Free Teenage Waistland by Lynn Biederman

more than a seasonal allergy. Perhaps we’ll get another opportunity to talk in the future, okay?”
    The future?
I lean over to make the sharp cramp in my stomach go away.
    Betsy touches my shoulder. “You are a wonderful, responsible young lady, but I’m not convinced you have astrong enough support system right now to be a good candidate for surgery. It doesn’t mean that—”
    “I need to do this. Please let me in,” I blurt, and the levee holding back my tears finally crumbles. Betsy leans over to retrieve the tissue box from her desk. When she hands me one, my eyes meet hers and the pity in them makes me cry harder. She puts her hand on my arm, but that makes it even more impossible for me to stop, so I shake it away.
    “I’m really independent. I take care of myself. I’m my own support system. And I have Char! Please,” I plead between sniffles.
    “You take care of your mom too, don’t you?” Betsy says softly.
    I shrug. “It’s hard for her to do things. She’s even more overweight than I am. A lot more. And she’s …” I can’t say it.
    “She’s depressed,” Betsy says.
    “Yes,” I whimper. A new wave of sobs takes over my body.
    “I know. It’s in her voice.”
    “But, it’s worse!” I blubber. “She doesn’t leave the house.”
    Betsy shakes her head while she studies her hands. “It must be terribly hard for you. Has your mom tried to get professional help?”
    I shake my head.
    “Has anyone tried to get professional help for her?” she asks more softly. I cry harder into my tissue.
    “East,” Betsy murmurs, “I’m so sorry—”
    “No—please don’t say you’re sorry. Please. Just give me a chance,” I sob. “Look at me. I’m going to be just like her! I’ll get bigger and bigger and one day, I won’t be able to leave the house either. I promise, Dr. Glass. I promise. I’ll doeverything right. I’ll prove it to you! My dad didn’t just die from some illness—he killed himself and I’m the one who found him. But I got straight As that semester anyway, and every year since. I arrange for the gardener and the housekeeper and the plumbers—everyone who has to come to the house. And all the bills too! I’ve never paid one bill late. I cook for myself and my mother. Don’t you see? Compared with everything I already do, complying with the clinical trial will be easy for me. I’ll have the most detailed food and exercise diary you’ve ever seen—I’ll be the most dedicated motivated teenager you’ve ever had. Really. I promise.”
    Betsy stands up and takes my hand. She’s got tears in her eyes. “You are a very strong young woman. You should be very proud of yourself.” She puts her hand on my back as I get up, and gently guides me toward the door.
    I stop and turn to face her just before she opens it. “Please,” I beg. “Please don’t make me turn out just like her.”

8
Everybody in the Pool
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Marcie
    Abby is waiting in the pickup line at Tenafly High with a huge grin on her face, and she’s waving frantically through the open passenger-side window for me to hurry up. On principle, I won’t jiggle down the pavement for anyone’s amusement, so I keep a steady stride as I make my way to the car. There’s screeching and whooping as kids pile out of school and horse around until their rides come. God forbid these little debutantes, who aren’t yet driving their own luxury car, take the bus or walk. Instead, it’s like a damn mommy fest every day—the circular drive packed with Mercedes, BMWs, and Hummers, and the mommies out in clusters gabbing about this one’s botoxed brows or that one’s new double-D implants and whatever other minutiae is making the rounds.
    Alpine, New Jersey, the zip code with the highest income per capita in the country and the exclusive enclave of my personal hell, is too small to have its own high school, so it feeds into Tenafly’s—the next town over. I’m a proponent of bussing—it was