“I know but it’s already 3 o’clock. Seriously, who eats at that hour?”
“You do! Well, now you do.”
“Andrew.”
“Fiala.”
I sigh and throw my hands up in the air. I take in my surroundings while brooding over my deal. We’re in Andrew’s basement where we always go after school. The T.V is playing the new Mother Mother album quietly through the surround sound speakers with Abby and Hannah, his two poodles, lounging beneath it. I readjust my legs on the worn couch and look over at Andrew, on the other end of the couch, holding out the bag. What am I supposed to say, that I don’t know if I can eat something even as large as a sandwich without throwing up? He’d just become more worried.
“All right, I’ll eat the stupid bag of chips.” I give in reluctantly.
Satisfied, he hands me the plastic baggie of chips, my old favorite; Sour Cream and Onion. I open up the bag and pull out a power covered chip. We have a momentary staring contest. Oh, the tension is high. Who will win this battle of will? The fat covered chip or the fat covered girl? Again, I sigh. I bring the chip to my mouth and bite down, allowing the sweet and tangy flavor to wash over my tongue. My mind tells me to to stop chewing now but the rest of my body is begging for more. I reach back into the bag and pull out four more and stuff them into my mouth. I don’t care if I look like a pig, I can’t even remember the last time I had something this good. I look up and see Andrew looking at me with such compassion I’m actually stunned for a moment. What have I done that would cause such an expression?
“You’re blushing.” He says, his face now curious and happy.
“Oh, uhm,” I look down at my hands, “you were looking at me oddly, sorry.”
“Oh!” he exclaims.
I look up to see his face turning red instead. Why on earth is he blushing? I meet his eyes and he drops them bashfully. What is happening here?
“What?” I inquire, scooting closer to him.
“Nothing, nothing.” He mutters.
“It isn’t nothing,” I reach out and touch his knee, “why are you blushing?”
“I...it’s just...” he stammers.
Wow, I’ve never seen Andrew speechless before. What’s making him act this away? Come on, all I did was each some chips!
“Andrew?”
He looks up at me and for a moment, I forget what I was going to ask him. Andrew's hazel eyes dance wickedly and begin pulling me out from reality. I start to get that dizzy feeling I equate to a lack of food but somehow it’s Andrew that’s causing this feeling. I must have spaced out for a bit because I hear Andrew clear his throat and I am dragged back to reality. I realize we are about two inches away from each other and I back away quickly so that there is a nice, friendly space between us.
“I, uh, sorry,” I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously, “I didn’t realize we were that close.”
Andrew seems to have regained his composure and says, “Yes, I know I’m a glorious God of a teenage boy but please, control your hormones. People might get the wrong idea about us.”
I laugh and eat another few chips subconsciously.
“Oh wait, don’t I owe you five dollars?” I remind him.
I pull out a crumpled and ripped five dollar bill from my pocket and extend my hand to him, trying to change the subject. It works. Almost.
“Nah,” he pushes my hand aside with his, “you eating something is far more worth it. I think I’ll take that over money any day.”
I shake my head, put the dollar back in my pocket, and reach back into the baggie only to find it empty. Crap. This wasn’t part of the deal, I only had to eat a few chips not the whole bag
“I, uh, ate the whole bag.” I admit, ashamed at myself.
I suppose he senses my disappointment because Andrew closes the distance between us again and puts his arm over my shoulder.
“Fiala, you eating the entire bag is a good thing. Emphasis on the “good.” If you can do this every day for the rest of this week, maybe you could even manage a regular sized bag of chips. And then sandwiches and full meals!” he exclaims.
“I just...I know I’ll wake up tomorrow with a larger stomach or bigger thighs. These chips will ruin my work.” I stop, realizing I’m crying.
“Your work?” Andrew wipes a tear from my face.
No. I am not have this conversation with him.
“I have to go.” I say while jumping up.
“Fia, no. What work?”
“It’s not important.”
God, stop crying! I wipe my tears hastily, grab my bag, and speed walk towards the door. It’s about ninety degrees out but the walk home will help me burn off those damn chips.
“Fiala!”
I feel him grab my arm but I jerk away.
“Leave me alone!”
Bursting through the door, I run past the wasp filled bushed and onto the path in the woods that leads to my house. I know this route, I’ve walked it many times in the past year, but I stumble over logs and the uneven ground in my haste. I hear Andrew running behind me so I drop my bag and start sprinting. The footsteps stop behind me and I know he is stopping to pick up my bag. He’ll bring it tomorrow at school. I turn my thoughts away from my guilt at running away from Andrew and instead focus on burning off calories. My house is half a mile away and that just might be enough. Who knows, maybe I’ll get on the scale and the number will have dropped down from 103. I can feel my huge thighs jiggling which each step but I try to block that out.
“Work it off” I tell myself.
Just work it off.
I return home with guilt ebbing in on my mind but I push it away as I open the front door and hear,
“Fialama, is that you?”
“Dad, would you please stop calling me that?” I tell as I jump upstairs to the bathroom. “Not even my real name.” Though I mutter that to myself.
“Sorry, honey. I’m going to work now, dinner’s in the oven. Love you, bye.” He calls up to me.
Finally, I hear the garage door closing and I have the house to myself. I could do whatever I want. I don’t even have to stay here! But first I really have to pee.
“The problem with an all water diet,” I say to the mirror, “is that I constantly have to pee.”
Mirror me, or Alaif as I call her, laughs with me. I don’t know who’s is sincere.
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