Skinny by Diana Spechler Read Free Book Online

arms away from her body.
    Before coming to camp, I’d bought that bathing suit, my first one-piece, because in a bikini, I felt too exposed, my love handles bulging like soft white frog throats.
    But first, I had agonized. To donate one’s bikini to Goodwill was to relax into a life of obesity, to set off on the road to a bathing suit with a skirt, and then to a sarong over a bathing suit with a skirt, and then to something terry cloth with a zipper. Waving good-bye to my bikini-wearing days meant I’d soon be nothing but crumpled flesh and cellulite, varicose veins and Birkenstocks, waddling down a beach in an XXL cover-up printed with a sexy, skinny girl in a bikini.
    “Basically all of my friends are black,” Eden was saying, apropos of God knows what. “Either black or Latino. Minorities. I just really click with minorities.” Her eyes were on Whitney, who was leaning an elbow on the bar, talking quietly with Miss. Of all the girls, Whitney was the prettiest—the pink of her full lips striking against her dark skin, the gap between her two front teeth not a flaw, but a mark of her beauty. She was tall, her fat distributed evenly, so that unlike some of the other girls (Miss, for instance, whose sickly white ass and thighs spread endlessly in either direction), weight loss would have left her well shaped. I could picture her skinny—statuesque like a runway model.
    Whitney and Miss glanced at Eden, then looked back at each other, widening their eyes, tightening their lips around their laughter.
    “Everyone thinks I’m Puerto Rican,” Eden was saying, as Nurse measured one of her arms. “God, I don’t even know why I’m here! I shouldn’t be here. My mother made me come because we have a family history of diabetes and heart problems.”
    My breath snagged in my chest.
    Sheena whispered, “She’s crazy as a peach orchard bore.”
    I touched my heart to still it. “It’s the first day. It’s awkward. She wants to be liked.”
    “Everyone wants to be liked. That girl’s deranged.”
    I watched Eden. A gold six-pointed star hung from a chain around her neck. I wondered what she knew. For the first time ever, I wished I’d let my father drag me to the Chabad House. I wished I had some knowledge that I could pass along to Eden. Instead, most of my knowledge of Judaism came from dumb things like Bar Mitzvah parties.
    Grab my waist, Eden. This is how Jews do the conga.
    When Lewis finished taking her picture, Eden wrapped a towel around herself, hiding the star, hiding her unwieldy torso, her scrawny legs. All at once, I felt a surge of hope.
    My sister and I were going to be skinny.
    Already, we had, at different times, in different states, walked into J.Crew, tried on the same bathing suit without removing our socks, turned this way and that before unflattering mirrors, picked our wedgies, shrugged our shoulders, and drawn identical conclusions.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Toward the end of the day, the worst I had was a mild headache. A small pang of hunger. Or . . . not hunger. A longing to eat. But the longing was contained—the flame of a cigarette lighter. I hoped that in a structured environment, where people were feeding me, controlling my portions, counting my calories, I could, as Lewis liked to say, surrender to the program.
    That morning, breakfast had been microwaved waffles, two per person, with low-calorie syrup. A box of cereal. Low-fat yogurt. Lunch had been English muffin pizza, and dinner dry chicken and green beans. All summer, every lunch and dinner would include unlimited trips to the salad bar (but only one serving of fat-free dressing) and a cup of sugar-free, fat-free Jell-O, Lewis’s favorite treat.
    I could do this.
    It wasn’t until nighttime that I felt the familiar pull of food. Maybe it was because the kids were asleep, so I had no access to Eden. Or maybe it was because the off-duty counselors (one-half of the staff would be on duty every other night, the other half on alternate