I’m a starfish,

taking up all the room I want.

FRIENDS, NOT ENEMIES

Boxes surround Viv as we video-chat.

“Are you packing up and

heading back here, where you belong?”

“Still unpacking here in Podunk.”

Viv says her new public school has more

fat people than Kiser Academy,

so she’s feeling at home.

I’m happy for her.

When she asks how my day went,

I tell her about all the bullying

and the therapist.

“No freakin’ way!”

“No freakin’ way what?”

her mom, Sue, asks,

bending over the screen to say hi,

so she’s upside down to me.

After Viv fills her in, Sue says,

“Don’t let your mom’s issues with weight

become your issues with weight, kiddo.”

“Stop hijacking our conversation!”

Viv playfully pushes her mom away.

I like how they act like best friends,

not mother and daughter.

Not archenemies like Mom and me.

After Sue leaves the room, Viv asks,

“But really. Why is everyone so mean to us?”

“Don’t you know they’re ‘just joking’?”

“People laugh at jokes,” Viv says.

“They shouldn’t make us want

to go home and cry our eyes out.

What can we do about it, though?”

“How about we sit on them?”

Viv laughs at my tired joke until she cries.

I join her, and our tears

have nothing to do

with laughter.

UNAPPETIZING

For dinner, I’m the appetizer.

“How’d it go with Dr. Wood?”

Mom starts in, even before

the first piece of steak reaches my mouth.

“Epic fail. She’s fat as ever,” Liam says.

“That’s enough,”

Dad scolds my brother,

after waiting a beat,

like he often does

so Mom can say something in my defense.

But she never, ever does.

Anaïs catches my attention,

glances at Liam, and rolls her eyes,

as if saying, What an idiot.

That’s nice for once.

Usually she laughs along with him,

but lately she seems annoyed with him, too.

Mom chews on her lips

more than her food,

as if she’s biting back words.

“Hope you’ll give Dr. Wood a chance.”

Kale dangles from Mom’s fork.

I nod.

She bites her lips again.

“’Cause if therapy doesn’t work,

we’ll have to think of

s—something else, okay?”

She started to say something else, all right.

A word that begins with s.

Surgery.

Bariatric surgery.

I chew, chew, and chew,

but it seems like the piece of steak

grows larger,

so I secretly spit it into a napkin.

I’ve lost my appetite.

MISSING DAD

You can miss someone

even when they’re with you.

It’s storming,

and I’m bored.

I bounce through the house and

see Dad camped out

on the couch in his office.

I’d challenge him to a

backgammon battle,

if he hadn’t Judased me

by siding with Mom about

me needing a therapist.

I inch backward

to return to my room

and avoid him,