Free Models Don't Eat Chocolate Cookies by Erin Dionne

else? I asked, annoyed with her smug tone. When she didn’t respond, I put the pen down.
    Didn’t you get a granola bar from the vending machine before you left school? she asked. I imagined her smirking.
    Didn’t I squish you? I thought in reply. I scribbled the last item in the snacks box. There were no more lines left. This could be more complicated than I thought, I realized, reviewing my list. Only a few of the items I’d eaten all day were “healthy choices,” according to the nutrition guide: the apple, the milk in the cereal, the sandwiches and the juice (which were kind of a stretch). Everything else was listed under “Food to Be Eaten in Moderation.” We HuskyPeaches like to take bites out of life, I thought. The response card mocked me.
    “Celeste,” Mom called from downstairs. “Come set the table.”
    Dinner.
    Take smaller bites, Red Bathing Suit Woman suggested.

Chapter 10
    “SINCE WHEN ARE you so interested in helping in the kitchen?” Mom asked as I helped her finish making the salad.
    I shrugged, watching the water swirl down the drain as I rinsed the tomatoes. “Just thought it’d be nice,” I offered. Once finished with my nightly chore, I usually made a break for it until dinner was on the table. But if Operation Skinny Celeste was going to work, I needed to be in the kitchen to make “healthy choices,” according to my nutrition info. Especially when I packed my lunch. I blotted each tomato dry, then passed them to Mom for slicing and dicing. “What are we having, anyway?” I asked, enjoying a whiff of something yummy in the oven. It smelled familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
    “Homemade mac and cheese,” Mom replied, scraping the tomatoes into the bowl of lettuce on the counter.
    “Really?” My mouth watered. “What’s the occasion?” Mom only made mac and cheese for super-special dinners. The last time we had it was when Ben got the cast off his arm after breaking his wrist, and that was months ago.
    “Oh, we have lots of things to celebrate these days,” she said, handing me a cucumber and the vegetable peeler. I held the cuke over the sink and slid the peeler against its deep green skin. It came off in sheets, showing the white pulp underneath.
    “Like what?” I asked, suspicious.
    “Well, Ben being better, for one,” she said. “And your exciting new opportunity. I even invited Aunt Doreen, Uncle Chuck, Kathleen, Paul, and Kirsten over to celebrate. You’ll need to set extra places for them.”
    The last thing I wanted to do was celebrate my chubby model contestant-hood with anyone, let alone Aunt Doreen and company. Mom’s words startled me, and I scraped a knuckle instead of the vegetable. “Ow!” I said. The peeler clattered into the sink. Drops of blood darkened the pile of shaved cucumber skin.
    “Careful,” Mom chided, turning the cold water on and holding my hand under the stream. “You are as dangerous to yourself in the kitchen as Ben is on the jungle gym.” She smiled and rummaged through the junk drawer for a Band-Aid.
    “Why’d you have to invite them over?” I struggled to unwrap the bandage and get it around my own finger. Mom, tired of watching me wrangle, came to my rescue.
    “I invited them because they’re family, and very excited for you,” she said, her eyes darkening and brows dropping into her Stern Look. “And because without your aunt Doreen, you wouldn’t have this opportunity.” She gave my bandaged hand a gentle squeeze for reinforcement.
    Pretty much, I agreed, but I didn’t say anything. When Mom’s back was turned, I slipped out of the kitchen. Plan or no plan, it was not the place for me.
     
    When Aunt Doreen and Uncle Chuck got to our house, I was back in my bedroom, making an attempt at algebra homework. As a cruel reminder of the weight I needed to lose, every answer kept coming up as “negative twenty.” Mom called me to come and say hi. I dragged my feet the whole way down.
    “There she is!” Aunt Doreen