Free A Trick of the Light by Lois Metzger Page A

happened. If you don’t understand me, just say so.”
    Amber: “I understand you better than you think!”
    Mike: “Huh?”
    Amber: “Drop dead.” She stands. She nearly falls over.
    Mike grabs her by the arm.
    Mike: “You okay?”
    Amber: “Let go of me!” She leaves the cafeteria.
    Amber is emotional and she feels things deeply. All the most interesting people are like that.
    Mike cleans up after her: the saltine wrappers, the crumbs, the soggy noodles.
    Tamio’s in the hall—the last person Mike wants to see.
    Tamio: “Look at this.” Tamio has his cell phone open. There’s a picture. It’s a guy, hunched over, in a jacket that’s too big for him. He looks old and wasted. Homeless or something.
    Mike: “Um, okay. What is this?”
    Tamio: “That’s you.”
    Mike: “No way.”
    Tamio: “Look again if you don’t believe me.”
    Mike: “I don’t need to look. I already know it’s not me.”
    Tamio: “See, it’s your black North Face jacket—”
    Mike: “Everyone has a jacket like that.”
    Tamio: “Maybe, but nobody else is wearing theirs yet.” He starts waving at the air. “What’s that smell?”
    Mike: “FireBalls.”
    Tamio: “What’d you say?”
    Mike is stunned. Tamio always understood him, or so Mike thought.
    Tamio: “I only took your picture so you could see for yourself. You look terrible. Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”
    Ha. If Tamio only knew how many hours Mike spends in front of a mirror. Anyway, Mike only looks in his mirror at home, which tells him all he needs to know. He doesn’t trust other mirrors.
    Mike: “I look fine. What’s your problem?”
    Tamio: “What’s my problem? What’s wrong with you?”
    Tamio’s jealous. You’re getting yourself together, without his help.
    Mike: “You wish you were me, asshole.”
    Tamio: “What?”
    But Mike can tell—Tamio heard him that time, all right.
    After school Mike wants to run, but it’s raining.
    You can run in the rain.
    Mike runs. The rain is exquisite, the way it’s highlighted against the streetlights, a spray of glistening drops against silver-white light.
    See what you would’ve missed if you stayed home?
    Mike works out in his room. Seventy-five crunches, fifty push-ups. When he breathes in, he can feel his ribs.
    Strong body, strong mind. Infinitely strong.
    Amber calls. Mike thinks maybe she’s still mad, but she says, “I’m so happy! I lost four pounds. I hated being in the hundreds.”
    Her voice drops to a whisper:
    “I love that there is less of me.”

CHAPTER 18
    IT’S ALMOST HALLOWEEN, TRICK-OR-TREAT TIME. Kids at school are talking parties and costumes. Not Mike. He has far more important ways to spend his time. Speaking of trick-or-treat, Mike’s mom is full of surprises, and none of them good.
    Mom: “I made an appointment for you this Friday. You’re going to my doctor.”
    Mike: “What for?”
    Mom: “You need to see a specialist.”
    Mike: “Why?”
    Mom: “You’re too thin and you know it.”
    Mike: “I’m not. I got on the scale—”
    Mom: “I don’t care. You’re always dressed like it’s snowing in here while it’s hot as hell in the house.”
    Mike yanks off his jacket and sweatshirt. Unfortunately his shirt slides up too.
    Mom (breathes in): “Oh, my God.”
    Mike: “What?”
    Mom: “Your chest . . . it’s caving in on itself.”
    Mike knows she’s seeing it wrong. When he looks in the mirror, he sees results from his hard work.
    She’ll never understand the way you’re fine-tuning your body. She can’t appreciate it.
    Mom: “You’re going to the doctor and that’s final.”
    Of course Mike can’t stuff his dad’s paperweights into a paper gown at a doctor’s office. He feels a stab of panic.
    Call Amber.
    Amber’s right there, as always.
    Amber: “Drink lots of water before you go, and I mean lots. In the waiting room, drink even more. You can put on a good five pounds that way. Temporarily, of course.”
    Mike: “What if this doctor can,