Okay, okay, I admit when Kevin announced me as his subject, my heart raced. My stomach somersaulted. I thought I might have an asthma attack (and I don't have asthma). Of all the people he could've chosen, he chose me.

"Ooh," Brittany whispered. "I think he likes you."

The thought made me dizzy.

I saw the tears in Brooke's eyes before she cut cla.s.s.

After a couple days of work, though, it became obvious that Jasper was painting me too. My stomach felt like it held a brick. Why was he doing this to me? I thought we were friends!

"Well, well, well," Brooke said, "aren't you just Little Miss Popular?"

"Ooh," Bebe said, loud enough for him to hear, "maybe Jasper likes you too."

The girls and Kevin all snickered as if they'd suggested some hideous mutant liked me.

What could I say? It was an impossible situation, a minute that lasted a hundred years. The B-Squad expected me to react, to snicker also or shriek "Eww!"

I looked at Jasper, whose head was bent over his painting, his hair in his eyes. He didn't look at us, but I knew he was listening, waiting. Why? Why did he have to go and put us both in this position? Who asked him to paint me anyway?

There was no way to win. I just made a face at the girls, hoping I could convey to them my "whatever" sentiment without Jasper seeing it. But that wasn't enough. "Oooh," Brooke sang, "maybe Hannah likes him back!"

Kevin looked at me, curious. Why? Why was this happening?

"You've got compet.i.tion, Kevin." Brooke sneered.

Were my chances to be normal, to be liked, being ruined just because some strange boy had decided to draw me? How was this my fault?

Kevin asked, "Do you like him?"

My face hurt with heat. "No!" I whispered, the word a rasp that skinned my throat.

Fortunately, Jasper walked away to wash out his brushes in the sink. His back was to us and the water made a good masking noise.

The girls collapsed in giggles. Bebe mimed puking.

Kevin winked at me. "You're my Mona Lisa," he said. I floated for a moment, until Brooke's wounded, hateful eyes burst my bubble, and Jasper's back-spending far too long at the sink-made my throat ache.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday in art," Jasper said the next day while we shredded lettuce in the cafeteria kitchen.

I shrugged, hating and loving that he'd brought it up. I'd felt clumsy and pained, b.u.mping around the incident without speaking of it. I couldn't believe he was apologizing to me.

"That was awkward," Jasper said.

I nodded. "I just-I wish you'd told me," I said.

He paused, his gloved hands on the lettuce.

"I would've told you not to pick me," I said. "They're just going to be mean to you about it."

He put his lettuce down and turned to face me. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and looked at my face like I'd written something there. He took his time to form his thoughts, like usual. While he did, it struck me that the golden triangle in the iris of his eye would be a pretty cool detail to capture in a painting.

"I wanted to paint you. They don't have the power to stop me from doing what I want."

The simplicity of those words filled me with awe. And sorrow.

And shame.

"So, do you like Kevin?" he asked. His face was hard to read, but I thought I saw genuine curiosity and maybe a little bewilderment.

"I just-I don't know. He-he's okay." I sounded like a moron, but knew my hot, blazing face gave Jasper his answer.

He nodded once, as if checking in with himself that he'd said what he needed, then he returned to the lettuce.

Three Bad Things happened, almost in a row, after the New Year.

First, Brooke invited me to her pool party.

I was relieved and terrified to get the invitation. I might've made up some excuse not to go, but one day when my mom felt good enough to pick me up from school, Brooke had yelled, "See you at the party, Hannah Anne Carlisle!"

"What party?" my mom had asked, glowing with joy like she'd been invited. It struck me: Mom worried that I was a dork and had no friends. I told her I didn't really want to go, but she was so into it. I wanted so much to make her happy. I was trying so hard to lose weight so she could see me beautiful just once. So I could be "pretty is as pretty does." I knew I was neither, but I wanted to be at least one for her. She wanted me to go to the party. So I went.

I pulled that green bikini out of the drawer where I'd stuffed it the day I bought it.

The thing was, Mom was right about the bikini. I wore it, but then felt so uncomfortable, like I was on display. I thought I wanted the boys to look at me like they looked at Brooke, but when they did, I hated it.

From the moment I arrived, I only wanted to be home.

Bebe made fun of me for going off the diving board and actually swimming. h.e.l.lo, wasn't this a pool party? I longed to honestly swim, just like I longed to run. I'd started having dreams about running. In the dreams, I was tiny and ran in one of my own miniature cities where everything was tidy and perfect. Mom had asked about my cities recently, and in an attempt to do something she could admire, I'd started making a new one. I was halfway finished. I wished I was home doing that, instead of in Brooke's swimming pool.

At least in the water I was sort of hidden, instead of posing around the edges trying to suck in my belly and keep my arms crossed over my chest. In the deeper end, where it was dark and out of the lights, Kevin swam over to me and said, "Who's that beautiful mermaid I see?" He was so cute he made my brain go to mush. The word beautiful turned me into an idiot. I grinned at him, so grateful. I held on to the side of the pool under the diving board, and he swam up right beside me. Our bare shoulders touched, sending a shudder all through me.

But then, I could hardly believe what happened next. I know, I know, what a cliche, right? But I mean it. I literally could not believe it was happening. Under the water, where no one else could see, Kevin grabbed my b.u.t.t! When I shoved his hand away, he laughed and tried to put his hand on my chest.

I froze, the white noise in my head so loud. For a split second I actually thought Is this what I'm supposed to do? Am I supposed to let him?

I saw Max squinting through the dark at us. I pushed Kevin hard. "What are you doing?" I whispered.

"What do you think I'm doing, you moron?"

Nice. You moron? Yeah, like that was really going to convince me to let him!

He swam back to me again with his hands out, chuckling, so I splashed him in the face then climbed out of the pool.

Oh my G.o.d! He'd never even kissed me! I couldn't believe he did that right there in the pool with everyone about twenty yards away from us. I wrapped myself in my towel and stood near the other girls, but Brooke sneered, "Have fun in there?"

By this point the boys were gathered in a circle in the pool whispering and snickering. I hated them all. I just wanted to leave. All of a sudden, it hit me: the idea that I could use my SR right there to feel better. If only I could feel good and relaxed, then I'd be able to sit there like the other girls and have fun.

Here's the thing: once I thought about my SR, it took hold of me. There was no turning back. I was going to do it.

There wasn't much to eat out by the pool, just some chips and pretzels. I took my gym bag into the house and took everything I could find in the cupboards. I found good pasta salad in the fridge. Brooke's mom almost caught me, but I put the Tupperware container into my bag just in time. She was all paranoid about why I was in the house. I think she thought I was going to steal something, since everybody knew I got caught stealing at school. It struck me that she was right. I'd turned into a thief and a liar. Everything felt so out of control. I told her I had to use the bathroom, dashed in there, and turned the fan on high. I didn't think I could do it-with her knocking on the door, I couldn't eat very much. I only had a few handfuls of the pasta salad. The SR felt totally different. It was harder, and I saw lots of white sparkling lights and my fingers swelled up.

Brooke's mom wouldn't stop knocking on the door being all nosy. When I opened the door and told her I felt sick to my stomach, she gave me 7-UP and some lip gloss. Lip gloss?

I thought Jasper would like that detail-giving lip gloss to someone who was nauseated. But then, I'd have to tell him the whole story. Starting with a party he wasn't invited to.

When I went back outside, I caught a glimpse of Brooke and Kevin making out under the diving board!

As I waited for my heart to unclutch, Bebe sidled up next to me and said, "Well. Finally. Maybe he'll get over his obsession with you and they can get back together."

I swallowed. Back together?

I went home and cut my green bikini into tiny pieces with a pair of scissors.

I wrote in my journal, The SR isn't working. My throat hurts all the time. I'm still fat. It isn't fair. I can't stop, though. I can't sleep without it. I need something good. My life sucks.

Aunt Izzy came to visit from Ohio, to spend time with my mom. She would've been here lots earlier, but she'd been in Ghana, in West Africa, working on her newest doc.u.mentary about African orphans.

Aunt Izzy walked into baggage claim and narrowed her eyes at me. She put her hands on my face and rubbed her thumbs over my chubby cheeks, then under my eyes, where broken blood vessels mottled purple. She took both my hands in hers, turning mine palm down as if searching for something, then stopped, with her thumbs on the middle knuckles of my right hand.

Standing right there at baggage claim, before she'd even really said hi to any of us, she turned to my mom and said, "Why didn't you tell me Hannah was bulimic?"

I about fainted.

The thing was, my mom hadn't told her because my parents didn't know.

Dad was talking to some fans and missed that little blurt.

Aunt Izzy used to be anorexic. Like really, truly anorexic. She had to be in the hospital for six months when she was in high school. My mom said Izzy had nearly died.

So, Aunt Izzy knew a little bit about eating disorders and she was on to me like that.

That night, while Dad was on set, Aunt Izzy had a long talk with Mom about it. I know because I eavesdropped on them, terrified. Aunt Izzy convinced Mom to take me to a counselor.

I hardly slept that night.

The next morning, though, Mom was really sick and the appointment never got scheduled.

By Sunday evening, Mom had to go back to the hospital, and my SR got shoved deep down in the trash can, like all the wrappers from my binges.

I felt so guilty. I pleaded with the universe, I pleaded with G.o.d-I'll go to a therapist every single day if you just let her live!

Monday at school, as I worked in the cafeteria, Jasper asked, "So, how was that pool party?"

My stupid face scalded red again. How did he even know about it?

"Sucked." I hoped he wouldn't see my face. No such luck.

He tilted his head. "You okay?"

I nodded, then reached up to pat my flaming cheeks. I saw his eyes follow my hands.

"What's that mark on your fingers?" he asked.

I froze. He took my right hand, and it gave me a shudder-but a much better shudder than when my bare shoulder had touched Kevin's. He held my hand in both of his, gently-like my hand was a baby bird-and turned it palm down. He rubbed his thumbs over the red mark across my middle knuckles, just like Aunt Izzy had. "What is that?" he asked, his voice full of concern that confused me.

I became acutely aware of the laughter from out in the cafeteria, the thumping of my own heart, the musky-under-the-clean-soapy-smell of Jasper's body.

I pulled my hand away, my heart zipping like I was afraid. Afraid of what? "I don't know," I said. "A blister I guess."

He tilted his head, that golden wedge in his eye flashing at me. "Who gets blisters on their knuckles?" he asked in a serious tone, like he was trying to solve a mystery.

I shrugged again. I think the mark was from my teeth. But I couldn't tell him that.

He nodded and returned to the lettuce.

I remembered that day in art cla.s.s and wished I could replay the scene. I longed for another take. If I could have it, I'd play it totally differently.

The second Bad Thing happened the week after the pool party when it was time to hang up the life-size portraits.

Kevin's reaction to me after the party confused me. I thought he'd be mean to me, but he was overly friendly, winking at me, calling out "Hey, Hannah" whenever he saw me. This always prompted the boys with him to snicker. Then, he'd turn and make out with Brooke!

I also thought the B-Squad would be done with me. But it was like they kept me around to be the permanent whipping boy or insulting girl or whatever you wanted to call me. They were openly disdainful; at least, Brooke and Bebe were, saying things like, "Don't you know not to hook up with a boy on the first date?"

"I didn't!"

They snorted. Brooke pursed her lips and raised her waxed eyebrows. "Not what I heard."

Great. I hadn't let Kevin grope me, but he'd told everyone we'd done it? And how pathetic was that, Brooke throwing herself all over a boy who said he'd been after someone else?

I prayed word of his daughter's "hooking up" wouldn't somehow reach my dad on the set. I hated when Kevin was at school with his creepy winks and pats on my shoulder, but I hated it equally when he was absent because I knew he was with my dad. I made myself sick imagining worst-case scenarios of what he might say about me.

I was terrified Kevin was going to do something hideous to his portrait of me, like give me zits or make me really fat, but he didn't. His portrait was way more beautiful than the real me. I couldn't look at it without blushing.

Jasper's, though, looked like me. It freaked me out a little; it was so accurate it was like a photo. He even got details like the fact that one of my eyebrows was higher than the other. That my cheeks were all chubby.