It floats there in the toilet – like it is mocking me in some way. All I have to do is flush the shiny silver handle and it will be gone – until I do it again after supper. Why do I always make myself do this? I hate it. I always told myself that I would never be like one of those girls in my school. They are the ones who make themselves sick after eating their garden salad at lunch. The ones I can hear vomiting in the stall next to me while I pee. The girls that I envy for a reason that I don’t know. It could be because of the unwritten rule that: you have to envy the “populars”. The one rule that I will not dare to break, at least while the “popualrs” are watching – or listening.
I can hear the little girl – whose feet cannot quite touch the ground –peeing in the stall next to me. I can hear the flush; the whooshing sound, the one in TV shows when someone did something stupid. The sound I hear after I throw up. The one I hear after all the girls in school finish gagging. It’s not like I am afraid to flush my vomit away. I do it everyday and have for two weeks straight. I hate doing it though. I hate being like those girls.
My knees always wobble when I stand up after doing it and my hands are cold and shaky. It’s like some sort of guilt thing. Telling me “Don’t make yourself sick, look what it does to you.” If only it worked. Whoosh. It was gone. My lunch that I had just ate with my friends, only 10 minutes ago was on its way to the ocean. The bathroom stall doors always creak at this place and they always close with a satisfying bang.
I always have to reapply my make-up after I throw up. I always end up crying after hurling. I have never carried a purse before, but I grew accustom to bringing it with me when I started this. I have to carry make-up and mouthwash. So my breath doesn’t smell like one of those rides at the circus – the ones that make you hurl. After using my mouthwash twice and giving my self the once over in the mirror, I left to go sit at a table with Rory and Dakota. So I can listen to them chat all day long. Yay! What fun! Note my sarcasm.
“What took you so long?” This is always what Dakota asks me when I get back from making my self heave. Of course she didn’t know this, nor would she ever. If I were to tell one of them it would defiantly be Rory. She was more sensitive then Dakota. Dakota would probably tell the whole school. Not that they would care, they would just be shocked that fat little me makes my self sick. It is not weird or different to be bulimic at my school. Half the female population does it. It would just be strange that I do it.
My response was always good when Dakota asked this. I have a list of things to tell her and Rory in my head. Today it was “Period, I didn’t have any tampons left. So I had to finish peeing and then I had to go out and buy one. Any way my make-up looked a little smudged and I had to reapply it.” The longer my response was, the more Dakota believed it. I think she always stops listening to me after the third word – then she probably criticizes me in her head, or the person behind us.
“Oh.” This was always what Dakota said after I told her. She is kind of a ditz. I think she is one of the dumbest in the entire tenth grade. The teachers do not know this though – she copies off me or Rory, or the nerd who sits next to her. She is one of the prettiest though.
She’s a brunette and it is all natural, or so she says. I don’t believe her, no ones hair can look that… brunette. Dakota’s eyes are like the sea. They are blue and they are so calm and comforting – but they could turn into something monstrous in a second. Her skin is and tanned all year round, from the help of her mommy’s cash and the tanning salon. She is medium height and she has always been a size small in clothes, she would be an extra small but her boobs (which are a C) are too big for an extra small. She tells Rory and me this every single time we are shopping with her, which is at least once a week.
