Chapter 1Noah—Maple Bluff, Wisconsin
sat back on the pillows propped against my headboard and stared at the blank notepadresting on my knees. I fingered the pencil in my right hand, and when a chill passed downmy spine, I looked down at my arm. My eyes caught. My fingers had always been long andslim, but now you could see the bones and veins on the back of my hand, and my wrists weretoo skinny. My baggy jeans had become even more baggy on my long legs, and my t-shirts allseemed too big now. I took a deep breath.
Calm down, Noah. Go eat something. You'regetting cold because your body's tired.
I
Okay. Easy enough. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up, grabbing my iPod off my nightstand and slipping it into my pocket as I did so. The headphones hung down mychest and wobbled with the motion.Down the empty hallway, past all the family pictures hanging on the wall, minus quitea few that had been there before, bony feet padding on the cream shag carpet. It wascomfortingly warm under my toes, a soft sensation that was strangely calming. Once in thekitchen, I opened the fridge and bent over to stare into it. With hopeless eyes, I searched forsomething I could make myself eat.
Leftover pot roast?
My mind asked me. Nah, I told it. Toofatty.
But it's really good
. Too fatty, I insisted. This argument with my inner good sense continued over practically everything in thefridge and cabinets, from ramen noodles to pop tarts. Finally I returned to the fridge andstarted pushing things aside, hoping to find something that had escaped my attention before.At last I uncovered a small container of Yoplait Light, Boston cream pie flavor. My mind raisedits eyebrows questioningly. Okay, I thought. Yogurt is good. Yogurt is excellent. Dairyrequirement--there you go, Dr. Koratzt. Protein, too. I can do yogurt.I walked to the other side of the kitchen and did an amazing act of concentration andbalance, changing the song on my iPod with my thumb, holding the yogurt in the threefingers not occupied with the MP3 player. Then I stepped back, balanced on one foot, andpulled on the knob of the cutlery drawer with the other foot, then grabbed a smooth silverspoon and held it between my teeth as I walked back to my room.It was dim in there; the lights were off and the blinds were closed—you could barelysee any of the color in my room, the brown bean bag in the corner in front of the portableDVD player that hung on the wall in its little canvas case. You couldn’t see the blue, red,brown and cream striped designer duvet cover on my bed, with its matching pillows—it justlooked like lots of lumps, since I hadn’t yet made my bed yet. There was no way to tell whatthe clothes laying, discarded, on the floor looked like, whether they were khakis or jeans,thermals or button-ups. There was no way to distinguish my left shoe from my right, or eachindividual page of sucky, uninspired lyrics from another.I collapsed backwards onto the pillows and flannel sheets, crossing my legs andpushing my feet underneath the rumpled covers to keep them warm. Slowly, so as to notsplatter yogurt everywhere, I peeled the metallic blue lid off the top of the container andpushed the spoon into the creamy white substance. Hesitantly, I put it in my mouth, thenpulled the spoon back out and started moving the yogurt around with my tongue.Almost immediately my gag reflex activated, and the food started feeling heavy, likeglue, in my mouth. I clashed my teeth together, though yogurt needs no chewing, and finallychoked it down, swallowing with much difficulty. A small sensation of pride swelled in mychest.
Good job, Noah
, my mind said to me.
Now eat the rest.
Instead, I put the yogurt back on my nightstand and picked up the notepad again.I glared at the paper, bit my lip. The inspiration wasn't coming, and I only had a weekbefore my entry form was due. I already nearly had a spot in, because I'd gone last year, andthey liked me--if I turned in the form a little late, they'd still consider me, but...Last year. Last year, there'd been another with me. Last year inspiration had come
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