Free Truth & Dare by Liz Miles Page B

before.”
    After a minute of silence, I said, “I thought I knew you and Annie, too.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I can’t believe I never knew you two went out!”
    He jerked the wheel to the right and shifted the car in to park. Turning to me, he said, “You never knew because I didn’t remember it. It wasn’t important. It’s not like she was ever my girlfriend, or …”
    “I think she has a crush on you,” I said. “I think she has for a long time. And I didn’t even know that until last night.”
    “Annie? No way.”
    “You should’ve heard the way she talked about you. She does.”
    He frowned as if trying to absorb that piece of information. “Well—but I’m with you.”
    “Even though I’m a cheater?”
    He laughed softly. “Yeah, even though.”
    “And even though I’m dressed like the Pineapple Freak Queen of the Eastern Seaboard?”
    “Well, that’s giving me second thoughts …”
    I poked him in the shoulder.
    He said, “We’re going to be late for this wedding.”
    “I guess you’re right.”
    He shifted back into drive and we rolled onward, toward the church. “Connor,” I said, “I’ve felt horrible ever since I finished that test. I didn’t know what else to do. I was desperate, and I was so sick of looking at those problems, and I knew your answers would be right, and …”
    “School’s only going to get harder,” he said. “Wait until we hit med school.”
    “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
    “No,” he said. “I’m just wondering what I’m going to do when things get tougher.”
    “Well, if it’s calculus, I know you won’t be copying from me.”
    • • •
    Annie met us on the front steps of the church, her face reddening when she saw Connor with me. “Am I the only one with a hangover?” she said. “I don’t even know what I said last night. It seems like I was just blabbing on and on about all kinds of—”
    I touched her arm. “It’s okay. Where do we get ready?”
    She smiled with relief and led me up the stairs. I hung back, holding Connor’s hand until the last possible second, letting my palm, fingers, fingertips slide away from his.
    “See you on the inside,” he said.
    “I’m counting on it.” 

Iris and Jim
    BY S HERRY S HAHAN
    W HEN SHE WAS wheeled into the day room, attended by her IV drip, Jim thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She seemed absolutely pure, evacuated of all evil, honed to perfection. Her head was an imported melon covered by the finest filo pastry, stretched and rolled thin. Her cheeks were egg shells. Concave. The hair on her head was shredded coconut. The hair on her body was dark and fuzzy, like the mold on Gorgonzola. Her skin was the color of Dijon mustard—that wonderful brownish tinge that comes from lost vitamins and minerals. She was everything gourmet Jim had denied himself.
    According to the nurse, her name was Iris and this was her eighth admission in three years—her parents checked her in, she put on some weight, she went home, she lost it. This time, she’d done a two-month fast and then eaten a carton of laxatives. Jim was impressed, he felt encouraged; apparently, it was possible to go through the program and not be totally brainwashed.
    When Iris looked at Jim, she wondered what he was doing on the ward. Not exactly no-boys-allowed, but he was the first male anorexic she’d ever seen.
    When Jim looked at Iris, he couldn’t help but imagine what life would be like in their own tenth-floor apartment, noelevator. Living room with barbells, rubber balls, wrist weights with Velcro strips. Medicine cabinet with over-the-counter laxatives (chocolate squares, capsules, herbal mixtures). Diuretics in timed-release tablets. Digital scales, fine-tuned to a quarter-ounce. Disposable enema bags. No kitchen. Ultimate control over their bodies.
    Iris smiled at him; her T-shirt said YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT .
    “Everyone’s on a diet,” she said softly, “and