I was sick the next day, and the day after that. I was so ill I didn't even bother going to school and couldn't eat a bite. Janine seemed pleased to see me so ill I couldn't eat. She thought it would be a prime way to help me lose weight. Whether or not I thought I looked good, it didn't matter. Janine and Cameron thought otherwise.
Not good enough.
Far from good enough.
I thought about Grant and Willow. They never cut me down about the way I looked. I was about ready to snap, I felt, and I desperately wished I could talk to Grant again, even if he was furious at me. I wanted him to realize that I never stopped liking him, even when I became friends with Cameron and his buddies.
On the second day since my illness started, I managed to stagger out of bed and over to Grant's house. I needed to talk to him. I needed for him to forgive me. Was Cameron's love worth losing a few close friends over? If living up to Cameron's expectations was costing me not only friends, but my health, then was he even worth it at all?
No...he wasn't worth it.
And God, did I love him, but I thought that, deep in my hearts, he probably didn't love me for anything other than my figure. And that wasn't even up to par quite yet.
I stabbed the doorbell of Grant's house with my forefinger, praying that Grant was home and willing to talk to me. The door opened moments later and Grant appeared behind the screen door, his face as grim as his dark clothes.
"What do you want?" he asked tiredly.
"Grant, I need to have a word with you." My voice shook both from sickness and the memory of Janine forcing me to vomit. My throat ached like anything. I wonidered if this was truly making me sick.
Probably.
Grant sighed. He ran his fingers through his short hair and glanced out the door down the street. "Why don't you come inside?" His voice was as gentle as I remember it. He thrust open the screen door and stepped aside to let me in. I felt his eyes on me as I brushed past him.
"You look...good, Charity," he commented, his eyes lowered to my body. "You look like you lost some weight." A smile flickered at the corners of his full mouth.
"I did. Cameron helped me."
Grant winced, as if the name pained him. "Oh," he said nonchalantly. "Well...he did a good job, I guess." He gestured at the pinstripe couch in the living room. "Why don't you sit down and I'll get us some cokes."
"No, thanks." I perched at the edge of the sofa. He dropped down in the matching armchair, his face bright with interest.
"Well, what do you want from me?" he questioned.
"I wanted to talk to you...about our friendship." I lowered my eyes.
"What friendship?" He released a mean laugh. "I thought you weren't friends with me anymore. You have Cameron and his buddies."
"Yes, but it isn't the same. You and Willow have been my friends forever and I don't want either of you to feel as though I'm abandoning you."
Grant's face softened. "Well, I thought you weren't going to be friends with me after you started being friends with the Barbies and Jocks."
"That's not so. I have room for more than a few groups of friends," I said. "I still want to be your friend, Grant, more than anything. Why break eleven years of friendship?"
"You're right. I was acting stupid and jealous. I thought you and I had a shot at being lovers, but I found I was wrong when I saw you and Cameron smooching like people on prom night."
I laughed. "I still like you, Grant. I want to have a good relationship with you, but you know I'm dating Cameron now."
"Unfortunately." He raised an eyebrow.
"But that doesn't mean I hate you."
He shrugged. "Again, I was stupid and jealous." He flashed his teeth at me. I smiled back at him. Immediately, his smile faded and he released a curse. "Jesus, Charity! What's wrong with your teeth?"
"What?" I brought my fingers to my mouth. "What on earth are you talking about?"
His eyes lowered to my body, a wise look clouding his face. "You aren't forcing yourself to...you know, vomit, are you? You've lost so much weight, Charity, and now your teeth look terrible." He rushed to my side. "Let me see your fingers," he demanded, grabbing my wrists.
"Grant. What on earth-" I tried to tug my hands free of his larger ones.
He cursed again when he saw my fingers. There was a small scar forming at the tip of my forefinger. I never noticed it before, but Grant certainly did. He was trembling with horror. "Charity...you're bulimic?"
"No!" I pulled my hands free. "Why on earth do you think that?"
"Your teeth and your finger," he said. "It's a sign of bulimia. And you should go see a doctor immediately before this gets out of hand," he advised. When I looked doubtful, he lowered his voice, "Please."
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