Hungry

I stopped looking into the mirror when I was fourteen. That was the year I had to dress and undress in front of beautiful high school seniors. Their bodies were perfectly toned from years of volleyball, basketball and track. And there I was, the freshman, the late bloomer with globs of baby fat on my thighs, stomach and ass. Being the only freshman playing varsity volleyball wasn't good enough. I had to look like them, so I looked like I belonged. A few missed meals and some extra workouts gave me the sleek look of an athlete, but I knew I could do better. I could be thinner - thinner than all of them. So I missed a few more meals, and I picked up a few more workouts. I became so beautiful that the other girls couldn't bear to look at me anymore without giving me strange looks.I don't remember collapsing the night we played Greenhill Prep. One minute I was glancing over at our team captain (and my hero) Nikki, thinking that if I could just set the ball to her, she could spike it for the win. Now she's standing over me, screaming for a doctor. I want to tell her that I'm sorry that I missed the set because she's a senior and this is going to be her last game, but the floor is spinning and I have to close my eyes. When I open them again, my mother is standing over me. I see my reflection for the first time in months, reflecting in my mother's eyeglasses, and I get dizzy and nauseous all over again. "Mama," I manage to ask while she slips her hand underneath the back of my head. "Am I too skinny?" I see that she's struggling to say the right thing, but she's has no idea what to tell me, so she leans over and kisses my forehead and tells me that I'm her pretty girl, that I don't to lose another pound. And that's good, because I'm hungry.