Some of the thematic material in this story involves disordered eating and bingeing/purging. For more information or help with eating disorders, please contact the National Eating Disorders Association.
The visitors’ parking lot and a potential ticket, or the student lot and a half mile to Spanish?
By the time Alika Ferrer parks her mom’s gray Camry and walks to the Spanish room, the class will be over, and she will have missed the test and, worst of all, failed the class. Her GPA is hovering just over the 3.0 mark. It’s good enough to allow her to stay on the cheer squad for now, but her coach, Bobbie, is extra extra about grades. She checks them every week. Alika has never been in this situation before, and she doesn’t want to find out what Bobbie will do if one of her senior team captains is anything less than perfect.
Alika is sweating, unsure of what to do. If she gets another parking ticket, she’ll get a citation.
She makes her decision in a split second.
Don’t you dare, stupid b—
“I have no other choice!”
There’s always a choice and you always make the wrong one.
The voice doesn’t lie, technically, but it doesn’t tell the whole truth, either. Alika sighs. She’s trying. She really is. Except no one notices.
She swerves the car and swiftly parks right in front of the entrance. “I’ll be in and out within an hour. No one will notice. Everything will work out,” she says in a cheerful voice.
She grabs her battered pink backpack with her name embroidered in turquoise and runs inside.
Her throat throbs. It hurts all the time now. It’s not a virus, but she puts on a mask just in case.
You look psycho with the mask on. Now everyone is looking at you.
There’s no one around, and besides, Alika loves the mask.
Sometimes.
Especially the kind that’s pointy and leaves her a tiny space to breathe, to talk back to the teacher when they’re rude and not get in trouble, to hide her chapped lips. Her mom bought a whole box of them in all colors, but the forest-green one is her favorite. It matches the school colors, meaning, it matches her cheer outfit.
Not for long … this is your last year as a Musketeer, and you’re ruining everything.
Alika’s throat clenches again.
“Should I get a tardy slip at the office?” she mumbles.
Before the voice replies, she adds, “Or should I just go to class?”
Just go in the class already!
“I’m one of Señora McAvoy’s favorite students, after all.”
I have no idea why. You suck!
“Maybe she’ll let me help her clean her classroom in exchange for ignoring that I’m so late.”
The voice scoffs.
Some teachers are cool, but others are vicious.
For the last couple of years with the whole corona thing, most teachers were chill about rules. They had no other choice, actually. Not with people missing class every other week. In junior year, Alika had to quarantine three times even though she never had symptoms (other than the sore throat, but the virus wasn’t the cause of that). At least she could do remote, and her grades didn’t suffer at all.
But when her dad …
Don’t you dare think about Dad, the voice growls, and Alika shudders.
Well, the whole thing after Dad was definitely not easy, but she managed to keep her grades up.
But this year, it’s all back to pretending things are normal.
Whatever.
When you mess this up and Mom finds out …
Her mom left for a mountain cabin getaway with her friends last Thursday. She only agreed to go because Alika pinkie promised she was okay.
And she had been.
But on Friday, when her alarm went off, she snoozed it by accident and by the time she actually woke up, it was lunch. She doesn’t have a class for fourth on A days, so what was the point of going at all? She went online to triple-check the contact email wasn’t really her mom’s and went back to sleep.
Hours later, she went to cheer practice at the warehouse space two towns over. She’d breathed easier when, at 6:10, she got the absence notification. When Bobbie gave her the stink eye, the voice that had been a whisper for a couple of years turned into a roar.
We are the Musketeers! *CLAP* *CLAP* We are the Musketeers! Alika had sung, but she couldn’t hear herself over the voice in her head that repeated, No, you’re not. You’re a fraud. You’re a liar. How can you smile like that when inside you’re rotten and foul?
After the game, instead of going out with Hayley and Tori, her best friends, and the other senior cheer squad captains, Alika went home with the darkness inside her.
The whole weekend, she fought the urge to give in. But she lost.
When her mom texted to ask how she was doing, what could she really say? That she was slipping? Again?
Mom seemed so happy and cute in her Insta stories with her friends for the first time since her dad died. Alika couldn’t ruin it for her.
Contrary to what the voice said, she was not a bitch.
Yes you are. Yes you are, yes you ar—
This Monday morning couldn’t have started worse.
Alika turns the corner into the hallway that leads to the language department when a voice stops her in her tracks.
“Ali! Is that you? Can I talk to you for a second?”
Bobbie’s not wearing a mask, so Alika doesn’t even have to wonder if her coach is pissed.
Alika takes a deep breath and turns on the charm.
“Oh, hey, Bobbie! I love your outfit!”
You’re such a liar! You’re never going to get out of this. You should’ve stayed home. You’re never going to be like Bobbie.
Bobbie is like in her mid-thirties and has four little kids, but she looks freaking amazing for her age.
I love her.
I hate her.
She’s perfect.
She’s the whole package, blond and charming, and she has a big aura.
To look like her, lean and lithe, you’d have to be born again. With a new set of genes not built on empanadas and Argentine asados.
Besides being the cheer coach, Bobbie teaches E-commerce and Social Media. Today, she’s rocking an impeccable white pantsuit and black four-inch stilettos. She’s one of the many Utah Valley influencers. She looks the part.
Now her blue eyes are cold like Silver Lake up American Fork Canyon. But Alika holds her gaze.
“You’re just getting in? Late again?”
“Again? I’m never late.” Don’t scratch your head, you idiot! Your voice is too pitchy and defensive. Pull back a notch. “I was on time at the game. And we did great! The team won.”
She tries to conjure the feeling of euphoria of the boys beating the rival school. But she can’t.
Bobbie’s mouth quirks. “Babe, on time is late. You know the rules. You’re never on time to warm up and … Today, for example.”
Here it goes …
“Where were you for the freshman breakfast? It was at the middle school, and you never showed.”
You forgot the freshman breakfast! Why did you silence the phone, you useless piece of shit!
Bobbie studies Alika’s face in silence until her eyes soften.
See? You let her down.
“Have you been sick?”
Alika tries to swallow the knot in her throat, but it’s like a fish bone is stabbing her.
ANSWER HER!
“No … Yes…”
If you say you’re sick, she’ll send you home.
“I just have a sore throat. Allergies, you know?”
She isn’t buying it …
Bobbie puts a hand on Alika’s arm and presses lightly.
Alika takes a step back and crosses her arms.
As if it were a dance, Bobbie steps forward and grabs Alika’s hand.
Don’t show her a thing. Bury all the evidence. Soften your face!
Bobbie says, “I know things have been hard. But I’m here if you need me. You know you can always talk to me, right?”
Lies, lies, lies.
No one wants to know the truth.
What can Bobbie do, after all?
The coach doubles down. “Everything good at home?”
The voice turns into an alarm. Alika lowers her gaze and sees the fresh scars on her knuckles.
Hide! Hide! She’ll see. She’ll know what they are.
Gently, she pulls her hand away and shoves it in her pocket.
Now tell her what she wants to hear.
“Yes, things are good. Considering … everything. It’s just that it’s hard to come back to school after two years. It’s like a dream, you know?”
Good. Good.
Scarlett from the JV team passes by and sends them a curious look.
This is your chance! Get away! Get away! Get away!
“Hey, girl!” Bobbie says.
She and Scarlett talk for a few seconds.
Don’t make Bobbie look bad in front of the younger girls. Never forget.
Alika laughs along with them and nods, but she has no idea what they’re talking about. By the time Scarlett heads to the bathroom, Bobbie turns to her and says, “Well, it’s too bad you missed the breakfast this morning. The freshman girls are adorable.” Her eyes widen as if she has an idea.
Here it comes.
“In fact, to make up for that, I’ll have you come to their trainings.”
Alika makes her eyes crinkle so Bobbie can see she’s smiling.
You can’t. You can’t. You can’t let anyone see you more than necessary.
They’ll know …
“Tori is mentoring seventh, and Hayley is with the eighth-grade team.”
Why didn’t she ask you to mentor a team before you missed the breakfast? She doesn’t think you’re good enough. Same old, same old …
The middle school is seventh through ninth. The high school has two thousand students. In ninth grade, Alika had been so excited to finally leave the hellish middle school years behind and switch to the big building with the cool kids. Little had she known.
“What time do they practice?” Alika asks, going over her schedule.
You only have school. You can’t handle anything! What are you so exhausted about?
Bobbie rattles off the info, which swirls in a vortex in Alika’s mind.
“I’ll be there,” Alika says.
Sweat drips from her armpits and her heart booms in her ears.
Your breath stinks. Good thing you have a mask on.
Alika crinkles her eyes at Bobbie, shrugs her shoulders for emphasis.
Apparently satisfied and after a quick goodbye, the coach walks away.
Alika stands in the same spot.
You should go to class.
She knows everything.
No, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t even suspect.
We will start over tomorrow.
Mami will be home.
You can’t make her even sadder.
What’s the point of going to class? I told you not to even bother trying.
The clock on the wall marks almost the end of the period. She’ll have to deal with that F.
Alika turns around and heads outside to her car to wait for the bell for second period.
And that’s when she sees the boot on the car and the warning on the windshield.
When Guillermo Ferrer died of COVID, Alika and her mom held on to each other so they wouldn’t die, too. They both felt responsible for his illness. Alika’s mom thought she should’ve called 9-1-1 sooner.
Alika was convinced she’d been the one to make her parents sick. She’d snuck out one night to hang out with her friends and got sick with the virus. Now her dad was dead.
Of course it was silly of her to think it was her fault. The virus didn’t walk around with a tag showing where it came from. It’s been a year since his death, and hardly anyone talks about Guillermo anymore. Alika thinks about him every day. How funny he was. What a great dancer he was. What a supportive dad he was. How strong he was.
He was … he was … he was … Now he’s gone because of you!
They didn’t get to say goodbye, but before they put him on a ventilator, he texted Alika.
I love to see you cheer, mi gorda. Keep going. Go to college. Be happy doing what you love.
She took a screenshot of the text. She had it printed and laminated.
Nothing can ever fill the void he left behind.
Alika’s mom put away most of the money from the life insurance for her college. In junior year, the coach at the university in Salt Lake (a friend of Bobbie’s) said she’d let Alika join her team. Tori is going to California and Hayley to Southern Utah. But the thing is, Alika has no cheer inside her anymore.
How can you keep pretending and smiling when inside you’re crumbling? When you have this double life? You’re a liar.
The voice is right, so Alika keeps doing what the voice yells in her head. At the end of the school day, she uses her mom’s card to pay the fee to get the boot off the car. She promises the office lady she won’t ever park in the visitors’ lot again.
Liar liar liar …
She heads home.
She blasts the music and sings along, trying to get into a better mood. To shake the dread of almost being discovered by Bobbie. But it doesn’t work. Not when her hands on the steering wheel are the proof that she’s a failure. She’s had eczema since she was a baby, so that’s what her mom thinks the scars are from. She buys all kinds of lotions that Alika slathers on to help her mom feel better.
Think of her. You can’t let her know what a bad daughter you are.
There’s no one in the driveway and the house looks empty.
Alika goes to the basement and runs three miles on the treadmill. She only stops when a cramp in her right calf makes her cry out.
You deserve it. If you didn’t weigh so much, your legs wouldn’t hurt.
Alika stretches through the pain, but stars fill her eyes and she gives up.
You stink! How can you stand yourself?
She showers again, and after, she tries to ignore the scale.
Really? Just see what the number is. It can’t be that bad. You haven’t eaten all day.
But the numbers are worse than ever.
How?
She cleans the hair that clogs the drain and the clumps in her brush.
The stupid vitamins aren’t working.
By now it’s seven o’clock, and her stomach growls so hard it’s like it swallowed a bear.
You’re delirious with hunger!
She laughs.
Right in that moment, her mom walks in.
Excellent timing!
Her mom is practically glowing. So happy to be back.
“Mami!” Alika runs and melts in her mom’s arms.
She’s so soft.
She’s so fat!
Soft and smelling of her jasmine perfume. She kisses Alika’s head. “I missed you!” she says.
“Did you have fun?”
“It was so great to see the girls again.”
“See?” Alika says. “I told you it would be so good for you.”
I needed you, though, Mami.
But Mami needed her friends more. Losing her high school sweetheart almost destroyed her. She looked so radiant, Alika’s glad her mom didn’t stay.
“I went grocery shopping. Come help me get the things from the car.”
The sun is still high in the sky. The neighbor kids are running through the sprinklers with their dog although the air is definitely chilly. They moved next door only a few weeks ago. The girl is around fourteen or so. She laughs with her little brothers.
How lucky to have someone besides her parents.
She’s wearing a hot-pink bikini and she’s a curvy girl.
Look at her belly. How is she just so confident?
“She looks a little like you,” her mom says with a chuckle.
You were never that radiant.
“Hi!” the girl greets them.
Alika waves in her direction and flashes the cheer smile. “Hi!”
I hope she doesn’t come over to talk.
She grabs all the plastic bags and then hobbles inside.
While her mom tells her about her trip (all news about her mom’s friends; nothing really about her), they put the groceries away. Lotion for Alika’s hands. This one is cucumber scented. She can practically taste the chemical greenness of it.
Everything her mom brought home is healthy salads and veggies and fruits.
Nothing good to eat. Oh god, I’m so hungry!
She eats the cauliflower casserole and then tells her mom, “I have to run to Tori’s to give her a book she lent me.”
But instead she stops by the McDonald’s and buys three burgers and fries and a shake. She eats alone in the canyon where no one can see her.
And when she goes home, her belly bulging, she takes her pills and runs another three miles on the treadmill.
She doesn’t even need to gag herself for all of it to come out.
The ninth graders are a handful.
They’re like caffeinated gremlins fed after midnight.
Alika lets them catch up and chat while they do the warm-up. And then the door opens and she shows up.
What’s she doing here?
She even moves like you did. She smiles the same way, too.
“Daisy!” someone shrieks in adoration, and runs toward her.
They just saw each other at school, and they act like a thousand years have passed.
Remember? Tori, Hayley, and you were like that, too.
“I love your shorts!” one of the girls exclaims. “White? That’s gutsy!”
Daisy smiles so brightly it’s endearing, but she ties her jacket around her waist as if in her mind the words meant the opposite of what her friend said.
Alika claps once. “Okay, now that everyone’s here, let’s run the drill and see what we need to work on.”
The girls form little groups of three and four.
“Judas” by Lady Gaga starts and they go about their routine. They’re trying, really making an effort.
They’re a mess.
The flyers are wobbly and the bases step on one another’s toes. The back-spotters are always a second too late, which makes one of the bases have to work harder so the flyers don’t fall.
When Alika mentions the issues, the girls send one another daggers with their eyes.
There it is. They’re blaming each other.
“Actually,” Alika says, trying to channel her inner Bobbie. The coach is watching from another section of the gym, after all. “It’s not one person’s fault. Remember, we’re one. Cheer is a team sport. No shining stars.”
But Daisy is a star. Look how she smiles.
“Well, the flyers are the stars,” says one of the girls.
She’s got a point …
Alika repeats what her coaches have told her before. “If the bases aren’t strong enough to hold the flyers, and the back-spot isn’t there to make sure the flyers are okay, then no routine can ever look nice.”
The girls look at each other with doubt.
They don’t believe you. You’re losing them.
“Usually, the best tumblers are the bases.” Alika doesn’t mention anyone in particular, but she looks at Daisy.
They’ll learn one way or another. If they stick at it long enough.
They practice over and over. Alika sings the cheer and claps until her palms are numb. But the voice is quiet for now.
At the end of class, everyone leaves in their carpools, but Daisy waits outside. She sees Alika heading to her car and she smiles shyly again.
Your job here is done. We need to get home. We need to run, lift some weights, then go to bed so you don’t notice how hungry you are. After what you did last night, you can’t eat anything at least until tomorrow.
But Alika can’t leave Daisy by herself.
“Do you need a ride?”
Daisy swallows. She glances at her phone and her shoulders slump.
She doesn’t want to be with you, loser!
“Really, it’s not a big deal,” Alika says. “We live next door, after all.”
Daisy smiles big at that. She taps on her phone, and after a second, she nods. “My mom says thank you for driving me. My brother’s still not out from his soccer practice.” She shrugs and adds, “They always run late.”
She’s so little!
“Well, from now on you’re more than welcome to ride with me.” Alika gestures for Daisy to follow her.
“For real?”
“For real.”
The seat fabric is uncomfortably hot, but not unbearable. When Alika turns the AC on, the sour whiff of vomit is a little too noticeable.
Gross!
“Sorry about the smell. I spilled a milkshake last summer and now I can’t get the reek off.”
Liar liar liar …
The truth is that last year, when she had another relapse, Alika didn’t realize she’d spilled puke on her shoes and then got it all over the floor. She had stayed home for a solid week then, and the next time she got back in her car, the scent was like a sledgehammer to her teeth. She’d scrubbed every inch of the interior, but the stench lingered. That’s why she never volunteered to drive when she went out with her friends. They would know immediately that she had relapsed, and Ali couldn’t lie to Hayley and Tori.
“I don’t smell anything,” Daisy says. And then her face looks alarmed and she adds with a wink, “I don’t have the virus, you know. I can smell the pineapple air freshener.”
They drive past Alika’s favorite milkshake place. “They’re still making peach shakes. Do you want one?”
There’s longing in Daisy’s eyes, but she shakes her head. “I’m trying to cut sugar. My uniform won’t fit.”
She’s started already.
Already.
She’s started.
Just like you.
Alika started worrying about her weight in third grade. It was January. All the ads on TV, email, YouTube were about diets.
“Gordita, easy with the bread,” her dad had said to her mom, jokingly.
Alika had felt the pain in her mom’s face like her own.
Her dad always said they looked just the same.
That year for Halloween, as soon as she got home with Tori and Hayley, her dad had taken her candy away.
“You girls don’t want to be like me when you grow up, do you?” her mom had said from the kitchen. Her voice had sounded “smiley,” but Alika still saw the way her shoulders slumped, as if she’d been trying to make herself smaller.
The sun hits Alika right in the eyes, piercing through her sunglasses. Her hands sweat and at the red light, she puts them in front of the vent to dry.
“I wanted to move to Mountaintop High School because of you,” Daisy says out of the blue.
Just like you. She’s doomed.
Daisy speaks again, louder this time. “When my parents got divorced and we were looking for a new house, I asked my mom if we could move here so I could go to Mountaintop next year when I’m in tenth.”
Alika’s sore throat throbs. “Why?”
From the corner of her eye, Alika sees her shrug. “I saw your team at the winter showcase. I wanted to be a Musketeer like you. You looked so happy!”
You can’t be anyone’s example.
The day of that competition, Alika was in one of her lowest lows.
Luckily, they arrive at their neighborhood.
Daisy’s mom pulls into their driveway at the same time Alika pulls into hers. She’s young, but she looks gaunt, worried.
“Thank you for driving Daisy!” she hollers from her van. “You saved my life! I’ll Venmo you money for gas!”
One of the little brothers is squishing his face on the window and the other one is chanting cheers.
“Bruh,” Daisy whispers, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it!” Alika says, smiling. “There’s no point in both of us driving. I always come straight home after practice.”
Because you’re a loser.
Daisy beams at her again. Alika returns the smile.
Hours later, she realizes she didn’t fake the smile.
She clings to the feeling, but it can’t carry her through the night. She has mountains of homework and overdue assignments. She doesn’t have a choice other than to run late at night. By the time she’s done, it’s too late to eat.
But her stomach growls.
If you’re asleep, you won’t be hungry.
But she’s too wired to sleep. Her empty stomach roars all night long.
Don’t think about food. Think of Daisy. Think of the ninth graders.
She goes over the routine time after time in her mind.
What if…?
The voice is wordless, but Alika sees a vision of the exact routine the younger girls should do. How to tweak their moves to highlight each one of them and their abilities.
She jumps from her bed, switches her playlist from the weight-loss meditation to “That’s My Girl,” and starts moving things around, like a puzzle.
In her mind, Daisy and her friends are a constellation. Not cheering on anyone else but themselves.
Alika’s dad had hated cheer at first because he said it was a waste of her skills, that cheering for the boys’ teams instead of doing a sport was the most misogynist thing in the world.
Cheer is a demanding sport.
Cheerleader.
Leader of cheer. Sometimes there’s anything but cheer inside Alika, but somehow she can give what she doesn’t have.
The sun is peeking through the shutters in her window when she finishes the new routine, and it’s time to get ready for school.
“That’s the thing with light,” her dad used to say. “It always finds the cracks.”
The smell of coffee snakes all the way to her room from the kitchen. She heads down. Mom’s music is soft and she’s smiling as she nurses a mug and looks out the window. She looks so pretty, and Alika watches her in silence.
Perhaps she can tell her mom she needs help.
Don’t ruin it for her.
“Ay! It’s you, Ali!” her mom exclaims, startled by her presence. “You scared me!” But she’s still smiling.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. You looked really pretty.”
The smile slides off her face and as an echo, Alika’s heart falls to her feet.
Here it comes …
“Thank you, mi amor,” Mom says. “I feel so frumpy lately. I’ve gained like … fifteen or twenty pounds with … everything.” She makes a gesture with her hand.
“You still look pretty,” Alika says.
Tell her. Tell her so she can see how she’s hurting you every single time she hates on herself.
But no. Neither Alika nor her mom is ready for that conversation.
“I made you toast,” Mom says. “Come sit here. The coffee is amazing.”
At the sight of food, saliva pools in Alika’s mouth. She sits at the table while her mom lovingly serves her the food.
Food has always been their love language. Their hate language.
Alika tries not to count the calories, but it’s the only use she has for math.
Coffee with sugar and cream
plus
Toast, butter, and dulce de leche
plus
Orange juice
Equals way more calories than she wants in her body, but she craves them.
Alika chews slowly and the flavors almost make her sway. Her sleep-deprived swollen eyes fill with tears at the thought that she only has one bite left.
I could eat the whole loaf of bread.
Her hand shakes, but Mom doesn’t notice as she talks about work at the salon and the problems of one of the girls who’s apprenticing nails with her. Mom presses a hand on Alika’s face and says, “You look lovely.”
You don’t. You look hideous …
They look the same.
How can you not see that, too, Mami?
“Thank you, Ma.”
Mom looks at her for a few seconds. Alika’s used to only showing a happy face. She pretends she’s in front of judges, and when her mom finally smiles, relieved and unaware, the judges flash cards with the number 10.
Yes!
There are even pom-poms.
“Ferrer, are you okay?”
It’s Señora McAvoy’s voice, and with a bolt, Alika wakes up.
This has never happened to her before.
She sits up and looks around, dazed but alert at the same time. A couple of people are snickering behind their hands.
“Why don’t you go to the nurse?” Señora McAvoy says in English, which is the scariest part of all. She’s fanatical about only speaking Spanish in her class.
“No, no,” Alika says, agitated, voice quivering.
Shut up! You just said that aloud! Fix your face!
“I’m okay.”
But the blank test in front of her tells a different story.
“Go, Alika. You don’t look well.”
Finally Alika grabs her things and heads to the nurse. But halfway there, she detours to the bathroom.
Now you’re going to have to redo that test, if she lets you. Your GPA is already at the bottom of the barrel. You won’t be part of the squad for senior year. No college will take you.
Time is strange.
Three minutes onstage can feel like a lifetime.
The rest of the school day is gone in the blink of an eye.
Still in the bathroom, Alika gets a text.
Can we ride with you to practice? Hayley asks. My car is in the shop and Tori doesn’t have money for gas.
It’s one thing for Daisy to ride in her car, but this is completely different. Alika doesn’t want them to get in her car. They’ll know something’s wrong.
But how do you tell them no?
Sure, she says.
In the car, neither mentions anything.
Perhaps the smell is in your imagination after all.
“Let’s do a full out,” Bobbie says after the warm-up.
You have no energy. You can’t do it.
The music starts.
Five, six, seven, go!
Step back, lift your arms. Strong legs. Strong core.
Alika is like a puppet, but the strings are breaking.
I can’t breathe!
Tori is in the top of the formation. Alika’s leg seizes in a cramp. From the corner of her eye, she sees the ninth graders filing into the gym.
The white pain is searing.
Don’t let Tori fall.
You told Daisy that the base is strong and vital, like the spine of the team.
You can’t let Tori fall.
She’s in so much pain. She’s so nauseated.
There’s no light at the end of the tunnel in her vision. Saliva makes her tongue prickle.
Don’t throw up in front of the team and the young girls.
Don’t hurt Tori.
“Ah!” Alika cries out, still holding on to her best friend.
The other girls on the base look at her with concern, but the music is too loud.
“I have a cramp!” she screams with all her might, tears streaming down her face.
Someone finally cuts the music.
Daisy. Sweet, shy, darling Daisy.
She looks just like you.
Alika’s heart swells with love.
For Daisy.
For Tori.
For her mom.
For the little angry Alika inside her mind.
Carefully, she puts Tori down.
Bile rises in her throat, and she runs for the bathroom.
You’re not going to make it.
The voice is right. She doesn’t.
So she stays in the stall, knowing that the girls and Bobbie are waiting for her outside.
I can’t face them. I can’t tell them the truth.
You can’t stay here forever.
When she comes out, the only one waiting is Bobbie. She doesn’t look mad. There’s only concern in her eyes. Alika wants to cry.
You’re all covered in puke.
She wants to strip her skin away and leave it behind and start all over like a newborn snake.
“I relapsed,” Alika says.
Shame! Shame! Shame!
Why are you not strong enough? How could you let my team down?
“Your knuckles, Ali. That’s not eczema, is it?”
Tori and Hayley are waiting by the door. Quiet. Their tears are like daggers in Alika’s heart.
I let all of them down. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!
Softly, she tells Bobbie everything. Halfway through her tale, her mom walks in, and Alika tries to steel herself. She has to look strong for her mom.
But Mom isn’t crying. She looks concerned, but not sad. Not even angry.
Mama!
And this time, Alika, the one pretending to be happy and strong, and the little one, the little hurt girl, are one. She falls into her mom’s embrace even though now both of them are going to smell like puke.
“Mami,” she says, gasping. “I can’t do it on my own.”
And they rally. They surround her. Her team, uplifting her, encouraging her, motivating her, cheering for her because that’s what Musketeers do.
It’s the day of the showcase, and Alika has been attending a program for four weeks. She still drives Daisy back from practice, and she loves the conversations they have in the car.
And when the little girl inside her gets angry, Alika remembers she’s only hurt and scared. She imagines Daisy, and she can’t use that mean voice to talk to herself anymore.
She starts eating more, and running less, and treating her body more gently. She still has a long way to go. She’s not as strong as she’d like to be, but strong is a spectrum, and it varies from day to day.
The ninth graders perform to “That’s My Girl,” and Daisy’s smile is pure light, no fakeness there.
Alika’s dad isn’t there to see her perform, and she can’t be a base yet, but she’s there clapping and singing.
Her voice is coming back.
And in the end, the team surrounds her. Little by little, the emotion around her seeps through her skin and reaches her heart, all the way to the wounds that need real cheer to heal.
I love this. I love them. I love me.
“A-L-I-K-A! One for all, all for one!”