100 Days by Nicole McInnes Page B

don’t want any siblings of mine being treated like freaks when they go out into the real world.
    â€œI’ve heard about Moira,” Obi says, still laughing. “Your BFF is big and fat.”
    I freeze. “What did you just say?”
    â€œYou heard me. She has a big fat butt. Butts are hilarious .”
    Even though I’m completely aghast, I try to keep a lid on it. “It’s not nice to talk about people like that,” I tell Obi in the calmest voice possible. Nice use of the word hilarious , though, I think. I consider complimenting him on his vocabulary, but then I think better of it. The mixed message would probably just confuse him.
    â€œBut that’s what Dad says,” Obi continues. “He says she’s big and fat and that people get that way from eating too much.”
    Wait, what? Breath is backing up in my chest now. Dad and Moira have only met each other a few times over the years. After the first time, he called Mom and raised a stink about “that scary girl” being a bad influence on me.
    â€œWhy?” Mom challenged him. “Because of her fashion choices?”
    â€œYou call that fashion ?” I could hear Dad’s voice bristling through the phone as she held the receiver away from her ear and rolled her eyes.
    â€œI call it independent thinking,” she fired back, “which is obviously something you’re not familiar with.”
    â€œIt’s not nice to talk about people like that,” I repeat to Obi in a stern voice. “Even if Dad’s the one doing the talking. Do you understand me?”
    My brother nods. His eyes are wide now, and he looks like he might be about to cry.
    â€œIt’s okay, buddy,” I tell him. “You didn’t know. But Moira’s my friend, and I don’t want anyone talking bad about her. Friends have each other’s back.”
    â€œLike SpongeBob and Patrick?”
    â€œExactly,” I tell him. “Exactly like … Wait. When does your mom let you watch SpongeBob ?”
    For a second, Obi’s eyes get even bigger. I’ve never seen his face so solemn. Then he locks his eyes on to mine, slowly raises a finger to his lips, and goes, “Shhhh.”
    I’m not sure why this makes me so happy, but it does. Jamey’s not going to know what hit her when this one’s a teenager. “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I’ve got your back.”

 
    15
    MOIRA
    DAY 86: MARCH 31
    By the end of sixth grade it dawned on me that things were only going to get worse in junior high if I didn’t take action. I’d heard the stories of what happened to kids on the dystopian fringe of seventh grade. Insults would turn into shoving and tripping; hallway confrontations would end in toilet swirlies.
    Without a doubt, the socially acceptable course of action would have been to starve myself down over the summer and just get with the skinny-girl program for a change, but I couldn’t do it. For one thing, my love of food has always been stronger than my hatred of my body. For another, even at the time, I suspected that it wouldn’t end up mattering how small I made myself. I’d already been marked as an outcast. And I never wanted to look like the rail-thin girls in teen magazines, anyway. True, I wanted to disappear most days. If an invisibility cloak was ever invented, I’d be the first in line to buy one. But I knew it wasn’t an option for me to disappear via starvation.
    Instead, I figured it was better to flip my middle finger to the world and work on accepting the random stoutness gene or slow metabolism or whatever the hell it was that had somehow worked its way into my DNA. It was better to fight back.
    I probably would have chosen to homeschool starting in seventh grade if it hadn’t been for Agnes. Not that I blame her for all the sucktastic school years that followed. Agnes just wanted to be as much of an actual