Camp Redwood

I tap my feet impatiently against the hardwood floor of the therapist’s office, trying not to glare. I’ve been sitting here for almost five minutes and she still hasn’t shown up. I mean, it’s not like I have anything to do, but I’d rather not spend all my time in some lame office when I could be in my room, asleep. My hand shakes and I try to still it, slipping it underneath my leg with embarrassment.

I’ve been clean for five days and I’m losing it.

I can’t sleep.

If I eat, I throw up.

I can’t stop shaking.

I just want to sleep all day, but I just can’t manage to stay still.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, looking around. She has her degrees on the wall, some books on a shelf, pictures, small trophies and medals and so on. I could vomit and I almost do. My hand rushes up to my mouth as I swallow down the sour bile, closing my eyes and leaning against the back of the hard chair, trying to breathe.

I feel sick.

“Are you alright, dear?” Dr. Poxleitner asks me as she sits down, setting her files on the desk with a small frown. I shake my head, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

That’s another thing that’s been going on—I can’t stop sweating.

“What does it look like?” I snap, irritable.

I’m really not this mean, honest.

I just want my pills back.

“You look sick.”

“Oh, really?” I roll my eyes, gulping again. My belly rumbles and I sigh, closing my eyes.

“They tell me you haven’t been eating. What’s that about?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Because I can’t, I want to bite back, but I don’t because she just wouldn’t get it. Nobody does.

“Why can’t you eat?”

“It makes me ill.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes—no, no I’m not,” I answer, looking down at my hands. I bring my thumb to my mouth, gnawing at the nail anxiously. “Are we done yet?”

“We’ve only been talking for two minutes, Lupe. Can you look at me?” I look up and her frown is still there. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m so tired,” I confess quietly, voice trembling. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’m tired.”

“I know.” She clicks her pen and starts writing some things down.

“You don’t know. You haven’t the faintest idea.”

“How did it start?”

“I don’t know.”

Actually, I do.

I live in Los Angeles.

I’m a dancer, you know.

Some people think that ballet is all fun and games and that we’re all just a big family of dumb skinny girls in pretty pink tutus prancing around to old classical music. That’s only barely skimming the surface. It’s a sport, bloodthirsty and cutthroat. It’s vicious and visceral and insane. It’s nights spent in ice tubs to numb your raw and bleeding toes. It’s days without eating because you want to look all lithe and phantasmagorical. It’s like being dead and alive at the same time.

It’ll chew you up and spit you out without abandon. Ballet is easily and simply defined as this: it’s trying to be perfect and beautiful when you know you can’t.

You’ll be damned if you give up anyway.

I just want to be thin and perfect and beautiful.

It's all I've ever wanted.

“Have you ever wanted something so bad you could taste it? Have you? Have you ever been so close to it that you could practically feel it but it always managed to stay out of your grasp? Have you? Have you ever wanted something so badly you would die for it?”

“Yes. I know, Lupe, I know what that’s like—”

“Stop saying that!” I snap, irritated. “You don’t know what it’s like; you don’t know what it’s like to be good but never being good enough! You have no idea.” I cross my arms over my practically nonexistent chest. “It’s horrible.”

“Why do you want to be perfect?”

I look at her with a small scowl, trying to understand her question.

“What?”

“Well, why? Why are you so obsessed with it?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”



I walk out of the doctor’s office, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands angrily. The whole session thing was just stupid, honestly. I mean, really? It was just stupid. She wouldn’t stop talking about how unhealthy it was and about how I had to change for my own sake and all that other bull. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to cry, but I couldn’t stop.

I was more angry than sad, to be honest.

The whole withdrawal thing screwed up your emotions and made you all unstable. I leaned against a tree, digging my palms into my eyes as I tried to still my breathing.

I hate this place.

I hate everyone here.

They’re all full of it.

Kalliope is kind of a shallow idiot who thinks her whole world is falling around her when it really isn’t.

Aubrey is kind of spacey but you really can’t hate her. She’s the only person who’s actually been nice to me here.

Sebastian is just some little goody-two shoes counselor who is just a little too happy for my liking. He also found my stash and threw it out, so we’re not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.

Forrest is too busy trying to get into Kalliope’s pants, which kind of pisses me off because really? She’s not even that cute.

And Keegan’s just…

I don’t know.

I haven’t talked to him very much, actually.

I haven’t really talked to anybody but Aubrey (sometimes).

I’m still crying when I hear somebody clear their throat awkwardly. I glare in the direction from where it comes, sniffling, only to see Keegan kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Are you okay?”

“Go away.” I turn, leaning against the tree, hiccuping a little.

“But you’re crying.”

“I can see that,” I reply angrily, rolling my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“That—that damn therapist,” I stammer, trying to breathe though my nose.

Apparently, breathing’s supposed to help the whole ‘irritable-anxiety’ thing.

It doesn’t.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What—no. I don’t—just…go away.”

“But you’re…upset.”

“What part of go away don’t you get?!” I exclaim, turning around.

“I get it. You’re still crying and stuff, so I don’t think you really mean it.” I narrow my eyes at him, walking around him. He walks with me and I cross my arms, looking down. “Wanna eat?” he asks, acting like I hadn’t looked like I was having a mental breakdown three seconds ago.

“What?”

“It’s lunch time.”

I laugh cheaply, shaking my head.

“You should smile more often. Looks good on you.”



I flick a fry at him, laughing as it bounced off his shirt and onto the table. He laughs, picking it up and tossing it back at me playfully. I’m still kind of…out of it, but I’ve managed to push it to the back of my mind.

For now, anyway.

“You suck at this. Just so you know,” Keegan laughs, tossing a couple of fries into his mouth. I shrug flippantly, drinking some of my water. “Are you gonna eat that?” He points at the untouched pizza on my plate and I shake my head. “Why not?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Every time I eat, I throw it up.

I can’t eat.

I’m starving.

I’m going mad.

If that isn’t enough to upset me, glancing at Kalliope and Forrest out of the corner of my eye does the trick. She’s not even hot. It’s not fair.

“Your stomach is growling.”

“I can’t eat.”

“Why?”

“Can’t.” I push my plate towards him. “Take it.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.” He raises an eyebrow, pushing my plate towards me.

“Eat.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why? You’re hungry. Did she say something to you?”

“Who? The doctor? Yeah. It’s not what you think, though.”

“What’d she say, then?”

“It’s private and it doesn’t matter anyway, so can we just drop it?”

“Yeah, we can. Once you tell me, anyway.” I pick up a fry and nibble on it, swallowing it hesitantly.

“There. I ate.”

“You know what I mean.”

I look at him blankly.

“You should really eat.”

“I really shouldn’t.” I look down at it and it just looks so good and I haven’t eaten and I’m only doing this because I’m starving to death and not because I really want to, I tell myself, taking a bite of the pizza. “Maybe just a couple of bites.” I finish it in four bites and a half. Keegan laughs and smiles at me. I sigh, washing it down with some water. My fries are gone in a minute flat.

“I like a girl who can eat.”

“Are you gonna eat those?”

He pushes the fries towards me with a small smile.

“Knock yourself out.”

It doesn’t take long before the nausea sets in.

I feel myself blanch, my skin crawls, and that familiar sour taste starts creeping into my mouth. I push my tray away, getting up.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“The food’s not that bad—”

I can’t answer, seeing as I’m too busy running away and trying to find the nearest bathroom.

“Lupe!”

This is kind of embarrassing.

My only hope is that the girls’ bathroom is empty.

Of course, it isn’t. Aubrey is standing at one of the sinks, fixing her hair. “Hi, Lupe!” she exclaims cheerfully. “Are you okay?” I push down the first stall door, fall to my knees, and start tossing up my lunch. “Lupe!” She sits down next to me, smoothing my hair out of my face and rubbing small circles on my back. “It’s okay.”

I hate when people say that. I mean, how do you know it’s not just going to get worse and worse and worse? How do you know it’s going to be okay?

It annoys me to no end.

I shake, cry, and dry heave for a few minutes, and then it’s over. Finally. I slump against the stall door, feeling all sweaty an gross and out of breath.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” I nod and she helps me up, humming under her breath.

“You don’t have to help me, you know.”

“We’re friends, silly. Of course I’m gonna help you. C’mon.” She hands me a wet paper towel. I wipe my face sullenly, looking in the mirror. Tired green eyes stare back. There are circles around them. I look spectral.

I don’t like it.

I turn on the tap and cup some water in my hands, trying to rinse the taste of bile out of my mouth.

“Do you know what made you sick?” I shrug, coughing a little.

“Withdrawal.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not fun.” I comb my hands through my hair, pulling it up. She roots through her bag and pulls out a brush.

“I’ve got bobby pins too.” She smiles. “Did you tell Dr. Poxleitner?”

I stiffen.

“She’s a quack.”

Aubrey giggles.

“That’s mean.”

“I’m a mean person.”

“No. You just want people to think that. But deep down, I think you’re really sweet.”

“Keep dreaming.” I sigh. “Thanks, though. Can we just, uh…keep this…thing between us?” She nods solemnly. “Thanks. Again.”

I walk out with my hands stuffed in my back pockets. Keegan’s there, surprisingly. I brush past him, heading towards the library. It’s the only place where I can get some peace and quiet (and avoid Keegan while I’m at it too).



The campers have all gathered down at the basketball court for a game of hoops. It’s pretty stupid, I’m not going to lie. Aubrey’s off eyeballing Sebastian from behind a magazine on the bottom bleacher bench. She thinks he doesn’t notice but it’s pretty obvious that he does and it seems like he’s making an effort to look extra good for her sake. It’s annoying. Not nearly as annoying as Kalliope fawning over Forrest next to her, though. It’s pathetic.

We’ve only been here for like, two days.

He wipes his forehead with his shirt and I sigh quietly. Break me off a piece of that Forrest-bar. Yum. He catches me staring and laughs, smiling a little. I’m not sure if I should smile back or turn pink from embarrassment. When I catch Kalliope glaring up a storm, I smile at him, waving my fingers with a wink. Damn.

I look back down at my book and start reading again. The bench creaks and I glance out of the corner of my eye, only to see that it’s Keegan.

I want to be mad, but I do enjoy the company, so I’m not mean.

At first anyway.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So…how are you liking that book?”

“What? Oh…yeah. It’s interesting, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Want me to spoil the ending? Black guy dies at the end.” I shut the book angrily.

“Thanks. It’s not like I was planning on reading this or something. What do you want?”

“You didn’t have to run away.”

“Why aren’t you playing with the other super macho guys there and hanging out with a loser like me?” He laughs.

“I don’t have to play some dumb game to prove I’m a man. Got other ways of doin’ that, honey bun. Could show you sometime if you’d like. And you’re not a loser.”

“Sure feels like it.”

“Well you’re not. So there.” I shrug, shoving the book in my bag.

“What happened to you?”

“The food sucks.”

“It’s decent.” I look over at him and he’s tearing up the rip in his jeans. “I know.”

“If you know, why’d you ask?”

I hope I’m calling his bluff.

“Wanted to know, I guess. I asked the doctor’s secretary and she told me, you know…about your withdrawal and stuff. Coulda just told me, you know, I wouldn’t—”

“And say what? Huh? That it feels like I’m going crazy? That I can’t even think about food without wanting to throw up? That I-I haven’t slept in almost four nights now? Hm? What’d you want me to tell you? And you do you think you are anyway? You don’t know me. Why do I owe you any explanations?”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to tell me? Who am I gonna tell anyway?” He raises an eyebrow. “Dr. P? Really? Really? I know who you are. You’re a scared little girl who can’t accept the fact that she has a problem and has a horrible bitch complex.”

“And you’re an asshole,” I spit, storming away.

“Never said I wasn’t, sweet cheeks!”