And I will admit I noticed things have been getting a little snug all over lately. And I’ve only worn my jeans with stretch in them. And had to use the last hooks on all my bras.

And even then they leave marks on me.

But when I put on my favorite bra this morning, for the first time in my life, I had CLEAVAGE, because it was squeezing my boobs so tight.

That’s right. I actuallyhave boobs to be squeezed. I don’t know where they came from, but I looked down, and there they were. Hello! Boobs!

So then I thought maybe the laundry-by-the-pound place had shrunk my bra too. So I tried a different one. Same thing. Then another. SAME THING. I couldn’t understand it.

But when I got to the SoHo Medical Clinic and they FINALLY called my name, and I went in, and they weighed me, I found out what was going on. I was SHOCKED to find that I weighed almost SIX Fat Louies!

That is nearly one more Fat Louie than I weighed last time I stepped on a scale! Which I’ll admit was a while ago, but still!

And, okay, maybe I’ve been hitting the meat kind of hard this past week or so. Well, not just the meat, but the pizza, the Girl Scout cookies, the peanut butter, the cold sesame noodles, the Honey Nut Cheerios, the microwave popcorn (with melted butter), the Oreos, the Häagen-Dazs, and the fried samosas from Baluchi’s….

But to have gained almost a whole CAT?

Wow. That is all I have to say. Just…wow.

Of course, there was a rational explanation beyond the meat. Dr. Fung went, “You’re still well within the body-mass-index range for your height, Princess. It’s actually quite normal to have these sort of growth spurts at your age. Some women have them even into their twenties.”

Because I haven’t just grown out. I’ve grown up—I’m five feet ten inches now. I grew a whole other INCH since the last time I was at the doctor’s office!

If I keep going like this, I’ll be six feet tall by the time I’m eighteen.

On the bright side of gaining a whole Fat Louie? I guess I’m not flat-chested anymore.

On the not-so-bright side? I’m going to have to talk to Mom about getting new bras. And panties. And jeans. And pajamas. And sweats. And a new school uniform.

And new ball gowns.

Oh, God.

But whatever. Like I don’t have way bigger things to worry about (ha) than the size of my chest (gargantuan) and the fact that my skirt is being held together by pieces of metal and all of my jeans are too short. I mean, there’s the fact that in half an hour I’m going to have to go down to the cafeteria.

And see Lilly.

Who will no doubt take her tray and go sit elsewhere when she sees me.

Which…well, whatever. I know Tina will still want to sit with me. That is the only thing, in fact, that is keeping me from turning to Lars and going, “We’re leaving,” and marching straight out of this loony bin.

In fact it’s a good thing Dr. Knutz mentioned Tina yesterday, because every time I start to feel too much like I am slipping back down this hole I’m trying to crawl out of, I think of her, and it’s like she’s a root or something I can grab hold of to keep from sliding farther into the black abyss of despair.

I wonder how Tina would feel if she found out I think of her as a root?

Of course, I have way worse things to worry about than who I’m going to sit with at lunch: the fact that I’m in therapy and I don’t want anyone to know; the fact that in a week I’m allegedly going to have to address a couple thousand of New York City’s most influential businesswomen; the fact that the love of my life just wants to be friends (and see other people) and that I no longer have him to be my loving support system and so have been cast adrift to swim the social seas of adolescence alone; the fact that the meat industry pumps so many hormones into their products that just by consuming a few dozen ham sandwiches and servings of kung pao chicken over the past week, I have finally managed to grow breasts virtually overnight; ihatemiathermopolis.com; the fact that both the polar ice caps are melting due to anthropogenic global warming and the polar bears are all drowning.

But I’m trying to take all of my worries one at a time. Baby steps, like Rocky took when he was first starting to walk. Baby steps. First I need to get through lunch. Then I’ll worry about the polar ice caps.

Four more hours until I can get out of here.

Friday, September 17, Gifted and Talented

Great. So now I have another worry to add to the list:

Apparently, the entire school thinks J.P. and I are going out.

This is what happens when you are gone for almost a week after having a nervous breakdown and aren’t around to defend yourself.

Well, I guess it’s also what happens when you have your picture splattered all over the place coming out of a theater arm-in-arm with a guy. But he was only helping me down the steps! Because I was in heels! And the steps were carpeted and there were no handrails!

Geez!

And, okay, based on the photographic evidence, I could see why middle America—and the rest of the world, I guess—would think J.P. and I are going out.

Still! You’d think my own FRIENDS would know better than that!

But apparently not. And the line in the sand has already been drawn:

Lilly now sits at Kenny Showalter’s lunch table.

I guess their mutual appreciation for his muay thai fighting friends has drawn them together, or something.

Perin and Ling Su sit with them, although Ling Su told me, over at the taco bar, that she’d rather sit with me.

“But Lilly appointed me secretary,” she explained, sounding genuinely dismayed about it. “Which is better than treasurer, I guess”—this is definitely true, given what happened when Ling Su was treasurer last year—“which is what Lilly appointed Kenny. But it means I have to sit with her and Perin, who’s vice president, so we can talk about Lilly’s new initiatives, like this whole renting-the-roof-for-cell-phone-towers-in-exchange-for-free-laptops-for-scholarship-students thing, and how we’re going to guarantee more AEHS students get into the Ivy League school of their choice, and that kind of thing.”

“It’s okay, Ling Su,” I said to her, as I sprinkled cheddar cheese over my spicy beef tostada. “Really. I understand.”

“Good. And just for the record,” she added, “I think you and J.P. make an awesome couple. He’s so hot.”

“We’re not going out,” I said, totally confused.

“Right,” Ling Su said knowingly, and winked at me. Like she thought I was just saying that, in some kind of misguided attempt to stay on Lilly’s good side! Which would have been so totally futile, if that’s why I’d said it. But thatisn’t why I said it at all! I said it because it was true!

But Ling Su’s not the only one who thinks J.P. and I are an item. When I went to return my lunch tray, one of the cafeteria workers smiled at me and said, “Maybe you can get him to give our corn a try.”

At first I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. Then, when I did, I totally started blushing. J.P.’s notorious hatred for corn! And she thoughtI could cure him of it? Oh, God!

At least J.P. doesn’t appear to realize what’s going on. Or, if he does know, he isn’t letting on. He seemedsurprised to see me show up at lunch for the first time all week, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it (thank God), the way Tina did, by squealing and hugging me and telling me how much she’d missed me.

Which was very nice, but sort of embarrassing, since it drew even more attention to the fact that I’ve been gone so long, and I’m totally tired of going, “Bronchitis,” when people ask me where I was all week. Because I can’t exactly go, “In my Hello Kitty pajamas in bed, refusing to get up after my boyfriend dumped me.”

The only thing J.P. did that was at all out of the ordinary was smile at me when there was nothing to smile about—Boris was actually going on about his hatred for emo, specifically My Chemical Romance, as he is wont to do. I was taking a big bite of my tostada (it’s amazing how, even though I’m totally depressed, I’m still eating like a horse. But whatever, I was starving; all I’d had to eat all day was a PowerBar I picked up at Ho’s Deli after my doctor’s appointment, on my way into school) and noticed J.P.’s smile—which, like Ling Su said, really is pretty hot—and went, “What?” with my mouth all full of chopped beef, cheddar cheese, salsa, sour cream, jalapeños, and shredded lettuce.

“Nothing,” J.P. said, still smiling. “I’m just glad you’re back. Don’t stay away so long again, okay?”

Which was nice of him. Especially considering the fact that he MUST know people are saying we’re an item.

Which would at least partially explain why Lilly is sticking so assiduously to her side of the G and T room. She won’t look at me—won’t speak to me—won’t let on that I even exist. To her, I’m apparently Hester Prynne fromThe Scarlet Letter.

Only the book, not the movie version in which Hester Prynne was played by Demi Moore and was semi-cool and blew stuff up. Oh, wait…that wasG.I. Jane.

I wish I could just go up to Lilly and be like, “Look. I’m SORRY. I’m sorry I was such an ass to your brother, and I’m sorry if I did anything to hurt you. But don’t you think I’ve been punished enough? I can barely BREATHE now because there’s NO POINT in breathing if I know that at the end of the day, I can’t smell your brother’s neck. All I can think about is how I will never, ever again hear the sound of his sarcastic laughter as we watchSouth Park together. Can you not see that it took every ounce of courage and strength I possess just to come here today? That I’m in THERAPY? That I spend every single second of the day wishing I were DEAD? So do you think you could drop the cold shoulder thing and cut me some slack? Because I really do value and miss your friendship. And by the way, do you really think hooking up with random muay thai fighters is the most mature way to respond to your heartache? Are you supposed to be Lana Weinberger, or something?”