to cry. I’ve been going in circles round and round trying to empty myself out, till I’m hollow, having purged everything except the shame. I’ve been battling myself and everyone else. Maybe it’s time to raise the white flag. Maybe it’s time to admit I need help. Bill pulls me into a hug. And I let him. And I tell him that yes, I’ll go see the counselor.

 

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