Free Skinny by Ibi Kaslik Page A

doughnuts to show us that it was OK to eat food frivolously. That it was OK to eat when you weren't hungry
     sometimes, that that's what normal people did and it didn't mean you were going to get as big as a house.
    I chew at the top of the Pogo, the acrid oil coat seeping into my mouth, and then I can't stop myself, I wolf it down quickly,
     before'we even find a seat in one of the back rows of the bleachers. What difference could one little piece of deep-fried
     meat make?
    "Guess you were hungry after all," Sol says, sitting straight up and staring ahead at the field, like an eager young boy.
    "I'm always hungry," I say, trying to find what he is looking at.
    "Listen, Giselle, I like hanging out in the park with you and everything and coming to Holly's meets and stuff but I was thinking,
     I'd like to take you out, you know, for a date, a real date. Indoors."
    " I . . ."
    — No, absolutely not.
    "You what? You eat dinner, right?" He turns to me, making a loud sucking noise while sticky red, sugary ice trickles down
     his hand.
    — Are you actually considering going on a date?
    "Sometimes, yeah, I like Italian."
    "Good, Italian it is." Sol shakes my hand formally, the deal sealed.
    "OK then."
    "OK then, how's Thursday?"
    "Thursday's fine, no wait. . . Well, Thursday's OK, I guess."
    "I'll pick you up around seven-thirty."
    "Sol?" I tug at his jacket. He's turned his face into the wind, away from me.
    "Yeah?"
    "What's wrong?"
    "Nothing. I was nervous to ask you out, I guess. I thought you'd say no. It's crazy, trying to figure you girls out." Girl.
     He thinks of me as a girl. For once the thought of this doesn't terrify me; that I could be someone's girl, his girl. He looks
     straight ahead again, blinking his long lashes. He is down to the middle of the Popsicle, where it is pure white. He wipes
     his hand on the bleacher and ends up with dirt on his hand.
    "Why would I say no?"
    He looks at me as if I am the stupidest person in the world and tries to wipe his hand on me. I laugh.
    "Don't look at me like that, Solomon. And for God's sake, are you an infant? Don't wipe that on me." I push his hand away
     from me and deposit it on his lap.
    "Sorry, something about being at a junior-high track meet brings out the idiot in me."
    I take his sticky hand into mine and wrap my other arm around his shoulders. I see Saleri eyeing us from the bottom bleachers
     and I try to untangle myself from Sol as he approaches. I can see Saleri is nervous for Holly, like me. He smiles at me weakly
     and coughs into his hand.
    "How's she lookin'?" I ask, gazing up at Saleri through half-closed eyes.
    "Good, good. Although I'm a little worried. She was complaining about her knee yesterday. We put a tensor on it. She'll be
     OK I think."
    "Good."
    "I hear you're in med school, Gizzy. Congratulations. You always were good at science."
    "Yeah, well, I just finished first year... I'm taking some time off. . . we'll see how it goes."
    The boys' sprints and four hundred are first. Then they announce the girls' fifteen hundred. I see Holly at the side of the
     field stretching her legs and jumping up and down. How she hates the gun. She's the queen of false starts. Always hearing
     it in her head a second too soon and jumping into the air like a wild rabbit. She gives the stands a worried squint and places
     her white shoe on the white line.
    And right before the gun goes off, she sticks her hand in her left ear to turn up the volume on her hearing aid. The gun makes
     a crisp snapping sound, like sticks breaking, and she falls behind Lucy, her nemesis.
    Lucy's wearing a green mesh tank top with faded lettering: OLPS—Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. Holly stays right behind Lucy,
     moving with utter detachment, holding her arms stiffly, with her thumbs and fingers circled, as if she is holding acorns.
    Holly is an orthodox runner and she refuses to take any risks, to expend any excess energy. One of her racing rules is to
     let the girl in front of her