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it through without You. But Matt Taylor? Seriously? Are you trying to tempt me? To see how I'd react?
    I'm just… I'm tired of being Big. I don't want to be like this anymore. For once, I'd like to be the little people in the picture. The after photos. If you could help me with that, you know, without making me deathly ill or having to throw up, I'd appreciate it. In Jesus's name I pray, Amen.
    I rolled over a few times, unable to get comfortable, and finally settled on staring at the ceiling.
    I knew a few things for certain: if I wasn't Big, Kendra wouldn't have anything to make fun of me for. If I didn't block doors, Caleb wouldn't have any reason to push me. If I were skinny, Matt Taylor might want to be more than acquaintances… more than friends.
    If I were skinny, my life would be so different.

 
    Chapter Five
     
    I woke up the next morning to a growling stomach but a new determination. After I took a few seconds to stretch my stiff muscles, I went to my laptop and pulled up the weight loss website I'd signed up for the night before. At the top was a tab for weight loss goals and how much exercise/calories it would take to get there. I typed in my far-reaching goal and sat back in my chair, waiting. The plan it popped up with shocked me at first. It would take nearly two months to lose just ten pounds.
    Not acceptable. I needed to lose twenty-five in about the same time frame.
    Messing with the guided plans didn't result in the weight loss I wanted, so I went to custom. If I only ate nine hundred calories a day, I could lose almost three pounds a week. That would let me lose the twenty pounds in almost seven weeks, an acceptable time frame. Three three-hundred calorie meals a day wouldn't be bad. Why hadn't I tried this before?
    I shut the laptop, trying my best to ignore the note in red at the bottom: WARNING, A HEALTHY DIET CONSISTS OF AT LEAST TWELVE HUNDRED CALORIES A DAY.
    Eating only nine hundred calories would make me lose weight, which in turn would make me more healthy, right? I was sure the large, red warning wasn't for me. Or so I told myself anyway.
    I had a feeling this would be one of the hardest things I'd ever tried. And even more so because I didn't want to tell my mom. Sure, she'd be excited for me to be little like her, but I didn't think she would approve of my timeline or the way I planned on doing it. To that end, she didn't have to know. If she asked, I'd tell her lots of exercise. It wouldn't be a total lie. A few years ago, I'd gotten one of those dance games for my game console. I could shake my bottom an hour every night and lose more inches.
    A plan, I had. A great plan. Maybe not the healthiest plan, but a plan nonetheless.
    Noticing how close I was to being late for school, I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and hair. Judging by the fogged over bathroom window, it appeared to be in the twenties outside, so I decided to leave my hair down so my ears could stay warm. Plus, I wouldn't have to count my chins (a bonus). I didn't have time to straighten my hair though, so it hung around my shoulders in a wavy mess.
    For the first time in forever, I put on a little make up. Nothing major. A little pink eye shadow, brown mascara, and a shade of lip gloss which gave my lips a hint of extra color. Looking in the mirror, I felt a bit stupid, so I wiped the lip gloss off and put on my normal chap stick. There, not too terrible.
    With time running out before I missed my bus, I ran to my room and grabbed a pair of jeans just big enough they didn't make a muffin top and a long-sleeved black shirt. Black slimmed even the biggest figure, of course.
    I took half a second to look in the mirror.
    Decent.
    I went to grab my new white coat from my computer chair when it hit me: I couldn't wear it. Not only did it have a big stain and hole from the marker board, but did I truly want to look like a movie marshmallow man or cartoon tire guy? Did I tell my mom about it so she could fix it, or did I let