Free Romance of the Snob Squad by Julie Anne Peters

the floor, she said, “Lydia, go get that set of black silk sheets from the back of the linen closet.” Smiling at us, she added, “I knew I’d use those sheets again someday.” Her gaze strayed over our heads and down the hall. She seemed kind of sad. The way Mom did sometimes when I caught her alone.
    We draped the sheets over the chair, where Prairie posed like Cleopatra. Max snapped shots from all different angles. Then Lydia lounged across the cushion, pretending to be all sexy. I took over where she left off. Lydia’s mom cracked up. She said drama was my true calling. We were all giggling pretty good, but when Max posed like a demented demon, with that cape and mask, we literally screamed. Dr. Beals got such a stitch in her side, I thought we might have to call an ambulance.
    Too soon the film was gone. Lydia’s mom said, “I don’t know about you all, but I’m famished. I bought snacks; they’re out in the kitchen.”
    We nearly trampled each other getting there. Okay, I nearly trampled everyone. On the dining-room table was a tray of assorted pastries; cut-out cakes and cream puffs, chocolate eclairs, frosted cookies. Drool pooled at my feet. I felt sick. All the willpower in the world couldn’t keep me from those cream puffs.
    Lydia said, “I hope you brought your food diary, Jenny.” She turned to her mom. “I forgot to tell you, Mom. Jenny’s on a diet.”
    My face flared. “It’s not a diet. It’s a nutrition plan.”
    Dr. Beals frowned. “Why? You look perfectly fine to me.”
    Not only did I want her for my therapist, I wanted her for my mother.

Chapter 14
    “D ad, could I go to another child psychologist?” I asked him on Sunday afternoon while I helped stuff dirty clothes into the washer downstairs.
    He poured about a gallon of liquid Cheer into the tub and closed the lid. “Why? You don’t like Dr. Sid?”
    “I don’t think Dr. Sid is really helping me with my… problem. I mean, I haven’t lost any weight. In fact, I gained three pounds over the weekend.” He didn’t need to know about the pastry orgy at Lydia’s.
    “I believe the idea is for you to help yourself.” Over the empty laundry basket, Dad met my eyes.
    “It is?” I threw up my hands. “See? Why didn’t he say that? Instead he has me seeing this anorexic dietician and keeping this stupid food diary. Which I would be embarrassed to show anyone.” Which I lied about losing and hadn’t written in for days. “It’s dumb.”
    Dad sighed. He brushed by me and started up the stairs. “So, what do you want to do?”
    “See another psychologist. Like I said. There’s this lady I know, Dr. Beals. I’d really like to go to her.” There was danger in this request, I knew. The possibility existed that everyone would find out I was seeing a shrink. Not the Snob Squad so much; they’d understand. I’m talking about everyone in school. Ashley, Melanie, Mrs. Jonas, Kevin. Kevin? “Uh, never mind,” I said.
    “No, wait.” Dad twisted around at the top of the stairs. He sighed. “I’m not totally convinced these so-called professionals are worth what they charge. But hey, if you think someone else could help you, let’s do it.”
    “I don’t know.” My eyes strayed out the back door. Two mourning doves cuddled together in the crab apple tree, cooing. “Maybe it isn’t the therapist. Maybe it’s me, like you said.” I dodged under the laundry basket and waddled away. “Guess I’m just defective.”
    “Don’t say that.”
    I headed for my room.
    “Jenny?” Dad called after me. “Let’s talk about this.”
    I shut the door, and shut him out. In my room I stuck on my earphones and rusted out my brain to heavy metal music.
    On Monday morning, Prairie brought the pictures to school. “Overnight p-processing,” she said. “They cost six dollars and forty-nine cents. Plus the film, it c-comes to about two dollars and fifty cents each.”
    Lydia and I scrounged in our purses and paid up. Max said, “I