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the chorus.
    That mouthy boy from Jeremy’s table—
What’s his name? Trent?
—had already moved on. He began talking loudly about some upcoming football match up against a rival school. Butnot everyone was done with me. The next voice I heard was Jeremy’s, at a pitch just soft enough not to create another scene, but just loud enough for his friends and Anna’s to hear.
    â€œNew boyfriend, Anna? I didn’t know you liked them so big. But that’s cool, babe. I dig chicks with fetishes. Just be careful he doesn’t crush you, huh? Wouldn’t want you to suffocate.”
    Then, with perfect timing, as if he planned it, he reached out a hand at the very moment I brushed past him, pretending not to hear, and flicked the fallen chunk of beef from my shirt. “Or get dirty.”
    I didn’t even break my stride. I kept my focus on the double doors that led out of the cafeteria and let new sounds continue to flood into my ears. I relished the return of the soda machine hums, the crackle of a bag of chips opening, the peal of laughter from kids who had returned to their personal conversations. Every sound was a new instrument joining the swell of a symphony. I let them all crash over me until I reached the doors and escaped into the blissfully silent hallway beyond, my sandwich still clutched in my fist.

Chapter 6
    â€œTwo Big Mike’s burgers, fully loaded, with a double order of sweet potato fries, a chocolate-cherry shaker, and an apple pie pocket.”
    â€œWill that be all?”
    No, probably not, but that’s all for this stop
.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSixteen seventy-two at the window. Please pull around.”
    I paid for my food and found a shady spot to park the BMW. Charlie Parker blared from the stereo as I inhaled. Two burgers, two sides, and two desserts later, I tossed the empty containers into the passenger seat. I couldn’t remember what anything had tasted like, and now I had an appetite for Mexican food. I steered the Beemer toward my favorite taco stand.
    I was supposed to be in fifth-period advanced history. But when I’d left the cafeteria, I had just kept walking—right downthe hallway, past my next class and my locker, straight to my car, fishing keys out of my pocket as I went. Anna had the right idea the day before, cutting class. It was exhilarating. I could go anywhere I wanted, do anything I wanted—total freedom.
    But as soon as I’d revved the engine and pulled out of the school lot, I was lost. Where the hell was I supposed to go at twelve thirty in the afternoon? Home? Not likely. Mom would be there and want to know why I wasn’t in class. Tucker’s? Tucker was homeschooled, and since our moms didn’t know each other, she wasn’t likely to call up and tattle on me. But as I’d thought of Tucker’s skinny face, I’d somehow ended up at a drive-through window.
    And now I was at another one. The cashier paused for only a moment when she saw my size and the remains of my other meal. Then she passed me my change and hastily averted her eyes. The tacos were even less filling than the burgers, so I moved on to a greasy chicken joint.
    My stomach growled.
More
.
    I ate my chicken wraps on the way to the teriyaki takeout place, but I saved my stir-fry until I found an empty lot to park in. When the last grain of rice was gone, I tossed the bowl on top of the pile of hollow cups, taco wrappers, and burger boxes.
    I wasn’t hungry anymore, but I was far from full. I somehow felt emptier with every bite.
    As if to prove otherwise, I could suddenly feel the contents of my stomach pushing upward into my throat, and I barely had time to open the door before all of my fast food came rocketing out of me,
Exorcist
style. I tasted more of it coming up than I did going down. Afterward, I felt cleansed, even alittle bit high; for a moment I could almost see the appeal of bulimia. But the sour sick taste that