Not Just a Number: A Young Adult Contemporary Novel

by Sara Michaels

  “That’s true,” he said solemnly. “I’m really glad we’re going to be at the same college, Abby.” He said it with such conviction that I could not doubt his sincerity, not that I would doubt Ryan’s sincerity in any case. “Last night, my mom and I were talking about when she went to the University of Chicago.”

  I had not known that Ryan's mom went there too. I suddenly felt very warm, and I briefly wondered if it was Ryan’s sweet words influencing me.

  “She says they have got this tradition where all the freshmen have to run through the gardens naked.”

  That sounded like a nightmare to me. I really was feeling weird. Flashes of white danced in front of my eyes.

  “Separately, of course, like first the guys and then girls.”

  That sounded only marginally better. My legs suddenly felt like lead, and then jelly, and then lead again. I really wanted to stop and catch my breath, but I didn’t want to interrupt Ryan.

  “I mean, it is a bit weird thinking about my mom taking part in that, but it is funny. Would you do something like that?”

  I thought I had stopped, but at the same time my body felt like it was still moving. Breath was not fully entering my lungs, and I wanted to gasp for air but could not coordinate myself to do it. What was happening to me?

  Although part of me knew that Ryan had just asked me a question, the world had suddenly gone into slow motion, and I could not get my brain to form a response. The white flashes started to turn black.

  “Abby?”

  I heard in the distance. Darkness started to envelope me.

  “Abby, you’ve gone all pale, are you…”

  The darkness won.

  My eyelids felt like two large men were sitting on each one, and when I could eventually open them I saw the sky. That did not make sense. Why was I seeing the sky? I had just been walking with Ryan. My view had been houses and trees, and occasionally I had looked at him, but now I was seeing the sky?

  I blinked again and saw Ryan’s face appear, hovering over mine like he was separated from his body.

  “What’s going…” The words did not want to form, and I was pretty sure that I sounded like I was drunk. Ryan looked like he might cry. He stroked my hair. Well, that was nice, but it still did not explain what the hell was happening.

  “Hey, take it easy. Are you okay?” Ryan asked, his voice reverberating with emotion. I had no idea if I was okay or not, or even what ‘okay’ meant.

  Lifting my head slightly, I realized that I was on the pavement. That explained why I felt like I was lying on the hardest bed known to man. Had I tripped and fallen? Then, with a touch of embarrassment, I realized that my head was actually in Ryan’s lap. He was on the ground with me.

  “Here, have some water.” He had my water bottle in his hand and gently held it to my lips.

  The gulp of water was refreshing, but my body still felt heavy and immoveable. I pushed myself up with my arms, and Ryan helped me to sit up.

  “What happened?” I asked, blinking fast but moving with slow determination.

  “You passed out, Abby.” His voice was desperate and terrified. “Wait, I’ve got juice here. I think you need some sugar.” He rummaged around in his backpack and retrieved a bottle of orange juice, which he unscrewed and handed to me. I was sitting on the curb now, my butt on the pavement and my feet on the road. Ryan was next to me, watching me carefully as I sipped the juice, his arm still placed behind me in case I fell backward. I immediately thought about all the sugar in the juice and sipped it tentatively. “Abby, drink it, you need sugar.” He was right, of course, and with every sip I could feel myself coming around.

  “Well, that was weird,” I said as lightly as possible. Maybe I could still turn this around. None of the concern on Ryan’s face had faded though, and he took the juice from my hand, screwed the cap back on, and placed it on the curb between us. We sat in silence for a moment. Why the hell had I passed out? This was so embarrassing. My coat suddenly felt like it was on fire, and I struggled to get it off while Ryan helped me.

  I don’t know what I had expected to happen next, but it wasn’t that he would take my hand. I immediately felt embarrassed because mine were clammy and his were dry and cool. He didn’t seem to notice though, and he folded his other hand over the top of mine, enveloping it in a cocoon.

  “Abby...” He looked deep into my eyes and I initially looked away, but then he gently touched my face so that I would meet his gaze. “You know I love you, and it’s really hard for me to say this to you.”

  Okay, clearly, he meant ‘love’ like a friendly kind of love. Not like girlfriend-boyfriend love. Surely.

  “I’m really worried that you might be,” he struggled for a word, “sick. I think you might be sick, Abby.”

  “Yeah.” I narrowed my eyes, suddenly on the defensive. “I told you that I wasn’t feeling well, Ryan. I must be dehydrated or something from the stomach bug.” I wanted to get up and run, although I knew my leaden feet would not carry me very far at all in my current condition, and then we would have to start this all over again a few yards down the road.

  “No, Abby.” His tone was a little more firm now. I had the distinct feeling that he was not going to let me get away with this anymore. “I don’t think you have a stomach bug. I think you might have something like an eating disorder.”

  Now I really wanted to run. I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me go, likely knowing that if I pulled away the conversation would be over and indelible damage would have been done to our friendship.

  The idea of an eating disorder seemed absurd. All you had to do was look at me to see I clearly didn’t have an eating disorder. I was just trying to get in shape for prom. What was the big deal? I had been putting my body through a lot, though, and I had these two pictures of myself that didn’t fit together. One was a clumsy, heavy slob that could not fit into bridesmaid dresses, and the other was a girl that had lost a whole load of weight and found a million ways to eat as little as possible. I didn’t know why the two pictures did not fit together, I couldn’t really explain it, but it definitely was not anything nearly as serious as a disorder! It was just teenager stuff.

  I wanted to argue with him, at least part of me did, but I felt so weak that I just didn’t have it in me. A lot of arguments ran through my head, and several explanations, but I knew that none of them would hold any water. If it was anyone else sitting next to me, I could probably talk my way out of this, but not Ryan. Never Ryan. He was too connected to me. We were too much on the same wavelength. I had allowed him to get too close, and now I would pay the price.

  “I think we need to do something about this before you make yourself really sick, Abby.” He paused, looking stricken that he was having this conversation with me. I felt just as stricken because this spelled disaster for my plans. “Your body can’t carry on at this level for much longer. You’re going to end up in the hospital.” It was so difficult to look at him. He looked hurt, sad, and terrified all at once. “What have you eaten today, Abby?” The words sparked the new part of me that could invent meals off the top of my head, and Ryan seemed to see the shift in me. “Don’t.” He shook his head quickly. He touched my face so that I would look at him. “Please just be honest with me.”

  Honesty had become an alien concept to me in the last few months. It had become easier to lie every time I did it. I had lied so much about food and exercise that even I didn’t know where the lies stopped and the truth began. Okay, maybe I did. I could tell him my mom had made me bacon and eggs that morning and that she had slathered butter on the toast until it dripped off, but I just did not have the energy.

  I pushed through the fog that still clouded my mind and tried to remember what I had actually eaten. I wanted to be honest with him; he deserved that much, at least.

  “Rice cakes.” I could remember rice cakes. “Two, I think. Maybe more.” It was not more, and I actually hadn’t finished the second one. “No, just two.” I relented to myse
lf, Ryan, and the world. What else had I eaten? There had to be more. “Like a handful of mixed berries.” I could picture myself reaching into the bag and grabbing a handful and then letting most of them go. It was a small handful. There’d been carrot sticks that were next to the berries, and I had thrown a few of them in a Ziploc bag so that I would have something to look like lunch at school. “And some carrot sticks.” That was it.

  He was quiet, taking it in.

  I felt so ridiculous. Why should my friend have to worry about what I was eating?

  “Did you run this morning?”

  In the early days of my new exercise regime, I had bragged about how far I had run and how consistent I was being. Back then we spoke about it in joking terms, Ryan telling me I was crazy to be getting up in the dark just to run. Soon, though, my runs had become taboo. The more Ryan and Kya started to notice that I was eating less, the more I “felt sick” and could not eat lunch.

  I realized now that I had just stopped mentioning my exercise in the morning as though it had become part of the secret. I wasn’t sure when that had happened, but it had. I could not get the words out, so I just nodded.

  “So, you probably burned like 500 calories, and you only ate 100 calories. You are the mathlete of the year. Does that equation sound right to you?” He was not being facetious. He just clearly wanted to hammer it home.

  It’s a calorie deficit, part of me silently screamed. That is what you have to do if you want to lose weight, burn more calories than you’re eating. The sensible part of me, the part that was slowly coming back to life, also knew that your body burns 1,500 calories just in a resting state, so taking in 100 calories left nothing for your body to work with.

  I knew I didn’t have to say it. The answer was clear, and Ryan was no fool. Instead, I just sat there staring at the tar, watching waves of heat lift off the black surface.

  I had no idea how I had gotten to this place. All I had wanted to do was feel better about myself. I had just wanted to lose a few pounds, but then it had all morphed into this monstrous tornado that had picked me up and carried me away, and now I was just along for the ride.

  Ryan had just lassoed that tornado and brought me crashing down to earth.

  I had spent so much time creating these scenarios so that I could carry on limiting my food intake and increasing my exercise that I had not paused for a minute to wonder why I was really doing this. Every time I asked myself that question, I would make myself believe that I just wanted to be thinner, better, prettier, and happier, but now I had to admit that was not true.

  It was not a matter of self-improvement. It was a matter of self-destruction.

  A tear slid down my cheek. I was not much of a crier and I had no idea where that came from, but I was just so tired. So completely exhausted. I had cried more in the last few weeks than I had in my entire life. My mom would tell stories of how I had barely cried as a child. At one point she had thought there was something wrong with me, but I showed all the right emotions in the right places. I just seemed to have no need for tears—until now.

  Now Ryan knew the whole truth. I had spent weeks building up stories about food and exercise, blatantly lying because I just couldn't stop myself. On occasion, I had marveled at how easy it was to form the lies. I started to understand why some people could become pathological about it.

  Telling the lie was easy; it was living with afterwards that was difficult. The weight of those lies had increased every day, and now, as I rested my head on Ryan’s shoulder, the tears rushed out. I was terrified that my secrets were out in the open, about what this would mean for us and for me, but I was also so relieved. I had never wanted to lie to him, or to anyone else for that matter, least of all myself, and now my lies were all laid bare on the steaming tar for the world to see.

  10

  We sat on the curb for what felt like forever until I was able to stand and walk again. Only barely, though. Ryan steadied me as I stood, and I felt like such a pain in the butt. Why did I have to be such a burden to everyone I loved? It was so silly that my friend had to cluck over me like a mother hen. He had to scrape me up off the pavement, for heaven’s sake.

  On the other hand, it sort of felt good. There was someone there to share the load with now. I had been pushing through this on my own for so long, and now, I was no longer alone. I had been barreling my way through feelings and reality, and I had almost convinced myself that I was still in control. In fact, a few times I had been completely convinced of it.

  I wasn’t, though. I had lost control a long time ago. What I thought was control was complete chaos. The thing had carried me along and I had just let it, maybe because I really believed it could make me happier. Instead, it had made me miserable, and now sick too.

  Now with Ryan holding my hand, I finally felt like I was not on my own anymore. There was another soul on this lonely road with me.

  We inched along the road, me feeling like an old lady, and Ryan without a word of complaint. I was glad when Ryan’s house came into view because that meant mine was not much further. He could go home, and I could go home, and tomorrow I could figure out how to deal with what had just happened. Right now, I just wanted to sleep.

  It soon became clear, though, that Ryan was not going into his house. He fully intended to come with me.

  It wasn’t that strange, I thought. He was such a gentleman, there was no way he was going to let me find my own way home after having collapsed on the pavement. I still could not believe that I had passed out cold on the pavement. Ryan had assured me that I hadn’t bumped my head, and I had only been out for a few seconds, but still. It was so weird! I briefly wondered what would have happened if I had walked home alone that day. I would probably still have passed out, but I could have just managed my own way home, or maybe it would have been worse. How differently this could have gone.

  I said nothing about us passing his house when we did, but Ryan spoke, and his intentions soon became clear. I could not say that I was pleased. “You need to talk to your mom, Abby.”

  The sentence hit me like a ton of bricks and filled me with horror. What the hell was he talking about? I snapped my head around so quickly that I felt light-headed again. Stars filled my eyes, and I held on a little tighter to Ryan’s hand until they had cleared. I had not thought for a minute that this was why he was coming along.

  “Why?” My tone was a little too sharp, and I immediately regretted it. I also sounded a bit like a whiny child, which was less than flattering. I knew that he was right. I did need to speak to her, but that other part of me thought it was a horrendous idea. She was my mom; could I really talk to her about this? How would I hide how much I was eating if she knew? She would be watching me like a hawk.

  I thought about how I had set up the breakfast bowl to look like I had eaten. It seemed so ridiculous now, and yet part of me still felt it was a reasonable way to get away with what I wanted to do. I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant I did not actually have to eat.

  Panic welled up inside of me at the thought of revealing this secret to my mother. She had always thought I was such a good kid, and now I was going to completely implode that idea. She would know exactly how bad I was. She would know that her daughter was a devious, manipulative liar.

  My mind started to loop with ideas about how I could get out of this. There had to be a way. Maybe I could convince Ryan to give me a chance to fix this without involving my mom. Was there a way I could make him feel guilty for trying to force me to do this? All I needed to do was start eating properly again, at least in front of Ryan. How hard could that be? I was sure he would give me that chance.

  I was about to voice my suggestion when Ryan spoke, and I felt like he was reading my mind again. “I wouldn’t even suggest it if I didn’t know that your mom would be totally supportive of you, Abby.”

  My hopes plummeted. He was not going to let me deal with this myself.

  He was right. Again. Ryan had spent enough time around me
and at my house to know that my mom was like a knight in shining armor to my sister and me. She had literally never let us down, and I could not think of a single occasion where she had judged us either. It was like we could not shock her. She did not think we were perfect; she just always made us feel like nothing we ever did could disappoint her. I loved that about my mom, so how had I forgotten that?

  She just helped us through whatever it was that we were dealing with. So why did it seem like such a monumental thing to be breaking this to her? Maybe because I knew that this was next level stuff. Both my sister and I had been relatively straight-laced teenagers. We hadn’t dabbled in drugs, or even drunk to excess. Most of our problems had been what I would consider normal teenage stuff.

  This, though, this thing that I could not yet name was different. It wasn’t exam stress, disagreements with teachers, or low-level bullying. It was a disorder—or so Ryan said. Just the word told you it was something abnormal.

  When things were ordered, they were controlled and exactly as they were meant to be. Order was good, pretty, and pleasing. Everyone loved order. When things were disordered, they were out of control and not normal. So why did it feel like I was more in control when I was not eating than when I was? How could that be a disorder if it made me feel more ordered? It didn’t make sense.

  I was pretty sure Professor Ryan over here did not have the answer to that either. I chided myself for that horrible thought. He was just trying to help.

  Ryan continued and echoed my earlier thoughts. He had to get out of my head. “I know your mom well enough to know that she’ll help you through this, Abby. She needs to know. In fact, she deserves to know.”

  Did she deserve to know? At what age did I get to have secrets that were just mine to keep? How long did I have to wait until I was allowed to have a private life?