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BEFORE WE WERE BLUE

have heard the change clicking between Alyssa’s butt cheeks
before anything went under the radar at weigh-ins.
“She threw up blood onto a tampon and pretended,” says
Donna. She talks like a gum-chewer, slow and rhythmic.
“Where’d she get the tampon?” I ask.
Jazzy purses her lips, and her cheekbones round like

golfballs. “One of the Blue girls, probably. Bet the nurses just
thought one of them lent her a Playtex as a courtesy.”
I shake my head a little. “But how would she throw up
blood with everything they make us eat?”
Donna and Jazzy exchange a look which makes me want
to staple my lips together.
Jazzy rolls her eyes. “You just do it, over and over until it’s
only blood. Come on, Shoshana, keep up.”
“Or you can always pick your nose until it bleeds,” Rowan

offers and the rest of the Gray girls nod their assent.
“News is . . . she died yesterday,” Jazzy hisses.
Collectively there’s an intake of breath. I bite the inside of
my cheek, swallow, and it tastes metallic. Teeth grind audibly
among the group, anxiety sprouting. But Rowan makes a face
that says Boo-hoo, you idiots really thought she wouldn’t die? Almost
a quarter of us do from this, you know . . .

The fear for Rowan’s life, for all of our lives, sits in my
body, right below my chin. Rowan shoots me an over-this
glare. I feel like I’m caught, something snagged on a sweater.
I try to lasso in my emotions so Rowan doesn’t see. Fear? Her
voice echoes in my head, always there, keeping me in line. We
don’t know her.

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