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making things worse.” My voice is rising. “If you keep gaining weight, you’ll never become a companion. You won’t even be good enough to be a concubine.”
    No man likes a fat girl. We have been told this since design.
    “Why are you getting so angry?” she asks. “It’s not your body.”
    “I’m not angry,” I say, breathing to calm myself, to control these Unacceptable Emotions. “I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid for you.”
    “Afraid of what?”
    I can’t say the real words out loud so I just say, “I’m afraid they’ll make you become a chastity.”
    “Would that be so terrible?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “Why is it ridiculous? It sounds . . .” she breaks off, searching for the right word, “peaceful.”
    “But . . .”
    But we’ve always wanted to be companions, I want to say. This is what we have wanted since we were in 4th year, learning how to change diapers on our training dolls in Little mama classes. We were going to raise our sons as best friends. Don’t you remember?
    But I do not say this. If I remember and she doesn’t, it seems like I care more than she does. And that would make me vulnerable.
    “Did you go to the chamber?” I ask instead.
    “Yes. Just two-pound weights. But the humidity was crazy.”
    “What was your Improvement soundtrack like?”
    “I didn’t have one.”
    “You got off lightly,” I reply, surprised.
    I’ve only been in the chamber once, after I broke my leg when I fell from that tree in the garden when I was four. I gained five pounds and while I ran on the treadmill I had to listen to “Fat girls must be made obsolete” on a loop for two hours every day for three weeks until I was back in control. I had assumed the chastisements became more demanding with each term. It’s for our own good, I suppose. I know .
    “How long will you have to attend for?”
    “Until my weight is acceptable. They’ve upped the kcal blockers as well.”
    “I thought they said it wasn’t safe to do that.”
    “No choice, I guess.”
    Her voice cracks, as if she swallowed back a sob midsentence. Is she crying ? She knows we are not allowed tocry and, unlike me, isabel has never had a problem obeying that rule, her easy smiles the touchstone of my childhood. I freeze, glad of the dark so that I can pretend I didn’t notice. I listen to her labored breathing and I want to shake her, I’m so exasperated by her sudden inability to follow the rules like the rest of us. What does she want from me? Does she want me to comfort her? Am I supposed to care after months of silence, isabel ruthlessly unknotting any ties of friendship between us. But I do care. That’s the problem. Years of our shared memories are steeped in my blood. It would take leeches to suck them out.
    I move toward her, crouching down beside her to take her limp hand in mine. She pulls it away, rejecting me again, and my stomach clenches with hurt. But there’s anger there too, anger at my stupidity at ever having allowed someone to get close enough to have the power to hurt me.
    “So, what happened at PE?” she asks, inhaling deeply.
    “Nothing,” I reply sullenly, my knees cracking as I stand up. “We had better get to class.”
    “The Monday votes from the Euro-Zone have been counted and your updated rankings are now available online.”
    There is a scurry of activity as eFones are snatched from bags and pockets to check how valuable we are this week. megan is first again, followed by liz and jessie in second and third place. I scroll down and down until I find my face. I’ve dropped from #8 to #10.
    “It’s not too bad,” cara says kindly. “The top ten are still definite companions.”
    Easy for her to say, steady at #4. daria and gisele commiserate with me, saying they’re “soooo sorry” and that they hope I won’t be mad that my falling to tenth place has bumped their rankings up. Maybe I should bribe chastity-anne to mix gisele’s meds again. See how high she