soon-to-be on every granola bar wrapper in existence.

a letter.

Hey.

I'm worried about you, and I didn't want to talk to you about this in person in fear of being yelled at or my self-esteem hitting a low point, injured the insults you hurl at me. So, I decided to write this letter encompassing all my thoughts and emotions, and if I can work up the strength to deliver this to you, I hope you talk can find the time to talk to me about it.

I suppose I'll start on the first day of second grade. Your warm smile immediately caught my attention from all the way across that huge alphabet carpet that spanned over almost half of the classroom. Ever since that day, we've been best friends.

Any time we have a class together and the teacher announces a group project, my gaze was programmed to lock to yours. The walk over to your desk felt so natural, my confidence rising with every step and peaking as I pause alongside you.

The hangouts we had after school took me away from stressful thoughts of grades and drama and family, your everlasting joy infecting my mood and compelling it to emanate a bright yellow glow. At lunch, your signature neon blue winter coat made you stand out among all the rest, allowing me to easily spot you from across the hall and saunter over to trade sandwiches with you. "Peanut butter is for the weak," you used to say, mouth full of meat. "Turkey is for the strong." I would laugh and laugh, plopping down next to you and letting the laughter run the conversation for the rest of the half hour.

But in recent months, I haven't seen your blue coat in the hall at all. I haven't seen you at all. I thought I knew you inside out, but it's like a whole new universe has opened up inside you: one in which I'm an alien, unwanted and avoided. Well, there was that one time I found you in the bathroom stall, surrounded by what must have been at least twenty granola bar wrappers crumpled up and discarded on the floor. You slowly looked up at me, cheeks stuffed with granola bars, and somehow managed to keep a straight face. I laughed and laughed, thinking you must really love granola bars. I even suggested that if you want to have an eating contest, just call me over and I'll be sure to tramp your record!

Wow, if only I had figured out what you were going through back then. Thinking back, what I mistook as a playful gleam sparking in your eye could've been tears you were trying so desperately to control. I'm so, so sorry.

I should've at least known after my visit in January to your house. Again, I cackled at the sight of the boxes and boxes of granola bars, all kinds of different flavors and brands. "Any kids' day camp should just come here for snack time!" I joked. I thought your half-hearted smile and miniscule chuckles were the result of your new, quiet personality: I had no idea I had deeply troubled you.

It was finally when we were playing card games for the first time in months at your house again that I had the thought. The crackers you had left out had now all found their way into my stomach; and you didn't even have the joy of consuming one. I offered, yes, I did, but you politely shook your head, and I dismissed my doubts, assuming that you could've had a big breakfast that morning.

But as I went to throw my juice-covered napkin away, something in the trash can caught my eye. A box of laxatives. Empty. Why would you even have laxatives?, I wondered. Then I noticed something else. A receipt. Rite Aid. More laxatives. 200 tablets. Yesterday.

Right on top of the empty box.

The Google search engine was up and running as soon as I got home from our get-together.

Lots of granola bars...

hides from others at lunchtime...

didn't eat a single cracker in front of me.....

takes laxatives.......

Of course. How could I not have put it together sooner? You have an eating disorder.

You have no idea how hard that was for me to write.

I talked to a doctor on your behalf. I had to. I couldn't let you waste away before your adult life begins. Besides, you're my best friend. It's my job to worry about you.

He said that bulimia, the disorder you most likely have, is an emotional disorder involving distortion of body image, in which bouts of extreme overeating are followed by purging or fasting.

Oh my God.

Have you really?

He said patients often disappear after eating, often to go to the bathroom.

But I thought you had that big history project you had to work on after lunch...

He said they have a fear of eating in public.

But I thought you just didn't like our favorite Italian restaurant anymore...

He said they have an extreme concern with body image and weight.

But I thought you were joking when you said you wanted to trade bodies with Wilma, the most popular girl in school...

He said they create a schedule to make time for their binges.

That's why you say you don't have time for me anymore.

Those cuts and calluses on your fingers, the stench of your breath that I knew reeked of vomit, and how you were suddenly able to fit into those skinny jeans you idolized and hung on your wall, hoping that one day they'd be caressing your legs instead of the peeling yellow wallpaper. I never thought you'd last a day in those without your feet going blue, but now it's been three weeks, and you've worn them every single day. You've changed so much, and when I lay my eyes on you, it seems as if you're a shell of what you used to be, secretly housing something dangerous and threatening inside.

The doctor told me some of the long-term issues, and I want you to be fully informed, so I'm going to share them with you now. If left untreated, bulimia can cause abnormal heart rhythms, bleeding in the throat, dental problems, kidney problems, and death. I don't want you to be sentenced to a life in and out of the hospital loaded with medical bills, fighting to stay alive every second of every day.

That's why I need to talk to you. Please.

I need to tell you that you're beautiful. Your pretty brown hair trails behind your head like ribbons of silk blowing in the wind. Your eyes sparkle like the stars in the night sky. And best of all, your personality is richer than gold could ever be.

You don't need to lose weight. You are so unbelievably gorgeous just the way you are. Be kind to yourself, and get the right nutrition. Binging and purging immediately after a meal isn't very healthy: you're missing the chance for your body to absorb all the nutrients and vitamins in the foods you eat. If you insist on losing weight, there are healthier ways: trust me.

Come on: I'll take you to see someone. You must be feeling so helpless and alone, and that upsets me deeply. I care about you enormously, and I want a professional to evaluate the choices you're making with information from your perspective. We could go see Jill McGovern, the school's psychiatrist. She has 35 years of professional experience, and has a PhD in psychology. There's also the option of the Center for Discovery in Tigard, a place devoted to helping people with their eating disorders. If you really want to commit, the Rosewood Ranch in Arizona, a rehabilitation site for people with eating disorders, is a good possibility and has a good reputation within the country. And just remember, you can always call 800-931-2237, the National Eating Disorder Association's hotline, if you can't wait any longer.

Please consider these options: I really want to help you, and I'd love to hang out one day. I always loved our journeys to the grocery store, competing for first prize in the how-many-cookies- can-you-fit-in-your-mouth contest and laughing as we left that world of food behind us. I can't remember the last time we did that together, or anything nearly as fun. You've always been "busy". I would love it if one of those resources teaches you how to live a healthy lifestyle, and it certainly doesn't have to be right away. I'll wait years for you to come around, and I promise to be beside you every single step of the day. And one day, just maybe, once you're completely at peace in your relationship with food, we could walk underneath those double sliding doors, beeline straight for the bakery section, and enjoy one last contest, just you and me. For the fun of it, and as a glamorous and entertaining celebratory meal.

Keep in touch, and best of luck.