She works the crowd,

directs the band using her tail,

tosses school T-shirts to fans,

and dances with the cheerleaders.

Sneakers squeak and

the ball thuds and

makes a high-pitched ring as

players run up and down the court.

We score.

They score.

We stay tied the whole game.

We go into overtime.

Double overtime.

With seven seconds on the clock,

a Comet steals the ball and

passes it to half-court.

A player shoots.

Swish!

Three points.

Nothing but net.

We win!

I’m hoarse by the end.

It’s the perfect ending to

a perfect trip.

GET THE MESSAGE

Getting up early is worth it when

Mom walks into the kitchen

and sees the refrigerator door.

And all the cabinets.

I plastered articles like wallpaper

for Mom.

My faves:

Studies show a family’s comments

about an overweight child

add to a negative self-image.

Studies show it’s not just

kids and teachers at school

who make fun of overweight kids;

parents also bully them.

Kids don’t need parents’ judgment;

the world gives them plenty of that.

She doesn’t say a word.

Maybe she got the message.

At my next appointment with Doc,

she asks for examples

of how I’ve been standing up

for myself lately.

I mention leaving articles for Mom.

“Genius idea!

The best way to be understood

is to learn and speak

someone’s language.

So is she still

putting up articles?”

“She can’t.

I put up articles.

Plastered them everywhere.

I’ve even started

tacking them to my parents’ bedroom door.”

WHAT DO I WANT?

The more someone gets to know you,

the scarier it can be.

“What’d you think?”

I ask when Doc gives me back

my list of Fat Girl Rules.

“It’s not light bedtime reading,

that’s for sure.

It seems like these rules

would make you think about

and hate your body

every minute of

every day.”

“That’s what society wants.”

“What about what you want, Ellie?”

“No one’s ever asked me.”

“I just did.”

I grab the throw pillow,

hold it in front of my belly,

slip my fingers through

the loops of the fringe

around the edges, and

twist the threads tight

until my fingers turn white.

“I want people to accept me,

just as I am.”

“So who are you, Ellie?

Describe yourself without

talking about your size.”

I hug the pillow

up higher,

near my heart.

“I can’t.”

Doc puts down her notepad.

“The problem with

the Fat Girl Rules is

you’ve let them not only

decide how you’re going to live,

but also define who you are.”

A CHANCE TO BE A BULLY

“I think we should try a little exercise,”

Doc says, and

taps an index finger to her lips.

“Which one?

Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmmmmm.”

“Just spill it.

Get it over with.”

I hold the throw pillow

in front of my stomach again.

“You don’t have to hide