I start the car. There’s a sandwich place down the street. It’s not bad, and it’s cheap. If I need to make myself eat, it’s the closest option. I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
But do I really need the bread? I used to go weeks with no bread. My arms were so tiny I could squeeze my thumb and index finger around the tops of my arms until they touched. My hips were the smallest anyone had ever seen. I was tinier than all the freshmen.
But the chart. Jana will know if I mess up. Mom and Dad will know. Parker will ask me what was for lunch when he comes over later. He always does. Again, his disappointed face comes to mind. I can’t lie to him. I must eat.
I park the car and stare at the sandwich shop. Why is it so hard? Why? What’s wrong with me? I’ve been here several times with Lauren after school. True, she orders for me while I pick out a table. But, it can’t be that hard. I breathe in and out slowly and walk inside before I can talk myself out of it.
There are a few people in line, and I get to the back of it and study the menu. Great. C words. Loaded words.
Calories. Beside each thing. No wonder Lauren usually orders for me. I would give anything if she could be working with me today and could be standing in line with me now.
500 calories in the sandwich I’ve been getting whenever we come together. True, it fits the meal plan the dietician put together for me: two starches, two proteins, two fats. But 500 calories—that’s double what I used to eat in an entire day. I’m mentally adding up how many it would be if I added chips and a drink when it’s my turn.