Free Fading Out by Trisha Wolfe

ask, low, dreading her answer.
    She sighs. “I expect that by now, you’ll be able to fit into a two. But don’t go crazy,” she adds with a snide bite to her voice. “We don’t want you blowing up, either. Two is perfect. Aim for that. Carbs and exercise.”
    By the time I hang up with Becca, my insides are so twisted I can’t even think of breakfast. Which I desperately need to eat before I venture to our first booster’s meeting. Sometimes I wish I could just hook up to an IV. Pump the right amount of nutrients straight into my system and not bother with the laborious task of actually eating.
    Then the guilt punches me in the stomach. Eating is not supposed to be a chore, I recall my therapist stating. Very adamantly. But most days that’s exactly what it feels like. Especially when Becca starts in on me. When I’ve done something as stupid as sign up for a group that supports a jock whose current mission is to reduce me to a pile of writhing girl parts—from embarrassment as well as attraction.
    The fact that both are equally torturing me is just more proof of how messed up I am. I’m attracted to a guy who treats me no better than his jockstrap. But I don’t let that rule my head. I’ve admitted just how hot Ryder is—I won’t start lying to myself. I draw the line there.
    But he’s jock scum. Cocky and full of himself. Worse, he somehow thinks the more he pranks me, the more he’s wearing me down. Like I’ll just all of a sudden fall to my knees and be like, Wow! It took you making me feel like an utter loser to realize how in love with you I am . Thank you. Let me suck your cock.
    I balk at my own crudeness, shocked. Then rush to get dressed for the day. I seriously need some nourishment before I lose all capacity to think straight.
    The room door opens, and Vee enters with a towel twisted atop her head. “Hey,” she says. “Don’t look so pissy. At least you got his attention.”
    I roll my eyes. “Yes, because putting condoms in your cranberry and vodka is the equivalent of sending roses for a jock, right?”
    Her pretty face screws up. “Sorry. I’m all crabby today.”
    I wave it off. “No worries. But would you really prefer it if Gavin was picking on you?”
    She shrugs, and I wonder—not for the first time—if the confidence she normally exerts for the world is a mask. If she’s battling some severe insecurity beneath. “At least he’d know I exist.”
    “Oh, Vee…” But then an idea hits me, pushing every other sentimental and rational thought I was going to voice aside. “You really mean that?”
    Again, she shrugs a shoulder. She falls on her bed. Then decides sitting isn’t enough of a display of defeat and flops to her back. “Seems like the team respects someone who can get one over on them. Even if they express it all stupid. I mean, it’s football. It’s what they do.”
    “Okay.” I nod, gathering my thoughts. I planned to let this last jerk-off move of Ryder’s go, just ignore him, figuring he’d get bored and move on. But I suddenly see a way for me to get some much-needed vengeance, and for Vee to get the attention she’s dying to have from Gavin.
    “Do we have time to go into town before the booster thingy?” I ask.
    Her blond eyebrows knit together, and she rolls onto her side to face me. “We do…why?”
    I smile. For the first time all morning.

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    T he team’s locker room smells like some filthy animal hunkered down for the winter and up and died. It reeks of musty sneakers and foul body odor, and something I’m not quite sure of and afraid to ask.
    I pull a face as Vee looks over at me, her lips stretched into a forced smile. “I guess that’s why the locker room project was approved.” She glances around. “Damn, wish it was my idea.”
    I laugh, following her lead as we navigate around workers installing new lockers and the old equipment being moved out. Our job, according to Cherri (our overly enthusiastic booster leader) is to help