Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped

BOOK: Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped
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faded denim

faded denim

color me trapped

melody carlson

TH1NK Books
an imprint of NavPress
®

 

 

 

 

 

 

© 2006 by Melody Carlson

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from NavPress, P.O. Box 35001, Colorado Springs, CO 80935.
www.navpress.com

 

TH1NK Books is an imprint of NavPress. TH1NK is a registered trademark of NavPress. Absence of ® in connection with marks of NavPress or other parties does not indicate an absence of registration of those marks.

 

ISBN 1-57683-537-5

 

Cover design by
studiogearbox.com

Cover photo by
workbook.com

Creative Team: Nicci Jordan, Arvid Wallen, Erin Healy, Darla Hightower, Pat Reinheimer

 

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry.

 

Carlson, Melody.

Faded denim : color me trapped / Melody Carlson.

   p. cm. -- (True colors ; bk. 9)

Summary: Originally trying to lose only a few pounds, seventeen-year-old Emily’s weight loss spins out of control as she develops eating disorders until she decides that trusting in God and her friends can help her regain her health.

ISBN 1-57683-537-5

[1. Body image--Fiction. 2. Eating disorders--Fiction. 3. Christian life--Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.C216637Fad 2006

[Fic]--dc22

2005036115

Printed in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 10 09 08 07 06

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NAVPRESS BOOKS & BIBLE STUDIES,
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Other Books by Melody Carlson

Bitter Rose
(NavPress)

Blade Silver
(NavPress)

Fool’s Gold
(NavPress)

Burnt Orange
(NavPress)

Pitch Black
(NavPress)

Torch Red
(NavPress)

Deep Green
(NavPress)

Dark Blue
(NavPress)

D
IARY OF A
T
EENAGE
G
IRL
series (Multnomah)

D
EGREES
series (Tyndale)

Crystal Lies
(WaterBrook)

Finding Alice
(WaterBrook)

Three Days
(Baker)

one

 

 

M
Y BEST FRIEND IS SO SKINNY
. I
HATE HER
. N
O, NOT
R
EALLY.
I
LOVE HER
. N
O
, I hate her. The truth is, I think I hate myself. And I hate feeling like this—like I am fat and ugly and like I am a total Loser with a capital
L
. It makes me sick.

But here’s what really gets me—the thing that makes me just scratch my head and go
huh?
When did all this happen? When did I fall asleep and get abducted by the body-switchers who did some mean sci-fi number on me and transformed me into this—this
repulsive blob girl
? I mean, I didn’t
use
to be like this. Back in middle school, I was superthin. Okay, maybe I was just average thin, but my best friend, Leah, was . . . hmm . . . shall we say somewhat pudgy, slightly overweight, a bit obese, downright chubby.

This is the deal: When I was about thirteen, I had already reached my height, which is about five seven (that is, if I stand extremely straight and stretch my neck until I hear my spinal column popping). Meanwhile, Leah was about four inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier than me. She was a regular little roly-poly back then. But in the past couple of years she got really tall. And now she’s like five ten or maybe taller, and she’s as skinny as a stick. So sickeningly skinny that clothes look absolutely fantastic on her. And it just makes me wanna pull my hair out and scream! Or just disappear.

Okay, to be fair (to me) I wouldn’t feel so miserable about all this if Leah wasn’t so obsessed with weight and diet and exercise and health that she’s constantly throwing the whole thing in my face, saying stuff like, “Emily, are you sure you want to eat that Snickers bar since it has like five hundred calories that will probably end up sitting right on your thighs?” And when she says things like that it not only makes me want to pig out on the Snickers bar but to go grab a giant-sized bag of Cheetos as well. Like super-size me, please!

But that’s not the only problem. I mean, since she got all tall and thin (and did I mention gorgeous?), she’s become obsessed with fashion and beauty tricks and the latest styles. Leah studies all the fashion rags (which naturally feature these tall, bony, weird-looking models who really do look a bit like aliens if you ask me—probably a real product of the body-switchers), and she has recently decided that she actually wants to become one of them. At first I thought she was kidding.

“You seriously would want to put yourself in that position?” I asked her, incredulous. “I mean you want perfect strangers gaping at your body while you strut around in some weird and skimpy outfit, possibly with no underwear on?”

“I think it’d be cool.” And the mind-boggling part is that she really believes she could make it as a fashion runway model—who, according to her, are the ones who make the megabucks. Although I’ve also heard that lots of them wind up strung out on drugs, burned out, and just generally messed up.

“That doesn’t happen to everyone,” she told me. “Those are just the girls who make the news and the tabloids, and then everyone assumes the whole fashion industry is at fault. And that’s not fair.”

Of course, it doesn’t help matters that her aunt is a pretty wellknown fashion photographer in New York City, or that she actually
thinks Leah may “have what it takes.” Although I’m sure aunts are a lot like moms, easily duped into thinking their kids “have what it takes” to do just about anything. Yeah, right.

“Okay, what
does
it take?” I asked Leah several weeks ago. (This was shortly after she convinced me to go on this stupid cabbagesoup diet that was guaranteed to “take off a few pounds” but in reality nearly ended up killing me. I ended up in the john for like an entire afternoon—what a fun diet!)

“What does it take to be a runway model?” She pressed her unfairly full lips together as she considered my question. “Well, it obviously takes some height and, of course, you have to be pretty thin . . . and you need good bone structure, even features . . . and then, of course, you need to have that special something.”

“Special something,” I said hopefully. Now, I may not look like a runway model, but I am good at making friends and making them laugh. Some people think that’s pretty special. Naturally, I don’t say this.

“Yeah, kind of like personality. Only more than that. It has to be something that cameras can catch, especially if you’re going the print route. Or you need that something extra that shows from the runway—an attitude, you know. You gotta be able to strut your stuff and make people want what you have.”

“Right.” I nodded as if I understood, but more and more it feels like Leah is speaking a foreign language and I am struggling just to keep up.

“I get to see my portfolio shots on Friday afternoon,” she told me a few days ago. “Want to go with me to pick them out?”

“Sure,” I offered, having absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.

So here we are at this fancy-schmancy modeling agency where
all the girls are tall, thin, and fabulous, and I feel like a creature from another planet—the planet where the body-switchers dwell. Uranus, perhaps.

“Ooh,” gushes Becca (a Scandinavian-looking blonde). She seems to know Leah and has just joined us to look at the photos. “That’s totally scrumptious, Leah.” Becca is pointing a perfectly sculpted nail to a shot of Leah, which in my opinion is exposing way too much cleavage, but naturally I don’t mention this. I just stand there where these glossy photos are spread all over a counter and try to keep up.

BOOK: Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped
13.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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