I hear a clatter as my mom places a plate on the table. “Dinnertime, Lexi! Come on. Eat up, you must be starving! I made something extra special tonight.” I look up from my phone and see her smile--and the pasta on my plate. I smile back shakily, trying to hide my distaste for the pasta, even though it used to be my favourite. I get up from the couch and head over to the table. My mom sits down across from me and starts to eat. When her gaze goes to her food, I slip part of the pasta into a napkin. My mom looks up to me, and says, “So how was your day?” I pause and take a bite of the pasta. It must’ve been delicious but the taste of it was lost on me as the guilt overcame me. I forced myself to swallow and tried to smile. My day had been horrible. But I wasn’t about to tell her that. “It was fine.” I answered. The rest of the dinner passed in silence as we both cleaned off our plates. I excused myself once I finished, and nearly ran for the stairs. The need to rid myself of the calories I just consumed overwhelmed me, and I rushed upstairs to my bathroom, feeling slightly faint. I know Mom had been working a lot more these days since Dad left, and I knew it must’ve cost her to make the pasta tonight instead of our usual canned dinners. But I couldn’t help myself. My fear and guilt over eating the pasta overcame my guilt on what I was about to do. I have to do this, I tell myself as I have for the past weeks. I stick two fingers down my throat, and wait for the food to come up. My body tries to resist against what I’m trying to do, but a few seconds later I’m leaning over the toilet, gagging as my dinner comes up. Once I finished, I flush the toilet, and drink a cup of water. I walk out the washroom. I’m clean. I’m okay. As I look into the mirror, I feel my eyes sting as tears threaten to spill. Fat. Ugly. Words that have haunted me as all the other girls in my grade maintained their shapely and thin fingers. I dry my eyes, strengthening my resolve. I will lose weight. I will be like them; the girls who everyone liked and were thin and pretty. I go lie down in my bed, unable to sleep but unable to concentrate on anything else. Before I fall asleep, I whisper to myself, "I will be pretty." No matter what. I close my eyes, letting sleep overcome me, the word "fat" still resonating in my head.