Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 1

Like any great story, it all began with Facebook.

"Stupid internet," I muttered, slamming my desk drawer shut, as if that would help my Facebook profile load faster. The internet had an attitude and decided to pretend it was dial up. The connection had definitely frozen. "How am I supposed to stalk Bradley if the internet won't even work?"

Behind me came the everyday sounds of my mom getting ready upstairs. Light chitter-chatter, the smell of coffee beans, and a shriek when my younger sister McKenzie realized she'd missed a text message from her fiancé.

"Finally!" I cried under my breath, exultant when the eternal rainbow of death stopped spinning and opened my profile page. My eyes immediately zipped to the notification bar, and I felt a little twinge of hope when I saw a red number.

Four notifications.

My heart sped up. It had to be Bradley, my secret online love-crush. It just had to be. With a trembling hand I sent the arrow to the right spot, clicked, and brought up the screen. My heart sank.

The notification wasn't from Bradley. Neither was the message, which was actually from my sister McKenzie, who lived exactly two stories above me and still texted or messaged me when she had a question. The last thing I wanted to read was a message from an annoying twit who flounced her massive engagement ring around. Besides, I already knew what it was going to say.

How's the diet going? You didn't send me your calorie count yesterday. My July wedding is only six months away, remember?

Fabulous, I would respond. That new calorie counting app you sent me is great. I'll send you my numbers.

Then I'd eat another cinnamon roll just because she couldn't see me from my basement lair and send her fake numbers.

I shut the web browser with an angry click, feeling as if I'd exacted my vengeance on McKenzie for her prying and Bradley for . . . well, nothing. Yet. He would come through. I'd uploaded a new profile picture onto Facebook last night. It had been a good one, albeit older, taken at least a year—or three—before. The photo was neck up, of course, because otherwise Mom and McKenzie would say something about my lack of weight loss.

Such a pretty face, I heard Mom say in the back of my head. But let's go for a walk and get some exercise, shall we?

Bradley had said he wanted to see a picture of my face, which was fair, because I had already seen plenty of pictures of his beautiful, beautiful face. Chocolate long brown hair, hazel eyes, and a killer smile that belonged on the cover of GQ. I shook my head and slipped into a favorite pair of sweat pants. McKenzie would roll her eyes and say, You're wearing those again?

Today was my lucky day, however, as the door slammed twice within the same minute, leaving me alone in a blissfully quiet house. I threw on my sports bra, pulled on my hoodie, and put my hair into a ponytail. Why get dressed up for an early morning statistics class?

Once I stepped into the kitchen, I drew in a deep breath and then let it all out again with a contented sigh. My haven. How wonderful was the kitchen? So stable, so solid. It never asked me, do you have enough calories left today to eat that second ravioli? Or judged me when I had leftover pizza for breakfast because I was in too much of a hurry for my next class to cook the fat free turkey bacon that McKenzie insisted was healthy.

I was a college sophomore. Marinara sauce should have been in my blood, right?

Eating breakfast without Mom around to eye my portion sizes was a rare treat, so I stocked up with a double size heaping of cereal and turned on an old episode of Golden Girls to start my day. Mom didn't even know I had cold cereal. I laughed with wicked delight.

A note on the fridge door stopped me as I reached for the milk, already dreaming of eating the crunchy sweetness.

Don't forget to meet us at the bridal shop at 3. Your dress came in. And it BETTER fit.

—Kenz

With a sigh, I crumpled the note in my fist, tossed it down the garbage disposal, and rooted through my hidden stash of cereal behind the garbage bags on the top shelf. Dad had never cared about my weight, so why were Mom and Kenzie always on my case? An eternal question. A twinge of longing struck my heart.

Too bad Dad wasn't here anymore.

Besides, it wasn't like I was that overweight. I could still fit into sweat pants. Jeans were uncomfortable anyway because they restricted movement, or that's what I told myself. Hoodies hid most of my waist. As long as I didn't wear my hair down on my shoulders, my face looked thin enough. Despite the strength of my denial, in the end, I knew my mom and sister were right. Two hundred and fifty pounds didn't hide easily.

Oh, how I wish it did.