Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online Page A

shove my finger in my mouth and actually gag myself. I’m amazed at how easy it is, how quickly it’s over with, and how much better I feel for doing it. And then I rememberBecca, that day before the fashion show, how she probably did this same thing, and how I judged her for it. As I wash my face with cold water then look at my image in the mirror, I remember how superior I felt to her that day, how certain I could never become like her.
    But then I’m not like her,
I tell myself as I turn off the light and tiptoe back upstairs. This was a one-time thing. An emergency effort, really. I mean, I could’ve actually hurt myself with that stupid eating binge tonight.
    When I get back into bed, this unexplainable sense of victory ripples through me—like maybe I just missed a bullet. And that’s when I remember this old saying my grandma used to like. She’d give it to me when I was being impatient about something or wanted to do two things at once, sort of have it both ways.
    “You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” she used to say. I didn’t really get it then, but I think I do now. And I think maybe she was wrong.



six
     
     
    I ’ M FEELING REALLY GOOD ON M ONDAY MORNING . T OTALLY JAZZED . A ND when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I think I look way better than I did a month ago. First of all, there’s my hair, which I think looks fantastic. And I’ve got this little bit of a tan going on. And I’m thinking Leah is right. I have lost inches, because I do look thinner than before. Even my dad noticed. Well, sort of.
    “I think you’re losing some of that baby fat, Emily,” he told me after church yesterday.
    Okay, I would’ve appreciated a different sort of compliment. I mean, like one that actually felt complimentary. But, hey, it’s my dad. I take what I can get, right?
    “I have an idea,” my mom said then, perhaps as a buffer to my dad’s less-than-sensitive comment. “Why don’t you and I go shopping this afternoon, Emily? We’ll get you something special to wear to Chicago.”
    So it is that I’m wearing a completely new outfit—some very cool capri pants and a T-shirt that I’ve topped with this little denim jacket. Okay, the jacket’s not exactly “little,” but it’s cute. And, okay, it’s probably not anything as cool as what Leah will be wearing today, but it’s definitely an upgrade for me. And I think I look pretty good. And I think I’m ready for AFI. I just hope they’re ready for me.
    My mom drives us to the airport. Leah suggests that she just drop us at the entrance, since Leah has flown a lot, both with her dad and on her own. She goes to see her aunt at least once a year. But my mom insists on parking and going through check-in with us, and then, even after I assure her that we’ll be perfectly fine, she wants to walk us to the security gate.
    “Do you girls need something to snack on during the flight?” she asks as she points to a McDonald’s. “I’ve heard that flights don’t serve much food anymore.”
    “It’s only a two-hour flight,” Leah reminds her.
    “But you never know,” my mom persists. “You could be delayed.”
    “We’ll be okay,” I tell mom.
    “And we’ll pick up some bottles of water,” says Leah. “As soon as we get through security.”
    Mom frowns. “That’s all you want? Just a bottle of water?”
    “We’ll be fine, Mom,” I say to her, pausing to set down my bag and give her a quick hug. “Really. Don’t worry. We won’t starve before we get to Chicago.”
    She smiles. “No, no, of course you won’t.” Then she hugs Leah too. “You girls look so grown up today. It’s hard to believe that — ” And then she actually begins to cry.
    “Oh, Mom!” I say, giving her another hug, a bigger one this time. “Don’t worry about us. Really, we’ll be fine.”
    She nods as she wipes her nose with a tissue. “Yes, I know you will.”
    “Take care, Mrs. Foster,” says Leah cheerfully. “And thanks again