Identical by Ellen Hopkins Read Free Book Online Page A

apart. I think
    I should be able to control
    it, make it go away. But I can’t.

And So, Right Now
    I will control one of the few
    things I can. Gaining curves.
    Funny thing is, I still haven’t
    graduated to double digits,
    despite semiregular binges
    amounting to amazing quantities
    of food. Maybe stress burns
    a lot of calories or something.
    But hey, I’m gonna try, at least
    as long as there’s food in the house
    and Daddy isn’t home. He’s not.
    The garage is vacant, awaiting
    the Lexus’s return. I glance at
    the grandfather clock in the hall.
    Not yet four. I should have an hour
    or more, all to myself and my genie.
    It’s screaming to be fed.
    Begging to be satisfied.

It’s Probably Weird
    To think about an addiction
    like it’s a sentient being,
    but that’s how it feels.
    Like it’s something living
    inside you. Something
    you can’t get rid of because
    killing it means killing you.
    I can’t really understand
    addictions to drugs or alcohol.
    Things that control you.
    But an eating disorder
    is an addiction you control.
    Wait, is that paradoxical?
    I prefer to believe not.
    Either way, I kick off my shoes,
    slide along the tile and into
    the kitchen, calming my genie
    with promises. Twinkies. Ice
    cream bars. Halloween candy.
    Screw the trick-or-treaters.
    Little heathens are bums.

Sweet Stuff
    Sounds good, but I know from
    experience I’ll get sick before
    I can eat enough sugar to satiate
    this kind of need. I should start
    with something else. Hey.
    I know. I’ll binge healthy
    and do the five food groups.
    Crackers. Chips. Both whole
    grain. Salsa. Fruit salad.
    Canned, but oh well. Cheese
    for the crackers. (And later,
    ice cream, dessert dairy.)
    Protein? Think there’s lunch
    meat in the refrigerator.
    Hope it’s bologna.
    That just leaves fat. So I’ll
    butter my bologna. First,
    I spread a quarter roll of paper
    towels on the table. Have to
    do this crumb free. Next
    I arrange silverware in
    a perfectly straight line.
    About the time I turn toward
    the cupboards, I notice
    the obnoxious repetitive noise.

The Answering Machine
    Is beeping, accompanied
    by a red warning light.
    Blip-blip-blip . Three messages.
    One: Mom. Can’t talk
    long. But thought you’d
    want to know, in case
    you haven’t checked,
    the campaign is picking
    up. I’m ahead in current
    polls. Will be home to watch
    the election coverage. Click.
    Awesome. Looks like we’ll lose
    her completely. Not that I expected
    anything else. No, not at all.
    Two: Daddy. Can’t talk
    long. But wanted to let
    you know I’m going out
    to dinner with a colleague.
    It could go pretty late,
    so don’t worry if you don’t
    see me tonight. Any problems,
    call my cell phone and I’ll
    get back to you ASAP.
    “ASAP,” pronounced like a word,
    instead of initials. No problem,
    Daddy. I’m feeling pretty good now.

My Head Is in the Fridge
    When the third message
    fires up. The voice is unfamiliar,
    but it’s someone I sort of know.
    Hello? I’m trying to reach
    Raymond Gardella. Ray?
    This is your father. I know
    it’s been a long time with
    no word from me. But
    something has come up
    that I thought you should
    hear about ASAP….
    A-S-A-P. Unlike Daddy,
    Grandpa Gardella uses
    the initials, not the acronym.
    I had a visit from your mother,
    returned from who-knows-where.
    She wanted to know how
    to find you. Apparently, she’s
    actually paid attention to
    the news lately. She knows
    your wife is running for Congress.
    My guess is she’s out to make
    trouble unless you shove
    a few dollars in her direction.
    If I were you, I’d expect a call.

The Impossible News
    Steals my breath, chases away
    all desire for food. I thought
    for sure my grandmother was dead.
    And now this not-so-distant
    relative crawls from the grave,
    a ghost.
    I wonder where she’s been,
    why it’s taken so many years
    for her to reappear. And now,
    three weeks until the election, she
    materializes
    from the ether, robed in evil
    intent? What