Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 34-Buy A New Shirt

Bradley and I video chatted for three hours. In the course of those three hours, completely forgot to talk about the book Frankenstein.

I sailed through the next week on a strange oblivion, humming in the middle of workouts, easily rejecting vending machines that used to whisper at me when I strolled past. I stayed within my calorie goal, and started writing three short stories.

All of which I deleted entirely before I finished a first draft.

"Lexie, you've already missed the deadline for two of the smaller competitions," Miss Bliss admonished with a tsking sound. Her massive horn-rimmed glasses reflected the glare of the fluorescent light of her office. "I can't help but feel suspicious that you don't really want this internship."

The heady feeling I'd been carrying around with me for the past week crashed into smithereens.

"I want it," I said. "I want this internship more than anything. But I can't find any inspiration to write. Some of the prompts are really terrible."

"I've read some of your work before; you're good. Good enough to win at least one. Even that would add something to your resume."

"But I wasn't under pressure when I wrote those other pieces. Besides, I've already submitted them to competitions in the past and they didn't win. I don't want to waste the entry."

"Well you're under pressure now. You're going to have to figure it out." She pinched her lipstick smeared lips together and appraised me with the narrow eye of an owl in contemplation. "Writer's block doesn't just happen, you know. There's almost always a reason for it. You must not be looking in the right places or writing about the right things. What are you passionate about?"

Chocolate. Food. My thoughts flickered to my workout that morning, when I'd finally run three quarters of a mile without stopping on the treadmill. Writing a story about Bradley would be way too creepy.

I shrugged. "A lot of things?"

Miss Bliss leaned back in her old chair, which groaned beneath her shifting weight.

"Figure out what you are passionate about and the story will write itself."

Writing itself wasn't new to me; I'd often conjured up stories in my childhood and played them out on paper. When Dad and I weren't binge eating and watching the latest football game while Kenzie and Mom did crafts, I was reading. Devouring romance books and picturing myself as the simpering, beautiful, skinny female swept away by the dashing rogue. But those weren't real, and I'd never written to win anything.

"Yes, Miss Bliss," I said, grabbing my bag by the strap and rising. "I'll work on it."

She pulled her glasses down until they rested on the tip of her nose. "Do that. And you're looking good, by the way. Don't know what you're doing, but keep it up. Oh, and buy a new shirt. That one's drowning you."

_______________

"Relax, Lex. It's just shopping. Nothing is going to bite you, you know."

Mira walked into the mall next to me wearing a bright red and pink muumuu with orchids on the front.

"Mira," I said, pulling open the main door and stepping into a white tiled world that smelled like caramel corn and French fries. Of course we would go in the food court on a Saturday, when delicious smells bloomed like early spring flowers. "You're looking really good."

Her gowny dress hid it, but her arms and shoulders had definitely slimmed down. She didn't waddle with a side-to-side, unbalanced gait anymore.

"Thanks. Going off Diet Pepsi helped—don't tell Bitsy—but that doesn't mean I still wouldn't kill for a pretzel."