Skinny(32)

“Stop. You can’t do this. It’d be easier to quit now.” Skinny sounds firm.

I jog forward a few more steps. The corner looks just as far away as when I started. I glance over at Rat. He looks like he’s lowed down to a crawl trying to keep pace with me. He’s not breathing hard. He’s strolling effortlessly.

“I’m thirsty,” I say.

“You’re right,” Rat says. “I should have brought a water bottle. You need to be drinking water every chance you get.”

I look at him, hoping that means we’ll stop.

“We’ll be sure and drink a glass or two when you get back.”

Great. I slog on, one bone-shaking step at a time.

“Why can’t she drink water when she eats?” Briella asks. I’m surprised Briella has even noticed. Still, she doesn’t have to talk about me like I’m not even here.

“I’m . . .” Gasp, gasp. “. . . right beside you.” Gasp, gasp. “I can hear you.”

Rat ignores me, too. “Sipping liquids with a meal will wash out the pouch, enabling her to eat two to three times as much, particularly with soft foods. It could cut the weight loss in half.”

“Interesting,” Briella says.

“Who’s she fooling? She’s never found you interesting in her life.”

I give up. Desperately sucking air into my lungs, I stop jogging and shudder to a walk. Briella and Rat slow to my pace. Mr. Johnson from across the street is trying to teach his daughter Katie how to ride her bike without training wheels. And next door, Mr. and Mrs. Burns are out in their immaculate yard doing some mysterious preparations for the coming summer that involve a wheelbarrow and several shovels. They all look up and watch the three of us slowly walk down the sidewalk. I feel a trickle of sweat on my forehead begin to roll down the side of my cheek; my shirt is a wet blanket against my back. We make a strange trio. Two tall, thin bookends with a huge, sweaty blob in between.

“So what’s up with your dad?” Rat asks my stepsister, and I stumble a few steps, then catch my balance again. No one asks Briella about her father. That’s a big no-no.

“He’s just totally focused on his new wife and new baby.”

I glance over quickly at Briella, shocked. She actually answered his question instead of storming off in a huff. “I used to be daddy’s little girl, but it looks like I’ve been replaced by daddy’s little boy.”

“That sucks.” Rat doesn’t try to argue with her, and I have to agree. It does suck. “His loss,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” says Briella, and she grins at him. I catch the look between them and glance down at my sneakers trudging down the sidewalk. I don’t want them looking at each other like that. I don’t know why, but I don’t.

We slowly pass a yellow house on the corner with overgrown dandelions and a for sale sign in the front yard. It belonged to the Cat Lady, Mrs. Rattenborg. They found her two weeks after she slipped in the bath and died from hitting her head on the Siamese-cat-shaped soap dish. The animal control people were taking crates of cats away for days. I think the moral of the story is, if you’re going to wind up in life with only cats for friends, you should teach them to dial 911.

“Today, let’s go around the block. We’ll jog as far as you can, then walk the rest of the way,” Rat says to me. “Maybe you can jog the whole way by week six”

“I’ve already jogged as far as I can,” I whine. “Besides I thought we were just going to the corner.”

“Surprise,” Rat says with a grin.

My neighbor Mrs. Decker drives by in a blue minivan. Her kids stare out the window at us. Rat waves, and they wave back.

“They’re laughing at you. Look at that fat girl out exercising. Hopeless.” Skinny isn’t out of breath. Her voice is just as steady as always.

“We should stop at the corner. This is my first day out.” I get the sentence out and take a couple more gasps of air. I can’t even walk and talk at the same time, much less jog.

“You should exercise at least ten minutes everyday this week. By my calculations, ten minutes will take us around the block.” Rat is immensely stubborn, but now that I know he’s measuring by time, not distance, I slow down even more.

“I’m not sure your calculations are right. It’s taking me a pretty long time just to get to the corner.”

“You doubt my calculations?” He honestly sounds amazed.

“Five minutes to the corner. Tops. Plenty of time to walk the rest of the block.”

“What about Lindsey?” Rat asks Briella, and they go back to ignoring me dying beside them. “Are you going to miss her?”