Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (13 page)

“I think we should pray for her,” says Chelsea. And to my surprise, no one disagrees. And we actually gather in a circle and Chelsea leads the prayer. Okay, not everyone prays out loud, including me, but Chelsea does an amazing job, and I’m pretty surprised when Penny prays, but I am shocked when Kendra actually prays—and sounds sincere.

Things seem to settle down, and the activities director decides that it’s time to end Survivor, proclaiming a tie between both teams, and no one argues. Then it’s free time, and I am so exhausted that I head back to the cabin and sleep until it’s almost time for dinner. What a great counselor!

At dinnertime, we learn that Jenna is okay. She experienced heatstroke and is being treated for extreme dehydration.

“Jenna won’t be back at camp, since they plan to keep her in the hospital for a few days,” says Pastor Ray. “But her family appreciates your continued prayers.”

I sense that my girls are watching me at the table tonight, as if they’re trying to figure out whether I, like Jenna, am also anorexic—the fat anorexic, or oxymoron as Kendra puts it. So to convince them otherwise, I eat more than I’ve eaten all week. And then I excuse myself, telling my girls that I have to go talk to one of the counselors about campfire tonight, and I go to the restroom and make myself throw up. In light of all that’s happened today, I feel totally pathetic as I rinse out my mouth and splash cool water on my face and even apply some lip gloss. But I couldn’t help it.

On my way back to the mess hall, I am stopped by Brett. And for some reason I feel certain that he knows what’s up, that he knows
what I’ve been doing. I’m also sure that my face looks totally guilty.

“Hey, Em,” he says in a friendly tone. “Man, you’ve had a hard day today.”

I nod. “Yeah. Kinda epic.”

“I think you were right on about Jenna,” he says. “Everyone’s been saying that she really is anorexic.”

I feel a small wave of relief. “I was trying to get her to go see the nurse,” I tell him. “I was worried about her.” I feel close to tears now but take in a deep breath instead.

He puts his arm around my shoulder. “You did what you could, sis. It’s not your fault.”

“Thanks,” I tell him. “But I still feel totally bummed.”

“I know. That’s why I was a little worried about what I’m going to ask you. Feel free to say no.”

Now I’m really curious. Maybe he’s realized that he’s actually as much in love with me as I think I am with him. Maybe he wants to ask me to marry him, to run away from here and live on a tropical island together. “What is it?” I ask, hoping that I don’t look overly dreamy or spaced.

“Well, you know how Ed Simmons has been playing guitar with me at worship? Well, he had to leave a day early for his sister’s wedding, so we’re short a guitar tonight. I heard that you brought yours . . . would you be willing to help out?”

“Seriously?”

“Are you up for it?”

I consider this as I look into those deep-blue eyes. “Sure,” I say. “Why not? I may totally blow it and end up looking like a complete freak. But, hey, it’s not like that’s anything new. And I seriously doubt that my life can get much worse after today.”

He laughs. “That’s one way to look at it.” Then he pulls out a
piece of paper. “Here’s a list of the songs. Thanks, Em.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn him. “It could be a total disaster.”

He just shrugs. “Whatever.”

I like that he’s been calling me Em. And as I head back to where my girls are just leaving the table, it occurs to me that what I said as a lie ended up being true. I was going to talk to one of the counselors about campfire, I just didn’t know it.

I suppose the only thing that really goes right during this last week of camp is worship time at campfire. Fortunately, I know all the songs on the list, and I manage to play without embarrassing myself. Even Pastor Ray is impressed when he thanks me afterward.

“I didn’t know you were that good,” he says.

I kind of shrug. “Well, I mostly play for myself. Although I’ve been playing for my cabin a lot. Kind of helps us to get through cabin time.”

He nods and pats me on the back. “You’ve had a hard time of it, Emily. But if it’s any consolation, we think you’ve been doing great.”

I want to contradict him on this but decide to just let it go. “Thanks,” I tell him. “But I’m still glad that it’s over tomorrow.”

He laughs. “Hey, you’re not the only one.”

Everything after that is pretty anticlimactic. I think everyone in my cabin is relieved to say good-bye the next day. Other than Kendra and Faye, I don’t see anyone exchanging phone numbers. Whatever.

“How you doing?” asks Leah when we meet up in the church parking lot.

“I’ve been better,” I tell her.

“Poor Em.” She pats me on the back.

“But at least it’s over.” I see Mom’s car coming down the street in
front of the church, and it takes all my self-control not to just jump for joy. I so want out of here.

“Hey, Leah,” yells Tanner as he comes running toward us. “I almost didn’t get to say good-bye to you.” Then he grabs her into a big hug, actually swooping her around in a circle. Very romantic.

Feeling awkward, I look away, and I suppose I’m wishing that Brett would come up and tell me good-bye like that. But then I get real. I’m not stupid. I realize that it’s not like that between us. Oh, in my dreams maybe, but I have no delusions. I know I’m not really the kind of girl that someone like Brett would get seriously interested in or want to date. He goes for pretty girls, skinny girls, cool girls. I know that I don’t fall into that category.

Well, not yet, anyway.

“C
AN’T YOU SEE YOU’RE TOTALLY NUTS?
” I
STARE AT MY BEST FRIEND AND
wonder when she first started to lose her mind. Nearly a month has passed since we got home from camp, and admittedly we haven’t been spending much time together. But that’s only because I’ve been working full-time at a bookstore that’s owned by one of Mom’s friends, and of course, Leah has a boyfriend. Or maybe I just haven’t been keeping up. But she’s just informed me that she has a breast-reduction procedure scheduled for
the day after tomorrow
. Apparently it’s been scheduled since May. Talk about honest communication between friends.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you sooner.” She just shakes her head. “I knew you’d act like this. I knew you wouldn’t support me.”

“But it’s outrageous. Your boobs are perfectly fine, Leah. You do
not
need breast-reduction surgery. And I cannot believe your dad is really letting you do this.” Okay, that’s not totally true. I can sort of believe it. I just don’t get it. Why would he allow this?

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Dad’s not real thrilled. But Aunt Cassie understands. And she helped get him on board. She’s so great.”

“And then what’s next?” I say, feeling sarcastic. “Maybe get a
nose job, get your cheekbones — ”

“What’s wrong with my nose and cheekbones?” Leah rushes over to my mirror to peer at her reflection.

“Nothing.” I roll my eyes. “That’s just the point. Like how far do you plan on taking this stuff? I mean, I saw this woman on a TV show. She was in her thirties and she’d had about fifty different kinds of plastic surgery. And do you know what she looked like?”

Leah, still studying her face from various angles, shakes her head.

“She looked like a Barbie doll!”

“Yeah, right.”

“She did, Leah. Even her daughter thought she did. And that was her goal. She
wanted
to look like Barbie.”

Leah laughs and turns around. “So was she pretty?”

“No. She was freaky. Seriously, if I saw her on the street, I’d be scared. She looked like an alien. And her face looked like it was made of plastic. Really weird.” I use my fingers to hold up the corners of my eyes then pooch my lips out to look puffy. “Kind of like this.”

“Hey, maybe you should get your lips injected with collagen, Emily. You might look good in bigger lips.”

“
Puh-leez
.” I flop back down onto my bed and pick up the July issue of
In Style
magazine that Leah brought, along with several other fashion rags that she’s addicted to. Her goal, of course, was to show me photos of thin models with tiny boobs in order to convince me that she really needs the reduction surgery. However, I’m not convinced. Because for every flat-chested model she’s shown me, I found one who was stacked. “Probably implants,” she noted. “It’s really unusual for skinny girls to have big boobs.”

“Then you’re just really unusual,” I told her. But to no avail.

“This surgery is important to me,” she says as she studies a
glossy ad in
Vogue
. “I really hoped that you’d be supportive, Emily. Recovery is going to take some time, and it’d be nice to have a good friend to hang with, you know, to come over and comfort me.” She holds up the magazine. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

I shrug. “You know that model probably doesn’t even look like that in person. You know how they touch up the photos and airbrush everything. She’s probably dog ugly in real life.”

“She is not,” insists Leah. “I read an article in
People
about this girl, and she even let them use an untouched photo just to show what she actually looks like. And she was still really pretty.”

“No zits or bags under her eyes or anything?”

“Not that I saw.”

Now I go over to the mirror to study my own face. I even pooch my lips out again, still thinking about Leah’s suggestion that I get my lips injected. And to my surprise, I think she might be right. I might look good in bigger lips.

“Do you think it hurts very much to get your lips done?”

“I don’t think so. Becca had it done. You could ask her.”

“No, I’m not really serious.”

“Why not?” She looks closely at me now. “I actually think it would look great on you.”

“Well, for one thing, it’s probably really expensive.”

“I thought you were getting rich working at the bookstore.”

“Yeah, right. Like I want to blow my hard-earned summer money on lip injections. How stupid would that be?”

“You might be able to work out payments. That’s what I’m doing for my procedure. Of course, I had to put half of it down. But Aunt Cassie covered it for me. She said it’s an investment in my future. But lips would be cheaper. You could maybe work something out to like fifty bucks a month.”

“Thanks but no thanks. Buying big lips on the installment plan . . . can you imagine how my parents would react if I did something like that? They would totally freak. And they’d never agree to sign for me in the first place.”

“Well, you can do it when you’re eighteen if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass. Besides, the injections would involve needles, right?”

“Yeah, but they probably use anesthesia so it doesn’t hurt.”

“Just the same, I still think I’ll pass. The freaked-out-parent factor is enough to make me want to just say no to plastic surgery. Seriously, they’d probably refuse to pay for my college or something. They’re just not into stuff like that. In fact, I’m sure they’re going to think you’re crazy for having your — ”

“Please, don’t tell them, Emily.” She tosses the magazine aside and gives me this pleading look. “I really do want to keep this
top secret
. I’m telling everyone that I’m getting my tonsils out next week.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I don’t want people to make fun of me.”

“Don’t you think people will notice the, uh, difference?”

“Not really. I mean, I wear a bra that pretty much holds them in anyway. I swear if my bra strap ever broke it could probably put an eye out.”

“What about Tanner? You don’t think he’ll notice?”

“No, I don’t.” Leah glares at me. “And it’s not like I’ve let him touch them, Emily. For your information, he’s not even like that. And neither am I. Thanks for asking though.”

“I wasn’t saying that.” I get defensive now. “I just meant he might’ve noticed how they look. I mean, even nice guys have eyes in their head. And you wore a swimsuit at camp. And it didn’t exactly hold you in, if you know what I mean.” I don’t remind her that lots of
the guys, including the middle-school boys, were ogling her figure.

“Well, I’ll just deal with that later,” she says. “My plan is to pretend that my tonsillectomy has some complications, like maybe I have an infection or something, and consequently my recovery takes longer.”

“And it doesn’t bother you to lie about this?” Now I’m surprised that I’m saying this, considering that I’ve been a little dishonest about some things myself, including my less-than-traditional weight-loss technique. I even lied to Leah when she started questioning me about it. I don’t know why she was getting suspicious. But I know she’d be upset if she knew the truth.

“Yeah, it does bother me a little. But I think God will forgive me.”

I don’t respond to that, but I’m thinking,
Okay, so we go ahead and intentionally sin, knowing that God is loving and kind and that he’ll forgive us anyway. What’s wrong with this picture?

“Okay, enough about me, Em. One of the reasons I brought these magazines over is so we can continue working on our swan project.”