“You know I was set up!” I shout.

“Can’t we send her off to some fat camp,

or make her have surgery or something?”

Now Liam’s talking with his mouth full,

spraying corn bits across the table.

“I’m sure you wish

I’d never been born.

Well, guess what?

I wish that about you!”

“Ellie—”

Mom doesn’t finish her sentence.

Inside my head, I finish it for her:

You big ol’ fat thing!

Anaïs looks at me with sad puppy eyes.

Pity.

Perfect.

“Stop it!”

Dad bangs his tea glass down on the table

like a judge with a gavel

calling for order in the court.

His hands form

here’s-the-church-and-here’s-the-steeple.

He gives me all of his attention.

Sometimes I can’t tell if that’s a dad thing

or one of his psychiatrist moves.

“What happened?”

Just like a writer,

I tell the story

of what Marissa and Kortnee did

—except I realize the story

doesn’t have an end.

Not yet.

NO LOVE

Like Texas tea

gushing from an oil rig,

Dad erupts.

“The school has got

to put a stop

to this bullying!

“Dinner is over!” he says, and

starts clearing the table,

slamming the plates as he stacks them.

Mom starts gathering leftovers to take

into the kitchen.

Liam tries to swipe another lamb chop.

“Hey, I’m still eating here.”

“Go. To. Your. Room,” Mom orders.

Only I stay seated—

but nobody pays any attention

to me.

With the swing door propped open

from the dining room to the kitchen,

I have a front-row seat for all the action.

It’s like a tennis match

when my parents lob words as they argue,

except there’s no love.

“I’m calling the school.”

“You’re just going to make it worse,” Mom says.

I silently side with her on this one.

“There are laws.”

Dad scrapes the food off the plates.

“Not easily enforceable.”

Mom loads the dishwasher.

Crash!

“Oh no, Phillip! You ruined a plate!”

Mom sounds more upset by the broken dish

than by what’s happening to me.

“Marissa and Kortnee have to be punished.

Nobody deserves to be treated like this!”

Dad grabs the broom.

As he sweeps up the pieces,

Mom bends down with the dustpan and says,

“It’ll get worse if we make a big deal about it.

If she lost weight,

all of this would stop.”

“You’re incredible, Miriam.

You know that?”

“And you’re ignoring the effect

her weight has on everything.”

“Miriam, someone hurt our child.

Don’t you get that?”

“What you don’t get, Phillip—”

I’ve heard enough.

I get up, and

they don’t even notice when I leave.

CHECKING ON ME

Lap after lap,

I slap, slap, slap

my arms against the water

and kick my legs fast and hard.

Then I dive under

to yell the words I wish I’d said

at school and during dinner.