A/N: Dear God, I am so tired. I spent 3 hours last night at Planned Parenthood, calling these people about giving teens the right to have an abortion without telling their parents. I got called a slut, a bitch, a dirty whore, and I don't even remember what else. Then I came home and wrote this chapter, after that I did my Government paper, and I still have my geometry homework to work on at lunch and break today. How will I live? Sorry, no review answers this time, I'm too damn tired. Send me more and I'll answer next time? wink wink nudge nudge Yeah, but thanks to: Daisyangel, Linwe Melwasul, and, of course, Silver Hair Fox. Your reviews made the nice end to an otherwise dismal day. Enjoy the chapter!

XoXoXoXoX

The next Monday, Sara and Catherine walked to school together. Catherine was swinging her arms and humming "New Slang" by The Shins, slightly off key but cheery nonetheless. Sara walked behind her, staring at her feet and holding her backpack up to her chest, her skinny arms poking, skeletal, out of the sleeves of her t-shirt.

"Shame that Gil didn't actually want to speak to you privately," Sara suddenly said. "I know how much you wanted that to happen."

Catherine looked back and grinned. "I've accepted that it's probably not going to happen. That was just the most sure-fire way I could get you to come with me. It's all in the good."

Sara nodded, her eyes turned downwards. Catherine looked over her shoulder and said casually, "You should eat more. You're nothing but skin and bones!"

Wide-eyed, Sara stared at Catherine in disbelief. "What are you talking about? I'm so fat!"

Rolling her eyes, Cathy stuck her tongue out at Sara. "Come on, you know you're thinner than any showgirl in the Tangiers! Or anywhere else, for that matter." She looked into Sara's eyes and the laughter faded from her face.

"She's serious," Cath thought. "She thinks she's fat." Knowing it wasn't the time, nor the place, to talk about such a delicate issue, she dropped the subject and picked up her humming again.

XoXoXoXoX

In P.E., Nick looked down at Sara, noticing just how thin she'd become. It seemed that, at the beginning of the year, she'd been skinny, her face sharp and angular, bony. But now, as he gaped at her arms, her legs, her pencil-thin neck, he thought that the beginning-of-the-year Sara didn't know half of what angular and bony was.

She saw him staring and smiled, her gap-toothed grin spreading across her small face like butter over bread. She seemed so small, so miniscule, something he wanted to catch in a jar and keep next to his bed, just to make sure she didn't break. Like she might turn to dust if you breathed on her wrong. Nick smiled sadly, noticing the way, when her t-shirt would ride above the waistband of her gym shorts, her hips stuck out too far, and her skin was so tight across her ribs that he might have been able to count them.

"What is she doing to herself?" he thought, as if seeing her for the first time. "Who is doing this to her?" He refused to believe that Sara, who was so smart and kind, would harm herself intentionally. He knew she wouldn't fall for the depressed, emo teenager shit. She would scoff at the idea of herself, a science genius with a buttload of friends, putting her own life at risk.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, Nick picked up the baseball bat on the plate and swung it hard, wishing he could only smack all of Sara's worries away, help her, keep her sane.

Sara, standing behind Nick, noticed his muscles tense as the bat smashed into the ball, sending it out over the baseball field. "Like he's doing it for a purpose," she thought. "Like he wants to save the world."

XoXoXoXoX

At lunch that day, Sara hardly ate anything. She felt full, like she'd eaten a full three-course dinner, yet she wasn't satisfied. Taking a nibble of her sandwich now and then, she tried to content herself with the dry bread and peanut butter. Natasha noticed, and was slightly worried.

"Do you not like that sandwhich? You can have half of mine," she said, holding out half a turkey sandwich and grinning. She knew Sara was eating too little, the evidence was clear in the way every bone in her arms were visible.

Sara shook her head. "I'm feeling a little bit sick today," she lied, taking a small bite of her own peanut butter and jelly. "Hey, I'll be right back, I'm going to run to the bathroom.

The moment she'd passed through the cafeteria doors, Heather stood up. "I'll be right back," she said, and followed Sara, tailing her carefully, hiding in alcoves along the hallway. She gave a few seconds after Sara had gone into the bathroom, then followed her inside, discovering the unmistakable sounds of retching coming from the only occupied stall.

Sara stopped when she saw Heather. She said nothing, didn't move a muscle. She was weighing Heather's reaction, trying to gauge how much she'd heard, she'd seen, she knew.

"I thought so," was all she said, looking Sara up and down. "I know what it's like, believe me. The feeling of not being good enough. My parents started me out as a child model when I was six, and I hated it from the start. The same greasy, old men taking my picture, always moving me around, their flashbulbs were so bright that I couldn't see for minutes afterward. The stars in my eyes. They were stealing my soul, selling it to magazines, big-name companies. They bought me, not as a person. I was property. And they always wanted a newer version. My parents didn't want to lose their 'business,' they thought no one else would take me. They would call me fat, ugly, stupid. I could just sit in my room and cry, but that never did any good. I wanted to help my family, I wanted to be pretty. So I purged. I started when I was eight. I would eat, and I could throw it up and it would be like I'd never eaten at all. But then eating became too much of a hassle. I'd fake sick, hide the food I was given, anything for a perfect, skinny body. But it hurt me in the end. I was hospitalized at age nine. I went into the care of a doctor in Canada for a year, and she helped me cure myself. For the first time in my life, I could feel good about who I was. And let me tell you, that's a lot better than being the thinnest or the prettiest."

Sara watched and listened, hearing Heather's tale from beginning to end. She wondered why her friend had ever wanted to change herself, she was so perfect and beautiful already. Suddenly, she spoke. "That won't work for me. I am ugly, I'm fat. This is something I need to do, or the only people in life for me will be Ecklies. I can't allow that to happen."

Just then, Heather moved forward and wrapped her arms around Sara. "He didn't deserve you. You're beautiful."

For no reason, Sara began to cry. She wasn't sure what she was crying for, whether it was for Heather's terrible past or her own dark future, or something else entirely. She let her bottled-up feelings out, tears expressing the words that failed her. They stood together, clasped in an embrace full of sorrow, until the bell rang.

Sara looked up, dried her eyes, and sniffled a little. "Thanks, Heather. I'm going to get better, I know I will."

Heather smiled a sad, melancholy smile and left the bathroom, leaving Sara to sort out her thoughts and go to class alone.

No one asked what had happened in the bathroom, subconsciously, they all knew about Sara's bulimia, her fight against herself, always on the losing team. Nick and Greg, especially, wondered just what had gone on, but both of them knew that you just had to have been there. If you miss it, you miss it. It's in the past, now.