110
THE PADDED CELL
The next morning I got up before the sun had even sent a wisp of light over the hills that surrounded Easton. It wasn't as if lying there wide awake, as I had all night, was doing me any good. All I had done was stare at the wall and imagine myself getting caught by Noelle, Ariana, Kiran, and Taylor in a million different ways. I pictured what they would do, how they would react. In one version Noelle took out a bat and whacked me across the head, showering her bestest friends with blood and brains. But I think I had been drifting off when that one occurred, so it was a half-?dream. Whatever the case, it had kept me awake for the next three hours.
So I got up, made my own bed, straightened my stuff, and took a shower. Natasha tossed and turned and huffed whenever I made a noise above a whisper, but she said nothing. Good thing. I was, after all, doing this all for her.
And for myself. And my future.
Soon everyone started to stir and I was able to vacuum. Some girls said good morning to me on their way downstairs; others
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/> didn't bother. I didn't care much. All I could think about was what I was about to do.
I was hovering in the shadows at the end of the hallway when Kiran and Taylor walked out together, debating whether travel within the contiguous United States was even worth the time it took to pack a bag. (Taylor was pro, Kiran was con.) Shaking like I was about to meet my executioner, I waited until they rounded the corner, then sprang forward and slipped into their room. The second I was inside, I realized there was no need for the cloakand-?dagger act. I was supposed to be here. There were the unmade beds, the piles of laundry, the musty bathroom. I could have walked in here while they were still getting dressed and it would have been fine. Expected, even. Way to stress myself out.
Relaxing ever so slightly, I got to work on the beds. I'd do the chores first and get them over with, then snoop around a little. That way if I had to leave suddenly, my work would be done when I bailed. After making sure everything was in order, I stood in the center of the room and looked around. Where to begin?
My eyes fell on Kiran's closet. Might as well start with my favorite place in the room. I walked over and placed my hands on the two knobs that worked the sliding doors. I listened for noises. Someone was showering in another room, but that was all I could hear. I steeled myself--I was doing this for a reason, I was doing this because I had to--and threw the doors open.
Right. Don't get distracted by the thousands upon thousands of dollars' worth of designer clothes. You want to get this over with.
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Shoe boxes lined the floor, stacked three boxes high and at least twelve across. I dropped to my knees and opened the first box. Black stilettos. The one under it, suede camel sling backs. The one under that, red kitten-?heeled sandals. God, a girl could go crazy in here.
Focus. Your future or trying on a pair of shoes?
I opted for a future. One by one I went through all the boxes and found nothing but shoes, shoes, and more shoes. Then on the far end, the purses began. I worked my way up through shelves of clutches and hobos and shoppers and minis to the shelves of sweaters above the hanging rod. Already I was sweating. This could take forever.
I dragged Taylor's desk chair over and stood up on it, moving the first stack of sweaters aside carefully so that they would appear untouched. My eyes fell on something out of place. It was a huge, black-?and-?white NO!
Well. That was incriminating enough. Tenderly I took down two stacks of sweaters and laid them reverently on Kiran's bed. I stepped back up on the chair to have a better look. There, shoved into the farthest, darkest corner of Kiran's closet, was a brown box with a small padlock and magazine clippings pasted all over it. Like something out of a serial killer's house.
no!
stay away
don't touch
Itching with curiosity, I reached for the box and pulled it toward me. It was heavy and made of wood. Among the words and.
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hastily assembled letters were clippings of pictures of farm animals. Pigs and cows, mostly. What the hell was this thing?
I reached for the lock, expecting it to be, of course, locked, but it fell right open. My heart skipped a beat. I removed the lock and slowly opened the box. The first thing I noticed was the picture of some poor woman's humongous, cellulite-?ridden ass in a flowered bathing suit taped up inside the box top. The second was the smell of icing.
Oh. My. God.
The box was full of snacks. Hostess cupcakes, Twinkies, Oreos, Ding Dongs, Nutter Butters, brownies, coffee cakes, SnoBalls, Milanos. It was sick. If she was so worried about eating it, why go to all the trouble of creating a box to keep it in--a box designed to keep her away? Was it some kind of torture?
I noticed a small, spiral-?bound notebook propped flat against the side of the box and moved some Devil Dogs aside to pull it out. Inside was an entry marked September 9. Beneath it was a list of every single thing Kiran had eaten that day and the calorie content of that item. At the bottom was written “Twenty Oreos,” and next to it, in a psychotic scrawl, the words “No, No, No!”
I covered my mouth with my hand. This poor girl. This poor, poor girl. Talk about an eating disorder; this was more like an infectious disease. Kiran was seriously struggling.
I turned the page in the notebook. The following day there was no sugar intake and a smiling face was drawn at the bottom. But every day after that there were more snacks and more crazy admonishments.