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Authors: Sherry Shahan
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everyone knew smoking could kill, she looked amazing doing it. “I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck here this time.”
“I don’t smoke,” Bones said.
She tilted her head. The sun peeked over the edge of the roof, turning her arm hairs bronze. Bones wanted to lick them, calories be damned. “Not anything?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Cigarettes curb your appetite, unlike—” She paused watching a white ribbon of smoke curl up.
As if on cue Lard lit a joint.
Alice spread her legs into a perfect V. Her muscles were long and taut. She stretched over one leg and then the other. Bones almost passed out when she stretched forward between those same widely spread legs. He wanted to kiss all her stretchiness right then and there and everywhere.
“I have an audition in a couple of weeks with a new ballet company,” she said, sitting up. “It’s at the opera house downtown. You should see it. Amazing, with crystal chandeliers and velvet seats.”
Bones remembered the bus ride to and from the theater more than the theater itself. “Our class went there in fourth grade,” he said. “There was a car lot down the street with a Felix the Cat sign.”
“That cat’s famous, man,” Lard said, dragging a chair over. “Historical.”
Alice tapped ash into a paper cup. “Did you see the dressing rooms? I practically grew up in them. My parents are actors. Sometimes they direct.”
“Cool,” Bones said.
Alice snuffed her cigarette. “Not really.”
Lard inhaled, coughing. “Will you be able to dance that soon?”
Bones was wondering the same thing.
Alice ignored him. “A real friend would help me find a place to practice my leaps.”
“What about up here?” Bones suggested.
“Too rough on my shoes.” She stood up and made her way across the roof, clutching her tube of cream.
Bones watched her go.
Lard took another hit. “I hate to say it, but she’ll never change.”
“Who wants her to?”
“I mean, change, as in, get better. She’s in and out of here so often they could name a revolving door after her.”
Lard might have known her longer, but that didn’t mean he knew her better. “I can help her,” Bones said.
“Isn’t that like the blind leading the blind?”
“Says he who resorts to Biblical idioms.”
Lard chuckled and smoke seeped through his nose. “She’s my friend and I’m fiercely loyal, you know that. But you have to admit it, man, she doesn’t even have boobs.”
“Sure, she does. They’re just not as big as yours.”
Lard snort-laughed. “Well played.”
Bones woke up sometime after midnight stressing out all over again about his weigh-in. No way he could have dropped to ninety-nine pounds. Not with all the calories they were forcing down him. It didn’t make sense.
He stared at the ceiling, picturing Lard and Teresa hunched over their plates, shoveling in endless calories. Yet they said they were losing weight too. He wondered how much the scales were off? One pound? Three? Ten? Unibrow must have switched scales before Bones came in yesterday.
A loud clang in the corridor, then one word made it into the room. “ Shit! ”
Bones wondered if it was a patient sneaking around in the hospital, then decided it was probably an exasperated nurse going out for a smoke. He worried himself back to sleep; he’d had a lot of practice at that.
Alice wasn’t at breakfast, which gave him more to worry about. He sat with Lard and Teresa and tried to figure out how to get rid of his corn flakes. (1 cup, 100 calories. Half cup low-fat milk, 60 calories. One bruised banana, 100 calories.)
“There’s something going on with the scales,” Bones said.
Lard sopped up two runny egg yolks (110 calories) with what was left of his whole-wheat toast (128 calories). He stuffed the entire disgusting wad in his mouth. “Let me guess. You lost weight so Chu Man raised your calories?”
“That’s what I thought when I lost a pant size,” Teresa said. “But it isn’t the
“I don’t smoke,” Bones said.
She tilted her head. The sun peeked over the edge of the roof, turning her arm hairs bronze. Bones wanted to lick them, calories be damned. “Not anything?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Cigarettes curb your appetite, unlike—” She paused watching a white ribbon of smoke curl up.
As if on cue Lard lit a joint.
Alice spread her legs into a perfect V. Her muscles were long and taut. She stretched over one leg and then the other. Bones almost passed out when she stretched forward between those same widely spread legs. He wanted to kiss all her stretchiness right then and there and everywhere.
“I have an audition in a couple of weeks with a new ballet company,” she said, sitting up. “It’s at the opera house downtown. You should see it. Amazing, with crystal chandeliers and velvet seats.”
Bones remembered the bus ride to and from the theater more than the theater itself. “Our class went there in fourth grade,” he said. “There was a car lot down the street with a Felix the Cat sign.”
“That cat’s famous, man,” Lard said, dragging a chair over. “Historical.”
Alice tapped ash into a paper cup. “Did you see the dressing rooms? I practically grew up in them. My parents are actors. Sometimes they direct.”
“Cool,” Bones said.
Alice snuffed her cigarette. “Not really.”
Lard inhaled, coughing. “Will you be able to dance that soon?”
Bones was wondering the same thing.
Alice ignored him. “A real friend would help me find a place to practice my leaps.”
“What about up here?” Bones suggested.
“Too rough on my shoes.” She stood up and made her way across the roof, clutching her tube of cream.
Bones watched her go.
Lard took another hit. “I hate to say it, but she’ll never change.”
“Who wants her to?”
“I mean, change, as in, get better. She’s in and out of here so often they could name a revolving door after her.”
Lard might have known her longer, but that didn’t mean he knew her better. “I can help her,” Bones said.
“Isn’t that like the blind leading the blind?”
“Says he who resorts to Biblical idioms.”
Lard chuckled and smoke seeped through his nose. “She’s my friend and I’m fiercely loyal, you know that. But you have to admit it, man, she doesn’t even have boobs.”
“Sure, she does. They’re just not as big as yours.”
Lard snort-laughed. “Well played.”
Bones woke up sometime after midnight stressing out all over again about his weigh-in. No way he could have dropped to ninety-nine pounds. Not with all the calories they were forcing down him. It didn’t make sense.
He stared at the ceiling, picturing Lard and Teresa hunched over their plates, shoveling in endless calories. Yet they said they were losing weight too. He wondered how much the scales were off? One pound? Three? Ten? Unibrow must have switched scales before Bones came in yesterday.
A loud clang in the corridor, then one word made it into the room. “ Shit! ”
Bones wondered if it was a patient sneaking around in the hospital, then decided it was probably an exasperated nurse going out for a smoke. He worried himself back to sleep; he’d had a lot of practice at that.
Alice wasn’t at breakfast, which gave him more to worry about. He sat with Lard and Teresa and tried to figure out how to get rid of his corn flakes. (1 cup, 100 calories. Half cup low-fat milk, 60 calories. One bruised banana, 100 calories.)
“There’s something going on with the scales,” Bones said.
Lard sopped up two runny egg yolks (110 calories) with what was left of his whole-wheat toast (128 calories). He stuffed the entire disgusting wad in his mouth. “Let me guess. You lost weight so Chu Man raised your calories?”
“That’s what I thought when I lost a pant size,” Teresa said. “But it isn’t the
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