Cracked by K. M. Walton

pulls a rubber band off of her wrist and shakes back her long blond hair; she twists it into one of those sloppy ponytails all the popular girls at my school wear. Then she kicks her slippers off and pulls her bare feet up onto the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs, and takes a few really dramatic breaths. It’s like she’s warming up for a big performance or something.
    “Yeah, it pretty much makes me sick, I swear. She acts like I don’t exist when he’s around. I could be shot between the eyes, and she wouldn’t notice. I mean, my mother doesn’t even really know this guy, and besides, he’s a fat slob. Sorry, Brian,” Lacey says.
    She’s obviously apologizing to the fat guy across from me. He’s huge.
    “S’okay.” Brian shrugs.
    Therapist Lisa says, “Now, Brian, why do you think it’s okay for Lacey to use the words ‘fat slob’?”
    He shifts in his chair. “Well, I really don’t care. She wasn’t calling me that, even though I’m sure every person in this circle thinks I am a fat slob. But she wasn’t talking about me.It wouldn’t matter anyway . . . been called it a freakin’ million times. Don’t care,” he says. And he shrugs again.
    “I’m sorry, Brian. That was ice cold, ice cold . . . like iceberg cold. I make myself sick sometimes, I swear,” Lacey says. She scrunches her face in obvious embarrassment before she puts her head down onto her knees.
    The circle is quiet for almost twenty seconds. Therapist Lisa lets the silence in. For not wanting to say a word, I’m finding this silence rather uncomfortable. I shift in my chair and the curly-haired girl catches my eye again. She yawns dramatically, and I give her a tiny smile. I don’t want any of these kids thinking I’m making light of their situations. That’s the last thing I need. Then Brian talks again.
    “You all think I like weighing four hundred and seven pounds? ’Cause I don’t. You think I like my face? ’Cause I don’t. And I really don’t like that both of my parents are whales. So’s my sister. You should see us all get out of our van. People stare. Little kids point. I make myself sick too, Lacey.”
    I study Brian and feel pretty sorry for him. He’s a heavy guy. As in, I’m kind of shocked they even had his size sweatsuit here. And even if he dropped two hundred pounds, he’d still have tiny eyes that are set way too close together, a big nose, and messed up teeth. I’m observing, not judging. I’d never want to make him feel bad about himself; I just don’thave it in me. Another observation? He’s clearly in a lot of pain right now.
    Therapist Lisa weighs in. “Is that why you tried to end your life, Brian?”
    “I wanted to die because I was sick of being stared at, and laughed at, called horrible names. Sick of no one in school ever seeing me. Me, not the weight—me. I was sick of my parents filling every cabinet, fridge shelf, and freezer—we have two freezers—with food. Tons and tons and tons of food. I couldn’t get away from it. I was sick of me and how I look. That’s why I wanted to end my life.”
    “How do you feel now? Right now?” Lisa asks him.
    “Hungry,” he says with a smile.
    That gets a laugh from the circle. Even I smile. Brian’s whole face changes when he smiles. He looks genuinely happy when he smiles, and not so broken.
    Lacey waves her hand; she has something to say. “I see you, Brian. Not the weight. I see you , I swear. Wanna know what I see?”
    He nods.
    She puts her feet back on the floor and leans forward a bit. “Well, I’ve only been in here with you for three days, but this place is sort of intense, so we probably get to know more about one another in one day than kids at school would get toknow about us in, like, a hundred years, right?” She pulls up her sleeves and smiles. “The Brian I see is funny. And I don’t mean funny-looking, I swear. I mean, you are seriously funny. You make us laugh every day. I see the Brian who really loves