Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (8 page)

W
HEN WE GET HOME FROM
C
HICAGO
, L
EAH AND
I
HAVE LESS THAN THREE
days to regroup and get it together before it’s time to head off to camp. But as soon as I get into my house, I am so exhausted that I end up pretty much vegging out for the remainder of the afternoon. Fortunately, Mom doesn’t seem to mind. She’s just glad to have me home. I’m still a couch potato with my bags piled in a heap in the family room when my dad gets home from work.

“Welcome back,” he says in a slightly grumpy voice as he looks down to where I’m flopped on the couch. He stands there for a moment, carefully eyeing me.

“Thanks,” I tell him, sitting up straighter.

“Have you lost weight, Emily?”

I smile. “Yeah, thirteen pounds last time I weighed.”

Now he actually pats me on the head. “Hey, that’s a good start.”

Okay, I’m not quite sure how to respond to this “good start” business. I mean, I know he’s trying to be encouraging, but couldn’t he say something a little bit nicer? Does he have any idea how hard I’ve worked to lose this weight?

“Better get up and moving if you want to keep it off,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen in search of my mom.

I growl under my breath as I pry my tired body from the soft
couch and gather up my bags, dragging them to the laundry room. I begin to toss dirty clothes into a hamper. Of course, I know Dad’s right. I’m not stupid. If you want to lose weight, you gotta keep moving. It’s what I’ve been beating into my head for the past few weeks.

So, despite the fact that I haven’t had anything to eat since before our flight this morning, when I had one of those little boxes of Special K with skim milk, I force myself to keep going. Keep moving. Action equals burnt calories, burnt calories equal less fat. Keep moving, Emily. This will pay off. I take a walk around the neighborhood, planning to walk thirty minutes in one direction, which means it will take thirty minutes to get back. But I find it incredibly hard just to put one foot in front of the other, and it feels like miles and miles. When I finally get home, I just want to go to bed and sleep. Or eat maybe. But I’m trying not to think about food.

“Why don’t we go for pizza?” Mom suggests just as Matt gets home from baseball practice. “In honor of Emily’s homecoming.”

“Works for me,” says Matt.

“But pizza is fattening,” my dad complains. “And remember Emily is trying to lose weight.”

Matt rolls his eyes at me, like
welcome home, fatso
.

“But she’s done such a great job already,” Mom says, “maybe she needs to celebrate a little.”

They go back and forth a bit, and finally I jump in, taking Mom’s side—well, Matt’s too, I guess. “Pizza would be great,” I say. “Especially since I’ve been living on rabbit food lately. I think I deserve pizza for a change.”

Dad’s disapproval is written all over his face, but Matt and Mom both look pleased.

So pizza it is. Of course, I know exactly what I’ll do after I finish
consuming not only way too many pieces of pizza but a chocolate milkshake too.

“I don’t know how you’ll keep the weight off if you keep eating like that,” Dad says with a creased brow.

“She took the last piece of pepperoni,” Matt complains.

“Sorry, bro,” I say lightly, then excuse myself to the bathroom. Thankfully, no one else is in there, and I quickly relieve myself of all that heavy food. And as Dad drives us home, I feel rather smug and even wonder why it took me so long to figure out how this weightcontrol thing really works.

Okay, by the time I go to bed, I have this pounding headache and a ringing in my ears that won’t stop, and I do feel kind of sick to my stomach, which is odd since I know my stomach is empty. But after a shower, I get on the bathroom scales and discover that I’ve lost another pound, and I am so elated that I decide these uncomfortable side effects are a small price to pay for results.

The night before camp, Leah and I go to the meeting for camp counselors. Pastor Ray, the youth pastor, who already had us work through a short notebook, now gives us some camper materials and finishes off with an encouraging pep talk.

“The most important thing is to become a real friend to your campers,” he says finally. “You want them to trust you and to believe you, so that when you share your faith, they will listen to you. But remember it’s a balancing act, because you also need their respect. They need to understand that you are the authority in your cabin, and when you say no or give a warning, they need to know that you really mean it. Of course, if a serious problem arises, a senior counselor will step in. Most of all, we want you to all have a really cool time. And we want the name of the Lord to be lifted up and glorified.” Then he closes with prayer.

“You up for this?” Leah asks me as she drives us home.

“I guess so. But I have to admit that it sounds a little intimidating.”

“I think it’s going to be fun. Did you see the guys from West Park there tonight? There was this one guy who looks like he could be Brad Pitt’s younger brother.”

I laugh. “Sorry, I missed that. But I did notice Brett McEwen was keeping an eye on you,” I say. “Are you certain that he’s really not that into you?”

She just shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, like I already told you, we didn’t really seem to click on prom night. I mean, it was fun and everything, and we laughed a lot and stuff, but I don’t think there’s any real chemistry between us.”

“Oh.” I want to ask her if this means it’s open season on Brett McEwen now, but I realize how ridiculous I would sound. I mean, yeah sure, someone like me would have a real chance with someone like him. You bet!

“Have you packed yet?” she asks as she stops in front of my house.

“No,” I admit. “Did you plan on helping me again?”

She laughs. “Hardly. I haven’t packed either. You’re on your own this time, girlfriend.”

“Thanks a lot.”

But as I begin going through my stuff, I realize that quite a few of my clothes are getting pretty baggy, and I end up tossing a lot of them into a “fat” pile. Not that this is such a big loss, since I never had much success at finding cool clothes once I started piling the weight on anyway. I mean, it’s hard to find cute things in fat-chick sizes. Not every store even carries them. Besides, I always wanted the kinds of clothes that would cover me up, kind of like fat camouflage, I guess.

I briefly considered begging my mom to take me shopping earlier today, but then I realized how I’d be dropping even more pounds before too long, so I might as well wait until I reach my goal before I invest too much money in clothes.

So tonight as I scramble to pack a few things, I have to dig a little deeper in my closet as I search for summer clothes. Buried beneath the clutter, I discover some items I’d previously “outgrown.” And I begin to feel hopeful. I get really excited when I find this old pair of Gap shorts that I used to love. They’re the kind of denim that’s soft after lots of wearing and washing. I practically lived in these shorts about two summers ago, back before I packed on the pounds. I’m not even sure why I saved them really, but now I’m thinking it wasn’t a mistake. Unfortunately, they’re still pretty tight around the thighs, but at least I can get them on over my hips, and if I suck in my stomach, I can actually get them buttoned, even if the jelly roll hanging over my midsection does resemble a partially inflated inner tube—definitely not a good look. But in time . . .

I decide to pack the shorts anyway, as well as some other things that are on the small side. I guess I’m hoping that I’ll lose another thirteen pounds during camp and that maybe they’ll fit by the end of two weeks. Or maybe I’ll lose even more than that. It’s not like camp food is going to tempt me much. Besides, I’ve got the secret formula now. Why not go ahead and get as skinny as I can?

After I’m packed, and definitely traveling light as far as my duffel bag goes, I decide to check out some of the anorexia-bulimia websites that one of the model girls (a fellow Ana Mia) told me about in Chicago. She said these sites were full of great tips for taking off, and keeping off, weight.

But what I read tonight is both shocking and frightening. And I can tell that most, maybe all, of these Ana Mias are definitely not
Christians. They are taking this weight-loss thing to a much further extreme than I would ever want to go. Those girls seem really desperate, like being skinny as a stick is the most important thing on earth to them. I just want to lose a few pounds. In fact, once I can comfortably fit into my old Gap shorts again, I’ll be perfectly happy. And I will quit doing this. I know I will.

My mom drops Leah and me at the church the next morning. Everyone is supposed to meet here at ten o’clock, and after a welcome speech by Pastor Ray, who’s in charge of all six churches involved, we are immediately put into cabin groups. I have six girls (Penny, Chelsea, Hilary, Jenna, Kendra, and Faye) who will be in my cabin. Although only one of these girls (Jenna) is from my church and I barely know her, my first impression of the six is fairly positive. They seem pretty quiet and nice, and perhaps even a bit unsure of themselves. And I am pleased to see that they seem to like and respect me. I think it may help that I’ve taken off some weight and that my hair looks good. Plus I’m wearing the cool capri pants that Mom got me for the Chicago trip. This is going well.

We pile into the van. I take the front passenger seat, next to the driver, Mrs. Myers (she has a son in middle school), and I manage to wedge my guitar case in between us. And so far, I’m thinking this isn’t too bad. I mean, how hard can it be anyway? For starters, I’m about five years older than these middle-school girls. I should know a thing or two about keeping things running smoothly. I should be able to hold this together. But we’re barely out of the parking lot when I begin to suspect that there could be trouble.

“I don’t want to sit back here,” Kendra loudly complains when we’re at our first stoplight. She’s sitting between Penny, the overweight girl of the bunch, and Hilary, a Hispanic girl who has probably not spoken more than three words so far. Penny just looks
out the side window as if she’s ignoring Kendra, and Hilary has her nose in a paperback with a horse on the cover. “Come on,” whines Kendra, “somebody better trade places with me or I’ll get carsick and ralph all over you guys in front of me.”

“I’ll trade,” offers Chelsea.

“Thank you,” I tell Chelsea, and she grins at me, revealing bright silver braces across her teeth.

Kendra is barely in the middle seat before she makes some comment that’s hard to decipher, but it doesn’t sound very nice, and Faye starts to laugh loudly, glancing over her shoulder to the backseat, I’m sure to stare at poor Penny.

Jenna, a slim and pretty blonde, just rolls her eyes at me as if she knows what’s up and questions my ability to handle it.

Then our driver asks if everyone is buckled up.

“We’re good to go,” I tell her, and she gives me a look that suggests maybe we’re not.

“How about if we sing on the way to camp?” I suggest as I reach for my guitar case.

Kendra groans. “That’s so juvenile.”

“Yeah,” agrees Faye, who I figure must be Kendra’s cohort. “We did that back in kindergarten.”

“I like to sing,” says Chelsea brightly. And I’m thinking I
like
this girl.

“Me too,” says Penny quietly.

“That works for me,” I tell them as I take out my guitar and check to be sure that it’s tuned. “I’m a little rusty because I just got back from Chicago,” I tell them as I strum a few chords.

“What were you doing in Chicago?” asks Kendra.

Now I consider this. Do I dare tell these girls that I was at modeling school, of all places? I mean, it’s obvious that I am
not
model
material. Why set myself up for their scorn?

“Yeah,” chimes in Faye. “What were you doing in Chicago, Emily?”

“I was there with a friend. She’s a counselor too. Leah Clark.”

“Oh, I know who that is,” says Jenna. “She goes to our church and is really pretty.”

“You mean that tall, thin girl with the long, dark hair?” asks Faye with interest.

“That sounds right,” I say as I adjust a string.

“Yeah, I wanted
her
for my counselor,” adds Kendra.

“Thanks a lot,” I say as if I’m hurt, but then I laugh. “You’re right, Leah is really pretty. She’s also my best friend and we went to Chicago so she could take modeling classes.”

“She’s going to be a professional model?” asks Kendra with real awe in her voice.

“Maybe so,” I say.

Then I start playing a goofy praise song from church, and after a few lines I think that most of the girls are actually singing along. Even Mrs. Myers joins in. Fortunately, the camp is only an hour away, and I really think that singing makes the trip go faster. But even as I’m leading them in songs, I feel a little worried. This could be a tough bunch. The way Kendra immediately set her sights on poor Penny—what if she keeps it up? How am I supposed to hold these girls together for two weeks, let alone be a “spiritual leader” like Pastor Ray expects us to be?
God help me
, I pray silently and sincerely, as I try to think of one more song to sing before we get there.

Finally we pull into the camp parking lot, and I am feeling pretty exhausted. I’m not sure if this is partially due to hunger or if it’s the strain of being trapped in an automobile with six twelve-year-olds
for more than an hour.

We unload our stuff and begin trudging up the small hill to our cabin, number 8 in the girls’ section. Penny is lagging behind, and I want to go back and keep her company, but the truth is, I’m afraid that I might not make it myself. I don’t know when I’ve felt so tired. I’m carrying my sleeping bag, my duffel bag, and my guitar, and I feel like every step is agony. But I call back to Penny, encouraging her to keep up and saying that it’s not too far now. “We’ll be there soon.”

“She’s too fat to keep up,” I hear Kendra say from where she’s walking with Faye up at the front.

If I had more energy, I’d run up ahead and give Miss Kendra a piece of my mind, but as it is, I am huffing and puffing myself.