“He must miss you.”
“Squinky or Matty?”
“Both, I bet.” She smiled. “You light up when you talk about Matty. You’re closer to him than Alex?”
I paused and shifted in my chair. It was one thing telling her about my cat, but I knew my dad wouldn’t want me to discuss the inner workings of my family with a liberal, which this psychologist had to be. “You said this is private, right?”
“Yes. You signed releases of information to the athletic trainer, team physician, and dietitian, to let me speak to them, but otherwise this stays between us.”
“You can’t talk to the media?”
Her eyes widened. “Hell, no! And if I did, you could sue me for breach of confidentiality.”
That sounded okay.
“Lucia, I know you’re under tremendous pressure and scrutiny. I realize you just met me, and you’re forced to be here, to boot. Trust takes time to build, but I’m hoping this might become a safe space for you. A place you can be yourself, let it all unwind. Even if…” She gestured to the door. “Even if Secret Service is right outside in the hallway.”
I rolled my eyes.
“How do you do it, by the way? I’d go nuts if I had agents shadowing me all the time.”
“I…I did go nuts, I guess.” I gestured around me at the therapy office.
She laughed. “You seem pretty clear-headed to me—not nuts at all. The way I see it, from the little I know, you’re a hard-working athlete who simply wanted to get better at her sport. You wanted to please your coaches and everyone around you. And you thought losing some weight would help you reach that goal.”
My heart fluttered as I stared at her. It was like she’d read my mind.
“Unfortunately, you took it too far. Athletes are extreme people…they really go for it when they set a goal. I mean, who else would want to practice five hours a day?”
She seemed to get my particular brand of insanity, that’s for sure.
“How could you know what starving yourself would do to you? It’s not like you wanted to collapse at practice. It’s not like you wanted all this attention on you, with people thinking you’re crazy for getting an eating disorder.”
“Exactly!” I sat up in my chair, and my head bobbed with the satisfied beat of somebody finally understanding.
“The thing is, Lucia, you didn’t need to lose weight in the first place.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“I can tell you don’t believe me. But Whitney shared your testing results with me—do you know your body composition?”
I shook my head and braced myself to hear the fat news.
“You have seventeen-percent body fat.”
“Ugh.” I cringed. Ballena.
“Why are you making that face? That number means you’re quite lean. A normal range is twenty to thirty-two percent for women. With body fat that low, you shouldn’t lose weight.”
I stared at her, trying to discern why she would lie to me. “But I weigh the most on the team.”
“Of course you do—you’re one of the tallest and most muscular.”
“But Coach said I was too fat to get to the double block fast enough.”
Her eyes flared. “He will never say something like that to you again. And if he does, tell Tina or me. His job’s riding on this.”
I groaned. “He’s going to hate me.”
“No, he won’t. Michelle from administration will make sure he treats you fairly. This goes way back before you, Lucia. Highbanks coaches aren’t allowed to tell athletes to lose weight, but he’s violated that rule countless times over the years. This is the last time.”
Huh. I wasn’t the only volleyball player he’d told to lose weight?
She studied me. “Let’s look at the facts. The past few practices, before you hurt your ankle—an injury that might relate to malnutrition, by the way—how were you performing? You had lost some weight. Did you block better? Spike better?”
“Um…” I frowned. “Not really.” My vertical leap had turned pathetic, actually.
“How was it going in the weight room?”
“My bench press sure sucked.”
“Well, there you go—you saw it for yourself. If you lose weight, you can’t selectively lose fat. You lose muscle, too. And with muscle loss comes a loss of power.”
I absorbed that information.
“You want all the power you can get when you play Bridgetown, right?”
I chewed on my fingernail. “But we play them in a month. I’m not strong like I used to be.”
“One month. Is that how long you’ve been restricting your food intake?”
“About.”
“Listen, eating disorders aren’t easy to recover from—I’m not going to bullshit you. But catching them early is key. Huh.” She tapped her pen on her chair. “Now that I think about it, maybe the early identification is one good thing coming from this being leaked to the press.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Or maybe not.” She smirked. “If you’ve only been restricting for one month, I’m pretty confident we can get you back to full strength relatively soon, hopefully by the time you play Bridgetown. It’s going to take a lot of work on your part, though. Are you committed?”
“I should be committed.”
“Ha, ha. That sense of humor will definitely help you through this. Now, tell me what you’ve eaten today.”
Why did she want to know that? “Uh, well, for breakfast, Mom made me eat an egg burrito.” I cringed.
“What’s that face for?”
I pointed to my stomach, which seemed to be protruding. “It’s still there, like, sitting there, ballooning my stomach.”
“Delayed gastric emptying,” she said. “Your digestive tract slows down when you’re not eating regularly. The food sits there like an uncomfortable lump.”
I nodded.
“Do you know the best way to get your metabolism clicking again?” When I shook my head, she said, “Small, frequent meals.”
I groaned.
“So now that it’s afternoon, what else have you eaten?”
“I had soup and salad that Allison, one of my agents, got for me.”
“Did you finish both?”
I considered lying, but I thought she might know if I did. “No.”
“Okay. Time for a snack, then.” To my horror, she reached into a desk drawer and placed assorted three protein bars on the coffee table between us. “Pick one, and I’ll eat one with you.”
“I’m really not hungry.”
She nodded. “I bet you’re not. Your hunger signals are messed up right now, so you can’t rely on them to tell you when to eat. Instead, you need to follow the meal plan Whitney gave you. We’re not trying to make you fat—we just want to help you reach your goals. So, which flavor will it be?”
“Please, don’t make me eat.” My mind filled with chaotic noise as my vision swam with fattening bars. Peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, or blueberry? All of them looked disgusting. You’re fat. You’re disgusting. You shouldn’t eat. You have no self-control.
“You can do this, Lucia. I’m here to support you.”
Ay Dios mío, I was about to start crying. My throat tightened, and I tried to blink back tears. My chest trembled. You’re a fat slob. This was so mortifying.
Her voice gentled. “It’s okay if you cry. This is really tough stuff.”
“It’s just a stupid protein bar!” I felt tears on my cheeks. “I shouldn’t freak out like this.”
“I’d freak out, too, if I had mean thoughts shouting at me in my head. But this will get better with each day that you follow your meal plan.” She held out the three bars. “You want to beat Bridgetown?”
That did it. I snatched a protein bar from her hands and grumbled as I peeled open the wrapper. Cállate, I told the fat voice. Shut up. Dr. Valentine took a bite of her bar and wrote something on her pad of paper. I nibbled on the sickeningly sweet oatmeal raisin bar. ¡Guáca
la! It tasted like shit.
“Okay, guess a letter.” She held out the notepad to me, and it took me a second to recognize the quick sketch of gallows and blank spaces for letters on the page.
“Hangman?”
“Yep, we’re playing a game to distract you from the eating disorder thoughts. Go ahead and take another bite, then pick a letter.”
She’s crazier than I am.
After a series of turns, I guessed her phrase: Bite it Bridgetown. Then I wrote spaces for an eight-letter word. She supplied quite a few wrong guesses, and she only had one guess left before she would hang herself. I laughed at her scowl.
“No E, R, S, I, or L? You’re killing me over here.” Dr. Valentine tapped her forehead. “How about N?”
I nodded. Now the word was _ _ _ _ N _ _ _ .
Her forehead creased. “A?”
“Yep.” Drat. Alejandro had beaten me with this word once, and I didn’t want her to figure it out. Now it was A _ _ _ N _ _ _.
“D?”
I smirked as I hung her man.
“Damn it!” She tossed her brown hair over her shoulder. “I can’t believe a freshman beat me. What the hell is this word?”
“It’s autonomy.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That was cruel, Lucia.” She grinned as she reached for a small box and held it out to me. “But you get a sticker for finishing your protein bar. Excellent job!”
My heart rate spiked as I crumpled the empty wrapper in my hand. I’d eaten the whole thing? I hoped she didn’t see my hand tremble as I accepted the box from her and flipped through the stickers.
“Autonomy’s an interesting word. Why autonomy?”
“Um…” I selected a shiny star, and stuck it on my phone case. “It’s what my family believes in…autonomy, self-reliance.” I chewed the inside of my mouth as I looked at her. “We think people deserve to live their lives without government interference.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Republicans believe in a smaller government.”
I rubbed my finger over the sticker. “You’re a Democrat, right?”
“What makes you think that?” She tilted her head.
“Because you’re a psychologist. All psychologists are liberal.”
She shrugged. “Not necessarily. What makes my political beliefs important to you?”
A realization dawned on me. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Lucia, I’m not trying to be evasive, but my beliefs aren’t really important here. What is important is that this is a nonjudgmental space—you can talk about anything, explore any idea, and I won’t judge it. I support you. I want to help you find your own answers, which have nothing to do with my opinions or advice. What’s right for me might not be right for you.”
Though I was uncomfortable with the idea that she probably was on Dane’s side, her words made me think that she valued autonomy too. My autonomy.
“So, how’s your social life? Do you have some close friends?”
I didn’t want to admit how lonely I’d been—it seemed pretty pathetic. “I’ve texted a couple of club teammates.”
“Your volleyball club in Texas?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyone you’re growing close to here?”
“Um…It’s kind of tough with Secret Service following me around.”
“I can imagine that would be difficult.”
“But Maddie Brooks—she’s our captain—do you know her?”
Dr. Valentine paused. “I’ve certainly heard what an excellent athlete she is. Has she befriended you?”
“Well, she’s a senior, and I’m just a freshman, so we don’t hang out much, but she’s been really cool.” I thought back to a practice in August when Coach had screamed at me. “Early on I had a meltdown in the locker room after practice, and Maddie told me about her freshman year. She’d stayed up late studying the night before practice, and she couldn’t stop herself from crying when Coach yelled at her. You’d think he would yell more when the tears came out, but instead he got all nervous, like he didn’t know what to do—totally uncomfortable. He had Kara talk to her, and he kind of avoided Maddie after that. She said she’s cried a couple more times since then and every time he freaks out and avoids her, but he’s nicer afterward.”
She shook her head. “He is an enigma of a man, isn’t he?”
“Maddie told me if I’m at the end of my rope, about to lose it, just cry and he’ll back off. But I haven’t played my crying card yet.”
“You seem proud of that.”
I thought about it. Maybe I was a little proud. You haven’t broken me yet, Coach!
“Maddie sounds like a keeper. Sometimes friends can offer more support when they know about the eating disorder. Does Maddie know?”
“Everyone knows now.”
“Right.” She grimaced. “Has she said anything to you about it?”
I chewed on my lip. “This morning at weights she said ‘Rez, you’re a total badass. You’ll kick this thing, no problem.’ Then she told me I was all muscle, and as the team captain, she forbids me to lose any more weight.”
“Wow. She is a good friend. Do you think she could eat with you at team meals? Not to monitor what you’re eating or anything, but to help keep the mood light. Maybe play Hangman or another game with you?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you ask her?”
I considered that. “Okay.”
“Again, this might be another unexpected advantage of your private life splayed over the national news. Typically it’s nerve-wracking to ‘come out’ about your eating disorder to your friends and family. But you’ve already got it covered.”
“Awesome.”
She caught my sarcastic tone and laughed. “So, any friends outside the team?”
“There’s one girl, Ellen, in my poli sci class—we’ve talked a few times.”
“That sounds promising. Do you have much in common?”
“She said she’s going to vote for my dad.” When Dr. Valentine nodded, I added, “She told me she’s glad I’m in the class, because that will make the professor less blatant about his liberal views.”
“Really?”
“She told me to be careful what I say, or my grades might suffer.”
“Whoa. I hope that’s not true.”
I tapped my foot on the floor, wondering what to say next.
“Are you feeling nervous?”
I willed my foot to stop tapping. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Individuals who develop eating problems often suffer from high anxiety. Do you worry a lot?”
“All the time.” No te preocupes, my dad would always say to me. Don’t worry, Lucy. Too bad I couldn’t stop stressing about everything, no matter how hard I tried.
“Do you experience times when your heart races, your chest tightens, and your body trembles?”
I nodded.
“When that happens, do you feel nauseated? Like you’re out of your body?”
“Check and check. And I get all sweaty and gross.”
“So you’re experiencing panic attacks. When did you most recently experience one?”
I winced. “Did you happen to see that photo of me spiking the ball in USA Today?”
She paused. “No, but this morning Tina told me how the photo contributed to you starving yourself.” Her mouth tightened. “I want to kick that photographer’s ass for his indiscretion.” She shook her head. “The good news is that panic attacks are quite treatable. Let’s talk about how to handle them.”
“Take deep breaths? Tell myself to float through it, and it will get better?”
Her eyes opened wider. “Exactly! Who taught you that?”
“Well…” I sighed as I imagined his deep voice over the phone…the sexy baritone of his laugh. Then I realized I hadn’t had a panic attack since that day. “Dane did.”
“Oh, Dane Monroe, your roommate.” A hint of a smile played at one corner of her mouth. “The enemy.”
; “That’s him.” The gorgeous enemy. Who made a girl get an abortion. And who’s been pretty kind to me. Stop thinking about him.
“How did Dane know about panic attacks?”
“He said he’d overheard his mom on the phone, talking to her patients who were freaking out. He called me right after I saw the photo, and he got me to calm down.” Remembering that morning filled me with warm fuzzies. “I’m not sure how he knew to call me right then, but he really helped. I owe him one.”
Dr. Valentine studied me. “That sounds quite sweet of him.”
“He’s not that sweet, really. Not most of the time.”
“No?”
“He’s cocky and righteous and inflexible and demanding and—”
She started laughing. “Tell me how you really feel, Lucia.”
I blushed. I was being rude. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize for having strong feelings. I like it when you’re being honest. Sounds like we have a lot to discuss in our next session, like your rooming situation and what it’s like to be a Latina at Highbanks. It must be pretty different from Texas.”
“Sí.”
She smiled, told me to find the Dove evolution video online for homework, and we scheduled for the following week. The only time we both had free was during my study tables, so I hoped that would be okay with my coaches. Ugh. I didn’t look forward to seeing Coach Holter later. He hadn’t been in his office when I’d passed by this morning after being unable to get Dane out of my head.
As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I wondered about his fate.
Chapter 18
AS SHE CAME DOWN the sports medicine hallway, I caught the shine of Lucia’s glossy black hair a second before I noticed Allison’s presence at her side. Lucia’s long legs were taking her away from me—she looked hell-bent on getting out of here. I popped off my chair. “Lucia!”
She spun around and her eyes widened. “What’re you doing here?” Her gaze darted to the other patients in the waiting room.
“Same thing as you, I guess.” As I stepped closer, I felt Brad follow me. Lucia wore a shirt with the logo Pretty in Pink…Wicked in Spandex. I lowered my voice. “Mandatory counseling with Dr. Valentine.”
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