What I Lost

by Alexandra Ballard

  I love that girl.

  I saw a bunch of similar comments from Shay and a bunch of people I didn’t even know, like You guys are disgusting. Leave them alone. Even strangers were coming to my defense. Some guy named Tripp wrote, HEATHER I DON’T KNOW YOU AND I AM SO GLAD BECAUSE YOU MUST BE A TERRIBLE PERSON. And then, posted an hour before, was the last one, from Tristan. You all need to get a life. Don’t be assholes.

  I handed the phone back to Tristan. “Thanks.” I didn’t know if I was thanking him for the phone, or the comment, or both.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Was I okay? I’d just been humiliated by the most powerful girl at school.

  But so many people had defended me. Tristan and Simone were here, as my friends. Shay had popped up after a month of silence to stick up for me. Even people I didn’t know said nice things.

  And Heather was just one girl being a bully.

  So was I okay?

  “You know what?” I said. “I’m hanging in there.”

  41

  Day 40. Go-Home Day. Unable to sleep, I was the first at weights and vitals. The night nurse said, all cheery, “Hey, Elizabeth! Congratulations! We’ll miss you! Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again.”

  I laughed and stood, my back to the scale like always.

  The nurse clapped her hands. “Honey, you did it. We are so proud. Your body thanks you.”

  I watched her hand write down three numbers. I bet I was more than 104 now. I swallowed the panic thickening in my throat. It’s a good thing, I repeated over and over in my head. A healthy thing.

  Breakfast and lunch flew by in a blur. After lunch, I went to my room to pack. I tossed my suitcase onto Lexi’s old bed. I’d hurt her feelings when I told Nurse Jill that I didn’t want her as a roommate. We’d barely spoken since, and I missed her.

  I peeled the purple-and-blue-pinstriped comforter from my bed, folded my sheets, and threw my yoga pants and all my other clothes into my suitcase. I rolled up my taped-together kitten poster, wrapped up what was left of my jar of sand in a T-shirt, placed the plastic ring in its little bubble container, and put it all with the umbrella and journal in my backpack. I wondered if Tristan would text me once I got home, or if it would be awkward at school next week.

  Mary knocked on my door right before two o’clock. “Elizabeth, your parents are here.”

  “Be right out.” I looked around. The room no longer felt like mine. In less than five minutes, I’d stripped it of all evidence of me.

  Right as I was about to head out to the common room, my door opened and Margot slipped inside, wearing her usual getup—a faded black T-shirt and ripped, faded black jeans. I hugged her.

  She stiffened but didn’t immediately pull away. “Hey. I just wanted to tell you goodbye, in private, because I don’t think I can do the whole group farewell thing.”

  I nodded. “That’s okay. I understand.”

  She pulled at her sleeves and shifted from side to side, looking everywhere except at me. “I know I’m not easy. Most girls wouldn’t have given me the time of day, but you did. Thank you.”

  “Margot, anybody would be lucky to have you as a friend. Anybody.”

  She blushed. “Yeah, well, take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Can we have coffee when you get out?”

  She nodded doubtfully. “Sure.”

  “Margot, listen to me. I will call you. You’re so smart. You’re nice and funny. And sarcastic.”

  “You mean bitchy,” she said.

  Standing there, looking at her face, which wasn’t as pasty as before, and her eyes, which to me were so full of life and smarts, I felt this huge rush of appreciation. “No, I don’t. Well, okay, maybe a little. But in the best way.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and chuckled. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “I do. And we are going to meet for coffee.” I put my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away. “I’ll miss you, Margot.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  I waited for a last sarcastic comment, or a joke, or something witty. But all she said was, “Have a safe trip home,” and closed my door on her way out. I missed her already.

  Less than a minute passed before Jean and Willa came in, bringing along the smell of cinnamon. Must be muffins for afternoon snack, I thought, remembering the first day, when the same smell scared the crap out of me. Mary had been right. The chef made delicious muffins.

  Muffins I will no longer be required to eat.

  The thought caught me by surprise. I wasn’t supposed to have thoughts like that now. A lick of fear crept up in me.

  Jean and Willa took turns hugging me. We all stood in a circle by my door. I guess no one wanted to sit on the old plastic mattress cover. I didn’t blame them.

  Then Jean said, “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going home too. On Monday. Three days from now.”

  Monday. My first day back at school. “Wow! That’s great!” I hugged her. “Are you excited?”

  “So excited,” she said.

  Next to me, Willa bit at her nails. My heart hurt for her. “Willa, you’ll go home soon too. I know it. Just eat, okay? Eat and you’ll be out of here faster than you think.”

  She nodded. I hoped she heard me. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll try.”

  “You can do it if you want to,” I said. I felt terrible leaving Willa behind. But I couldn’t heal her. She needed to do that herself.

  Jean nodded. “I agree, Willa. You’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

  Through the window I could see my parents’ Honda parked in the lot. “My parents are here,” I said. “Walk me to the door?”

  They both nodded. As we left I took one last look at my room, burning the beige curtains and walls and rug into my brain. Goodbye, room.

  As we walked, Jean talked. “Elizabeth, I want you to remember. You are strong. Like, massively strong. When you go back to school, do it with pride and don’t let anybody give you a hard time. You should hold your head up because you’re amazing. I’ll miss you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice wobbling.

  We were almost to the nurses’ station when Willa spoke. I could see my parents in the foyer, waiting. “I am going to miss you so much. I hope that you and Tristan get married and have babies.”

  “Ack! No!” I made a fake-horrified face and hugged her little body as hard as I could. “Get better, Willa,” I whispered. “You deserve it.”

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  “Hi, honey!” Dad and Mom waved from the foyer.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said. Don’t you dare cry! I told myself.

  “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” I turned to my friends. “I’ll miss you,” I said one more time. Then I turned toward my parents.

  Dad took my bags and Mom squeezed me, hard. “I am so happy you are—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish.

  “Elizabeth! Wait!” Lexi hustled into the foyer, her face flushed. She panted a little and I wondered if she’d broken the rules and run.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  My parents nodded. “We’ll be right here,” they said.

  Lexi tugged me back to the main hallway. “I’m sorry I let you down.” She spoke fast and her voice was hushed, as if she were telling a secret with a time limit. “I have to tell you something. First, you were—are—a great friend. Second, you are so strong and brave and you are going to do great out there. Remember when I was leaving and you asked me if I thought that we’d have a day when we didn’t think about food? Well, I know we will. We’ll just eat it and forget it, just like we talked about. I didn’t want you to leave without knowing that I believe in you and that I’m going to miss you.” And then, more quietly, “I already miss you.”

  I took a deep breath and tried not to get all teary. “I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer to you when you came back,” I said.


  “I’m sorry I lied to you in my postcards.” And then she squeezed me once, fast and hard, and disappeared down the hallway. I closed my eyes and tried to burn in my memory just how warm and safe it felt with my friends sending me so much love and light and hope. And I felt a little stressed, too, because now I had a huge responsibility. For the first time, I understood why Lexi had lied on her postcards.

  Standing there in the foyer, I wanted time to stop, just for a second. I wanted to remember everything—the way Jean’s hand seemed to float when she brushed her bangs out of her face, the order of the earrings in Willa’s ear (Winnie-the-Pooh, Tigger, and then Ariel at the top), the cut of Lexi’s jaw. Even the way Allie’s blond ponytail bobbed like the cheerleader she was, and the way Coral’s ladybug barrette was always clipped in her hair in the same exact spot above her right ear.

  On the chalkboard on the wall under the stairs, someone had written, Welcome to Julia and Robin, arriving today. Then, under that, the daily quote: You must do the things you think you cannot do. —E. Roosevelt.

  After a final glance around, I walked out through the same doors I’d entered forty days earlier. Sleet fell from a slate-gray sky. The wind blew clammy and cold right through my wool coat, and I wanted nothing more than to go back inside, where it was safe and dry.

  In the movie version of my life, I’d always imagined myself bursting through the front doors on a summer day, the sun on my proud face. I’d march down the steps, one victorious fist up like Judd Nelson when he walked across the football field at the end of The Breakfast Club. Oh, and I’d be supermodel thin. And tall, too.

  In real life, Dad hit the wheelchair button and the door crept slowly open and I trudged out so loaded down with my suitcase and backpack that I could barely walk. It wasn’t until I was outside, standing on the slippery stone steps, that it hit me that I was actually leaving, and it took all I had not to turn around and run back inside. And I didn’t feel triumphant as I picked my way down the steps. I was freaking terrified. An entire WORLD full of meals and restaurants and grocery stores lay in wait, and I didn’t know how I’d manage any of them.

  You can do this.

  I carefully crunched over the gravel. Dad took my bags and opened the car door. I turned around one last time. Willa, Lexi, Jean, and Margot watched me from a window. I stretched a smile across my face and waved. I might or might not have channeled Kate Middleton when I did it.

  Then I dove into the stained fabric backseat of the Honda.

  “You okay, kiddo?” Dad asked, turning around.

  “Yes, are you okay?” Mom asked. “Want me to come sit in the backseat with you?”

  “I’m fine. And no, Mom. Definitely not. Can we just go? Please?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I kept my head high and my shoulders square until we rounded the curve of the driveway. When I was sure we were out of sight, I buried my face in my hands. The car rolled past the old stone pillars that marked the Wallingfield entrance. And just like that, I was out.

  42

  On the way home, Dad kept his eyes on the road. Mom spent the time telling him to “Drive slower, Brian! There’s ice on the ground!”

  I kept looking for changes as the landscape flashed by, like trees that had grown, or houses that had been painted, or stores that had morphed into different stores. I thought that the world should look different somehow, because I was different. But everything was the same. When we’d pass a car, I’d look at it and think, Those people have no idea where I’m coming from, what I’ve been through. Then I wondered if maybe all of us, on the road, were doing the same thing.

  The streets grew narrower and more crowded with cars and houses as we left behind the estates on Sea Drive. By the time we pulled into our driveway, there was almost an inch of slush on the ground. “Looks like the sleet is freezing; I’ll have to salt this afternoon,” Dad said. “Watch your step.”

  “Okay.” I picked my way up the walkway. On a big piece of white paper stuck to the front door, Mom and Dad had written in purple marker: WELCOME HOME, ELIZABETH! WE ARE SO GLAD YOU ARE BACK!!!!!

  Dad unlocked the door and carried my bags up to my room. Mom went to make tea. I followed Dad upstairs. The hardwood steps creaked like always. The entire house felt small. It made me feel a bit claustrophobic.

  “How’s it feel to be home?” he asked once we got to my bedroom.

  “A little strange.”

  He stood next to my bed, hoping to talk more. He wore a blue plaid button-down shirt and gray work pants. He looked too tall for the room.

  I needed to be alone. “I’ll be down soon; don’t worry. I just want to unpack.”

  He turned slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to have a snack now? It’s time, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, I was supposed to tell you. I had it before I left. Granola.” I didn’t mean to lie. It just slipped out, maybe because, for the first time in forty days, I could actually get away with it. Once it was out there, though, I didn’t know how to take it back. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  “Okay, then.” He smiled. “I am so happy you are home.”

  He waited for me to say, I’m happy to be here, too, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure how I felt.

  He left and I closed the door and sat on my bed in my room. Except that it didn’t feel like my room anymore. It was tidy, and I was messy. It felt weird to see the floor, which was usually covered with clothes. My bed was different, too. Mom had made it up with gray sheets and a white bedspread, the spares from the guest room. Both of my sheet sets were in the suitcase at my feet. A fresh vase of white Gerbera daisies rested on my bedside table.

  My cell phone sat on my desk, and when I turned it on, it lit up like an old friend. I almost cried I was so happy to have it. I’d forgotten how perfectly it fit my hand, and how much I loved the case, which was navy blue with little white elephants all over it. A group text from Shay, Priya, and Katrina on the day I left, sent an hour after I’d already checked in, headed the long list of alerts and notifications that popped up on the screen. Good luck in there! Priya had written. I will miss you so much, but you are going to do great. Be awesome!!!!! was from Shay. And, from Katrina, Make yourself better in there, friend. I am rooting for you. I smiled, grateful for their love.

  My fingers hovered over the Instagram button for a moment before I tapped it, at which point I came face-to-face with every little thing I’d missed since disappearing into the abyss of Wallingfield. Priya and Shay had gone ugly hunting. In one picture, Priya posed in a strapless dress, a wild mess of yellow-and-pink tulle complete with sequins, beading, and a scarily full skirt. She looked like an upside-down, bedazzled tulip. She vamped for the camera, holding her hair up and making kissing motions with her lips. I felt a pang of regret. I missed them.

  I kept clicking. Up popped photos of people wrapped in wool blankets in the cold, sitting around a beach bonfire. I thought I saw Tristan’s outline, but I wasn’t sure.

  Finally I went to Heather’s feed. I scrolled down past her most recent selfies—in her mirror, in the cafeteria with Charlie, in sunglasses, and in Charlie’s car. Finally I found the photo of Jean and me. It shocked me all over again.

  I waited to feel angry, and I did, but more than anything I was homesick. For Wallingfield. I missed Jean and Willa and Mary and Margot and Lexi and even Nurse Jill. What would I do if I had trouble eating? What if I got mad about calories? What if I cried? Who would understand? Mary had agreed to keep me on as a patient; I was scheduled to see her at her private office, where she worked one day a week, but my first appointment wasn’t for six whole days. I was on my own until then.

  I started to text Katrina but stopped. She’d assume I was happy to be home, and I was, mostly. But I didn’t want to talk. Not yet.

  I tossed the phone on my nightstand and dumped my suitcase out on my purple carpet. Wallingfield’s dusty-heat smell filled my nose, and I sat down on the floor. Then I lay back and stared at my ceiling, like I’d done a million times
since I was little. I looked at my watch. Four o’clock. Everybody at Wallingfield would be finishing up their afternoon activities right about now. I wondered if they missed me. I wondered if Willa would eat her dinner for once, or hide it in her clothes like always.

  My phone chimed. I sat up right away.

  Tristan: Hey.

  Me: hey

  Tristan: Are you home?

  Me: yup.

  Tristan: What are you up to?

  Me: I might watch some TV later.

  Tristan: TV is bad for you, you know.

  Me: I know.

  Tristan: How does it feel, being home?

  Me: Not especially awesome. Not horrible either.

  Tristan: Well, hang in there. Glad you are out of prison, as Simone calls it.

  Me: ha ha. You write very grammatically correct texts, btw

  Tristan: I know.

  Me: Why?

  Tristan: Because no one else does.

  Me: Oh.

  Tristan: I’ll be in touch.

  Me: okay

  Me: Tristan?

  Me: Tristan?

  I stared at my screen for a few more seconds, convinced he’d text again and ask to get coffee, or go for a drive, or even just explain his thing for grammar. Anything. But he didn’t. I wondered if I’d ever figure him out.

  The next thing I knew, it was 5:30 and I was still on the floor, tangled in my dirty clothes. I must have fallen asleep. I checked to see if Tristan had texted again—nope—and shook off my nap haziness. Then I went downstairs.

  “Hi, honey!” Dad said when I entered the kitchen. “We were just about to start dinner. Want to join us?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I turned to Mom, who was standing near the refrigerator. “Mom, you got my menus, right?”

  Sally and I had planned my eating for the first week. Three meals and three snacks a day, just like at Wallingfield. Dinner tonight was one plain chicken breast, broccoli with 1 teaspoon of butter, 1 cup of brown rice, three gingersnaps, 8 ounces of low-fat milk, and, for evening snack, ½ cup of granola and a yogurt. Doable, I told myself. Completely doable.