The "You're Not Fat" Campaign

There is a girl at camp, in my cabin, who is very pretty. She is thin, with blue-grey eyes and long, sleek, strawberry-blonde hair. Her name is Naomi, and although I've never met her in my life, something about her is very familiar.

At dinner I realize what that something is.

She goes straight to the salad bar and returns with just a few sticks of celery.

She bites her lip and quietly declines when Abbie, another girl in our cabin, offers her the bowl of pasta.

She eats half a breadstick, then rips the rest of it up into tiny pieces.

She looks extremely uncomfortable throughout the meal, and only eats a few bites of the M'n'M cookies that we have for dessert.

"Thank God I'll be running off all these calories!" she comments. Everyone laughs, but I am uneasy. If Naomi is anorexic, it will be a huge trigger for me.

Everything about you is huge, so a huge trigger is a good thing.

I glare at the tabletop and take a savage bite of celery.