Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) by Jenny Ruden Page B
Authors: Jenny Ruden
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everyoneâs file and downed about half of the care packages. My brain said:
Do not eat this gorgeous peanut butter cup, Bethany.
Ignore its scalloped edges. Bypass the Wheat Thins. Just say no. Get yourself some water.
Only fourteen hours âtil breakfast. Remember TJ. Remember The Forgiveness Diet â¦
But then the voice got real quiet. This might have been due to the fact it was drowned out by the sound of my own crunching. A more intelligent person would have listened to her brain. I knew I shouldâve, I just didnât. I like to eat. I love to eat. Iâm embarrassed by this, which, for whatever reason, makes me hungrier. You try rattling a package of Sno-Caps in the face of hunger. Let me know what happens.
Next were the files. They were more addicting than the sweets. Well, as addicting. On each application parents had to write why their kid needed fat camp, then the camper had to write why they thought they needed to go. Tampa Bayâs parents wrote, We need Simon out of the house for at least eight weeks, as we are divorcing. He is also overweight. This will kill two birds with one stone. Simon wrote, I need to be better at ball.
Hollywoodâs dad wrote, Though I maintain some serious reservations about sending my daughter to Utopia, she needs help. She says sheâs better, but Iâm not sure. She needs to learn how to eat again, in a healthy manner. Iâm confident in your reputation as well as mine that these concerns will be addressed. Amber Gold wrote, I want to be a size 2. Pleeeeaaaassssseee. Think of the PR!
Utopia required campers to send a picture, so in everyoneâs file a photograph was paper-clipped to the inside flap. Hollywood stood on a wooden pierâthe ocean rolling out behind her. Her hair was down and wind-blown, natch, but the sexy surfer guy, who stood next to her, didnât seem to care. Hollywood was looking down at her bare feet, her palm covering her eyes, trying to talk the person out of taking the picture. Not now , I could practically hear her. Not wearing this. Her shirt was folded into a halterâits bottom tucked through the neck. Her belly pushed out a little.
In the other files, most campers stood outside a McMansion, smiling aquafreshingly. Some were by a pool. Cambridge did look just about perfect in her private schoolâs navy blue jacket with gold-threaded lettering. She wore equestrian pants, a riding cap, a crop by her side. Someone had printed Tabitha and Ace 2013 on the bottom. Who was Ace? I looked behind Cambridge toward the multicolored leaves and saw, in the background, a giant white horse. Cambridge had a frickinâ horse? Lilianaâs picture, though, took the cake. She stood outside her brotherâs truck in the craziest outfit Iâd ever seenâa short denim skirt with rainbow feathersâ feathers!â sewn across the bottom. Her bangs were dyed a ballpoint red and her dizzy black and white socks stretched to her thighs. She was positively adorable. Hanging out the truckâs window, just barely noticeable, was Gabeâsaluting the camera with his middle finger. No doubt that brother of hers was a troublemaker. He wasnât bad looking, though, and in a parallel universe where I didnât happen to be in love with a magician in Baltimore, I might have even called him cute.
On my application, my mom wrote, This picture should speak for itself. In the place where Iâm supposed to write, she did loopy handwriting that didnât look like mine at all. It read, To attend Camp Utopia would be a dream come true. In my photograph, I stood next to Jackie outside our row house. Doug had taken the picture last spring.
âLook pretty,â heâd said, âif you can.â
Miss Marcia made little notes on my file: Motivation? Anger? Only .8 loss!!!! Then yesterday, under comments, she wrote: Funny.
20
CRABBY WITHOUT YOU
SATURDAY NIGHT. DAY fifteen of fat camp. Day five of Operation
Do not eat this gorgeous peanut butter cup, Bethany.
Ignore its scalloped edges. Bypass the Wheat Thins. Just say no. Get yourself some water.
Only fourteen hours âtil breakfast. Remember TJ. Remember The Forgiveness Diet â¦
But then the voice got real quiet. This might have been due to the fact it was drowned out by the sound of my own crunching. A more intelligent person would have listened to her brain. I knew I shouldâve, I just didnât. I like to eat. I love to eat. Iâm embarrassed by this, which, for whatever reason, makes me hungrier. You try rattling a package of Sno-Caps in the face of hunger. Let me know what happens.
Next were the files. They were more addicting than the sweets. Well, as addicting. On each application parents had to write why their kid needed fat camp, then the camper had to write why they thought they needed to go. Tampa Bayâs parents wrote, We need Simon out of the house for at least eight weeks, as we are divorcing. He is also overweight. This will kill two birds with one stone. Simon wrote, I need to be better at ball.
Hollywoodâs dad wrote, Though I maintain some serious reservations about sending my daughter to Utopia, she needs help. She says sheâs better, but Iâm not sure. She needs to learn how to eat again, in a healthy manner. Iâm confident in your reputation as well as mine that these concerns will be addressed. Amber Gold wrote, I want to be a size 2. Pleeeeaaaassssseee. Think of the PR!
Utopia required campers to send a picture, so in everyoneâs file a photograph was paper-clipped to the inside flap. Hollywood stood on a wooden pierâthe ocean rolling out behind her. Her hair was down and wind-blown, natch, but the sexy surfer guy, who stood next to her, didnât seem to care. Hollywood was looking down at her bare feet, her palm covering her eyes, trying to talk the person out of taking the picture. Not now , I could practically hear her. Not wearing this. Her shirt was folded into a halterâits bottom tucked through the neck. Her belly pushed out a little.
In the other files, most campers stood outside a McMansion, smiling aquafreshingly. Some were by a pool. Cambridge did look just about perfect in her private schoolâs navy blue jacket with gold-threaded lettering. She wore equestrian pants, a riding cap, a crop by her side. Someone had printed Tabitha and Ace 2013 on the bottom. Who was Ace? I looked behind Cambridge toward the multicolored leaves and saw, in the background, a giant white horse. Cambridge had a frickinâ horse? Lilianaâs picture, though, took the cake. She stood outside her brotherâs truck in the craziest outfit Iâd ever seenâa short denim skirt with rainbow feathersâ feathers!â sewn across the bottom. Her bangs were dyed a ballpoint red and her dizzy black and white socks stretched to her thighs. She was positively adorable. Hanging out the truckâs window, just barely noticeable, was Gabeâsaluting the camera with his middle finger. No doubt that brother of hers was a troublemaker. He wasnât bad looking, though, and in a parallel universe where I didnât happen to be in love with a magician in Baltimore, I might have even called him cute.
On my application, my mom wrote, This picture should speak for itself. In the place where Iâm supposed to write, she did loopy handwriting that didnât look like mine at all. It read, To attend Camp Utopia would be a dream come true. In my photograph, I stood next to Jackie outside our row house. Doug had taken the picture last spring.
âLook pretty,â heâd said, âif you can.â
Miss Marcia made little notes on my file: Motivation? Anger? Only .8 loss!!!! Then yesterday, under comments, she wrote: Funny.
20
CRABBY WITHOUT YOU
SATURDAY NIGHT. DAY fifteen of fat camp. Day five of Operation
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