“That sounds like a good goal,” I replied.

“Yeah, harder than it seems, though. Hey, your records are pretty rad by the way. I’ve been trying to use my mom’s old record player for something. I really dig the album by Iron Beards, and the music pisses my dad off, which is a bonus.”

“You like pissing off your dad?”

“Not really. But he doesn’t say anything when I play it. I just hear a loud sigh upstairs every hour or so. He passed this thing down to me, so he made his own choice.”

I laughed. It was a funny way to look at it. I wondered what her father was like. Was he a hard-ass or super chill? By the sound of it, it seemed as if there could have been a bump in the road between her and her father, so I asked.

“What’s your dad like?”

“An art snob. He’s a classical guy, owns a music shop I work at. It’s called Woods Classical Music. Stupid, right? I know. It’s like he only listens to music by dead white guys from the 1800s. Meanwhile I’m into heavy metal and punk rock. I love concerts and a good mosh pit.”

What the hell is a mosh pit? I thought.

I dared to ask the most important question. “So . . . do you want to hang out or something, sometime soon?”

“I feel like I could arrange that. When were you thinking?” I could hear her smile from the other end of the line.

I smiled, too.

“Umm . . . you know. Whenever, I guess.”

“How about this weekend? We can have a workout day or something and chill afterward if you’re down.”

“Yeah, I’d be so down for that.” I sounded way too excited.

“Awesome. Meet me Sunday at my place? One o’clock?”

“That works.”

“Cool. Wear shorts and a t-shirt this time. It’s going to be hot. Talk to you soon, weird boy.”

I didn’t know what made me weird, and I didn’t know what to say to that other than, “Okay. See you then.”

She hung up the phone.

I looked over the notes I had taken from Mel, and they started out pretty basic:

• No carbs
• Lots of chicken
• Don’t eat after 8pm
• Eat until you’re not hungry anymore, not until you’re full

Beyond that was just doodles of her and me. My imagination got the better of me sometimes.

I tossed my notebook at my desk, put Mel’s number back in my wallet and looked at the sky a bit longer, wishing that the moonlight could wash away the pain I was feeling. Maybe someday I’ll be skinny, I thought. Maybe Mel will like me if I am.

Chapter 4 More Than a Number

That Sunday morning, I stepped on the scale. After a week of kickboxing classes, I was surprised to see that I was down only three pounds. I weighed 277 pounds. As far as progress goes, I was disappointed. I was tired of being fat. I just wanted to have a body I felt good in. I wanted a body that didn’t need to wear a 5XL t-shirt. I wanted a body I could wear shirtless to the beach. I wanted a body that I could do a cartwheel in. It was something that I was working toward, but it was something I didn’t have, so disappointment still filled me to the brim.