She is hideous. Despicable. Her body is no longer her body—it has morphed into some strange creature she no longer understands. It has a mind of its own. It changes and contorts her in whichever way pleases it, vicious and unrelenting while she's stuck in the middle, powerless. There is nothing she can do to stop it. She can only stand before the mirror and wonder how this happened.

"Madeline? We have to leave," Papa calls to her from the hallway.

"She said she's not going to school today," Amelia tells him from somewhere near the head of the stairs.

"Why not?"

"She doesn't feel well."

Papa lets out a small huff of exasperation and mutters, "I should just keep your father stationed here all day to handle these constant medical problems."

He sweeps into the room and looks down at Madeline, expression softening. "What's wrong, ma chérie?"

Madeline presses her face into her pillow, shoulders shaking. "I'm staying home."

"Why?" Papa asks, putting a hand on her back. "Madeline, please move the pillow from your face and talk to me. I can't help if I can't understand you."

But it doesn't matter if he can hear her or not, he still won't understand. For a moment, Madeline feels very alone and helpless, and some tears spill over onto her cheeks. Cautiously, she raises her head and looks at Papa. "I look horrible."

There's a glowing red pimple on her nose, vengeful and relishing in being the center of her face. She waits for Papa to laugh and call her ugly, or silly, or anything else that she's imagined he would say at this, but he doesn't do any of that.

Instead, he smiles at her, kisses her right atop her zit-ridden nose, and says, "There's my beautiful chérie."

How can she be beautiful when she's like this? He's probably lying to make her feel better, and her stomach churns at the mere thought.

Papa brushes her hair back with a gentle hand and looks her in the eyes. "There is nothing wrong. You're my beautiful Madeline," he assures.

"B-But don't you see it?"

"See what?"

"The pimple!"

Papa lifts a brow in astonishment, as though just noticing the offending mark and says, "Oh, that? Everyone gets spots at your age. We'll stop by the drugstore and get some facial cleanser for you, if you'd like. Now, are you ready to go to school?"

Now she really does feel silly. If Papa didn't make such a big deal out of it, does that mean no one else will either? Or maybe he's just trying to fool her into thinking everything is okay. Regardless, whatever his motive is, it works, because Madeline gets the strength to stand up and follow him out of the room, feeling surprisingly better.

And suddenly, she doesn't feel so alone anymore.

There he is—standing by his locker and talking to one of his friends in that suave way of his. Everything he does makes Madeline swoon against her will. His shaggy, unkempt hair, his twinkling eyes, the way he walks, stands, talks, and looks out at the world. It's all so mesmerizing to watch, and she wonders if he has ever snuck a glance her way. Does he know she's there in the distance, smiling at him? Most of the time, it just feels like she's a ghost to him.

She has thought about approaching him but has never had the courage to actually do so. She could sneak a note into his locker or go right up to him and say hello, but it's all so daunting that she usually manages to chase the thought out of her mind before she ever gets the chance to act.

"Hello? Earth to Madeline? You okay?" Amelia asks her, following her gaze to where Gilbert is standing. "Oh, my God. Could you be any more obvious? Don't just stare at him."

Madeline blushes and quickly looks away and down at her feet. Amelia is right. She's being too forward, and guys don't like girls who are forward, right? You're supposed to play hard to get—make yourself desired and mystical and...

"I could talk to him for you, if you want," Amelia suggests.

"No!" she practically screams, shocking herself with the loudness of her own voice. "You can't do that! It would be embarrassing. Besides, the guy is supposed to be the one to talk to the girl first."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Is not," Amelia insists, crossing her arms. "If I liked a boy, I'd walk right up to him and tell him so. What's so wrong with that? It makes things a lot easier instead of wondering all of the time if they like you back."

"How would you know?" Madeline snaps back at her, instantly regretting how sharp her tone is.

Amelia frowns. "Fine, I'm outta here. I'll see you later."

Darn it. All of this is Gilbert's fault. Because of him, Amelia's mad at her and is going to need to be appeased at some point, which means Madeline will have to offer to do her homework or something equally tedious.

She grasps the strap of her backpack tightly, spins around on her heel, and runs after Amelia to apologize.

Amelia is more discreet with her insecurities, and Madeline knows this to be a fact. She'll stand in front of their mirror in nothing but her training bra and shorts and say things like, "Am I getting chubby?"

There will be this odd look in her eyes, something akin to disappointment, and then she'll turn away from the mirror and act as though she never said anything in the first place. Madeline knows Amelia will never explicitly say how she feels or what's bugging her. She'll just mope and sulk until she forgets about it, and by that point, Madeline will have usually forgotten as well, and they continue about their day.

But then, there are things that aren't so easily ignored or forgotten.

In the spring, just as the winter's cold breath seems to begin its retreat and the days become longer, Amelia stops eating the lunch Papa packs for her. Sometimes, she'll take a few bites of fruit like an apple or banana, but she doesn't touch her sandwich or the leftovers Papa usually puts together for them.

When Madeline asks her about it, Amelia blinks back at her nonchalantly and makes up some excuse about how she's not hungry or that she doesn't like eating during this time of the day. She makes her promise not to tell Papa or Dad, and although Madeline doesn't want to make that kind of promise, Amelia is persistent.

At home, Amelia eats a little less than she normally does, but it isn't that noticeable unless one is making a conscious effort to notice. She cuts out any snacks, but she eats breakfast and dinner just as always. Lunch, however, becomes nonexistent for her after a while. Every day of every week, Amelia casts her lunch aside and skips the meal. Madeline tries to confront her once or twice, but every time she tries to say something, Amelia accuses her of being a bad sister for even suggesting she start eating again.

"Don't you want me to be skinny?"

"No. Why do you have to be skinny? You look fine," Madeline tells her.

"I'm fat," Amelia says, spitting the word 'fat' with a kind of bitterness that Madeline has never seen her express.

There is no reasoning with her. She's dead-set on believing she needs to lose weight, and Madeline backs down because there isn't anything she can say to make things better. She wants to tell someone what Amelia has been doing, but she promised not to, and Madeline has never broken one of her sister's promises. She doesn't want to be a snitch nor does she want to lose Amelia's trust.

So she lowers her head and pretends she doesn't see any of it.

"Don't move, or you'll ruin it!"

"Okay! I'm not moving."

"Is everything all right in here?"

Arthur isn't sure what he intends to see when he walks into the master bedroom. Francis is sitting on the carpet next to their bed, holding out his hand to Amelia as she applies a coat of purple nail polish to his nails, very focused on giving him a good manicure. Madeline, meanwhile, is working on his feet, which have been painted a neon green.

"Ah, I'm sorry for interrupting. I didn't know we were running a salon in here," Arthur says once he has recovered his voice. "I-I'll just be on my way then."

"Oh, no you don't, Arthur! Come back here!" Francis shouts, smiling with his eyes. "Wouldn't you like to join us? I'm sure we can find you the perfect color to bring out your features."

Arthur tries not to choke on air as he replies, "Thank you, but I think I'll—"

"Yeah, Dad! Come on! We can do your nails next!" Amelia exclaims with a pearly white grin before gesturing to a vacant spot on the carpet. "Pretty, pretty please?"

"I think not," Arthur rasps, paling. It's time to draw a line somewhere. The girls already have him wrapped around their fingers, and he gives into them far too often, but not this time. No, he'll be strong. He will not allow himself to be—.

"Please, Dad?" Madeline murmurs sweetly, making his heart melt. It's far easier to yell at Amelia and tell her no than it is to deny Madeline.

"A-All right," he says in abject defeat before plopping himself down next to Francis. How did he get to this point? Who gave his children the right to be so adorable? It's maddening!

Francis chuckles at his dilemma and cheerfully examines the bottles of nail polish lined up next to him. Moving the hand that's not being worked on by Amelia, he picks up a blindingly bright pink bottle and says, "I think this color would complement your green eyes."

Arthur doesn't hesitate to glare at his husband, not impressed. He snatches the bottle out of Francis' hands and looks at the label. The color is horrendously called 'Rock N' Roll Pink.'

"Oooh, that one's nice," Amelia comments, and Arthur can't tell if she's teasing him or not. "Maddie's almost done with Papa's toes, and then she'll do yours."

"Ahh, I think I'll pass on the pedicure today, ladies. Just a manicure for me."

"But then what is Maddie going to do while I'm doing your hands? It's not fair to her!"

And yes, Amelia has a blasted point. If he's going to be tortured, then both of the girls need an equal opportunity at torturing him, naturally. "Okay, I'm convinced. How much is all of this going to cost me?"

"Toes are three dollars extra," Madeline informs, finishing the top coat on Francis's pinkie-toe.

Arthur sucks in a breath and says, "Three dollars? I'm going to leave here with an empty wallet, aren't I? But all right, do as you must. Beauty isn't free these days. Remind me to send you both to business school."

He slumps over and gets comfortable because odds are he's going to be here a while. He leans into Francis's shoulder, so they can rest side-by-side, and as Madeline starts putting that damned 'Rock N' Roll Pink' on his left foot, Francis rubs a stubbly cheek against his and pecks him with a kiss, evidently proud of him for letting the girls do this.

"You owe me a cup of tea," Arthur grumbles lowly.

"I know," Francis snickers. "I'll make it up to you."

Except he has a lot of making up to do, because as it turns out, they don't have any nail polish remover in the house, and so when Arthur gets up for work the following morning, he almost scrubs his fingers raw as he tries to get the color off. Ultimately, he's left with no choice but to show up to work with his lovely manicure, and he has a lot of explaining to do throughout the day as his patients give him funny looks.

One patient, an elderly woman with osteoporosis and chronic back pain who just recently has been coming to the office, jokingly asks if the pink nails are part of some kind of new hobby of his. She seems like the type of person who has seen all there is to see in life.

"I have two daughters," he tells her with a dejected air.

"Oh," she says approvingly, immediately understanding. "In that case, you're a good father, dear."

She's going to tell on Amelia. She has to. For the past four weeks, she hasn't been able to look her sister directly in the eyes because she's been ridden with a feeling of foreboding and frustration. And thankfully, she gets her chance one Saturday evening.

"Amelia, come and try these jeans on. They're a little too long for Madeline, but you're an inch taller so they should fit better on you," Papa says, handing the pants over to Amelia as she walks into her room to change.

She obediently puts on the jeans and buttons them before opening the door to show Papa. He's right, they're perfect in terms of their length, however, they're loose around her waist, which is surprising because Amelia has been wearing the same size of clothes for a while now after having an early growth spurt.

Papa looks at her worriedly and says, "When did you lose this much weight?"

Amelia bites her lip and shrugs her shoulders, pretending to be oblivious. "The style of the jeans is just bigger."

But Papa isn't buying any of it. "Arthur!"

Madeline watches the scene unfold from the doorway, and within seconds, she hears Dad lower the volume of the T.V. in the living room and come up the stairs. He places a warm hand on her head as he passes her and walks into Amelia's room.

"Yes?"

"Look, she must have lost at least five kilos!" Papa exclaims, emphasizing how much the jeans are sagging off of Amelia's hips by tugging on the waistband of the fabric.

Dad furrows his eyebrows and kneels down in front of Amelia to have a better look at her frame. He puts a hand on either of her sides and is surprised when he can quite easily feel her ribs poking through. "Have you been feeling all right, love? Eating normally?"

Amelia nods her head.

"Amelia, it's expected for your weight to fluctuate because you're growing, but this is quite a drastic change. Are you being completely honest with me? I won't be angry if something is going on, but I need to know," Dad continues, very serious and firm. "Are you certain there isn't anything you'd like to tell me?"

She nods her head again, and this time, Madeline can't stand for the lies any longer. She musters her courage, hugs her stuffed polar bear to her chest for reassurance, and steps into the room.

"She's lying. She's been throwing away her lunches."

Dad twists his head around to look at her, stunned. Then, he looks back to Amelia. "Is that true?"

Amelia grits her teeth and yells, "You promised! You're the worst sister ever! I can't tell you anything anymore! I hate you!"

Now Papa becomes stern. "Don't speak to your sister that way. She's worried about you. We all are."

Amelia tries to storm away, but Dad grabs her by the arm and pulls her back. He sits her on her bed, and when she starts thrashing to break free, he holds her by her wrists and calmly says, "We're going to talk about this like adults. This is a serious matter, Amelia. But first, apologize to your sister."

"No!"

And Madeline can't help but cry because all she wanted to do was help. She doesn't want Amelia to hate her for the rest of her life. They do everything together, and she doesn't want that to change.

Dad and Papa exchange a glance, and then Papa takes Madeline by the hand and leads her out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen, which is always where they go to talk one-to-one.

"You did the right thing, mon lapin. Everything will be all right, and Amelia will come around. You'll see."

Even so, she still feels like a traitor.

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"It's not a matter of what you want."

"You wouldn't understand anyway."

"Yes, because I've never been at your age," Arthur says sarcastically before letting out a long sigh. He takes a seat on the bed next to Amelia and pinches the bridge of his nose. True, the social pressures on girls are far different from those placed on boys, but that doesn't mean he's completely unknowledgeable about such body issues. "Amelia, you know it's very dangerous to skip meals. It's not a healthy way to lose weight, nor does it last in the long-term."

He's preaching too much, and he can tell Amelia isn't taking a word he's saying to heart. So, he switches tactics. He doesn't like having to recall his own miserable childhood, but if it'll help…

"When I was eleven, I was shorter than all of the other boys in my class, and there wasn't a millimeter of muscle on my bones. I was also the youngest of four, and so, all of my brothers had already grown into their bodies and looked far more masculine, so to speak. I tried lifting weights to become stronger, but I—of course—took on more than I could manage and ended up dropping a weight on my foot and breaking two bones, so that's how well that turned out," he recalls, laughing tiredly at the memory. "In short, I was doing more harm than good by trying to change myself. Within three years, I outgrew youngest brother and by the time I was done with secondary school, I was the same height as my eldest brother."

A small smile crosses Amelia's face, but it fades quickly. "Why would you want to be all muscly, anyway?"

"Because I thought that was how a 'man' was supposed to look. Amelia, my point is that they are always going to be things you wish you could change about yourself. If it's not your weight or height, it'll be your nose, or your eyes, or your hair. And there will always be people who will try to make you believe that you should change yourself or that you need to be different in order to be accepted by others, but all of that is complete and utter rubbish. There is nothing wrong with the way you look, and there was nothing wrong with the way I looked either. It's just a matter of perspective and attitude," he explains, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"You have to teach yourself to drown out those critics, the ones outside as well as inside. Who wants to waste their whole life worrying about how they look when there are so many other things you could be doing? Life is too short to constantly be at battle with oneself. Besides, I like this Amelia, and I wouldn't want her to change a thing," he says fondly. "And you're far, far, far too young to be worrying about dieting. You're a healthy young girl, and if there was a real reason for concern, we would take care of it. But since there isn't, I want you to eat the lunches that your papa works so hard to make. All right?"

Amelia begrudgingly nods her head, and Arthur can tell that this time she will remember his lecture.

"Where's my hug, ladybug?"

The smiles comes back to her face, and she embraces him, face tucked against his neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Make things right with your sister, okay?"

"Okay."

"You'll also be washing dishes for the rest of the week for lying and for being rude to Madeline," Arthur declares.

"I figured."