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• Classic-Fiction

"Yes, I’m familiar with it. Not only have I had months to think about this, but my coach has warned us all about it around a bizillion times. But I know that’s not the problem because I eat more food than any girl I know."

"I see."

"And I don’t vomit it up either, which is more than I can say about the girls I eat lunch with every day. Only they don’t eat. They sit there and worship anorexic models in magazines."

"I see."

"I hate them."

"Who? The models in magazines?"

"No," I said, picking at the fresh Band-Aid the nurse had just stuck on the crook of my arm. "My friends."

As I sat there with my butt hanging out of the paper gown, I told him about how I stopped sleeping when Hope moved away. Then I told him all about how Hy and the Clueless Crew were blowing a bundle in the Village. Next I was revealing how my dad is obsessed with my running career and the pressure he puts on me to win every race and Notso Darling’s Agony of Defeat, Volume One. Then I exposed my mom’s obsession with my sister’s wedding. It got even more personal as I went on and on about asking Scotty to the reception, and how Kelsey is closing in on him, and to top it off, how I don’t have a boyfriend, probably because I’m too busy being in love with a guy who doesn’t know my name.

But for some reason, I stopped short of telling him about the Marcus Flutie situation. I guess at the time I thought that would’ve been a bit too much information. I already knew that it was kind of needy and desperate and insane that I was spilling my guts to my doctor. But he was the first adult to treat me like I was one, too. Unlike my parents, he didn’t trivialize my feelings by trying to talk me out of them. He just sat there silently and let me go off, which I really appreciated. It was all very weird.

Afterward, Dr. Hayden called my mom into his office so they could talk privately about me, which was very annoying. But I knew he couldn’t go into the details because of doctor-patient privilege and all. Five minutes later, my mom came out with a very tight smile.

"Let’s go," she said through clenched teeth.

"Bye, Jessica," Dr. Hayden said. "Have a great season. I’ll be looking for your name in the sports pages."

I said good-bye. Then I asked my mom what he had said about me.

"Nothing."

"Isn’t it illegal to talk about my medical problems without me in the room? Don’t I have a right to know?"

My mom sighed. "Not until you’re eighteen."

"So you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong until I’m eighteen?"

"No, I’m going to tell you what’s wrong right now," she said.

I have to say, I was looking forward to this. I had my amateur opinion—that my mental instability was pushing me toward a nervous breakdown—but I wanted to hear what a pro thought was wrong with me.

"Dr. Hayden thinks you could benefit from taking a multivitamin."

What a disappointment. I thought he had really listened to me. Adults suck.

"He also thinks I should consider taking you to a psychologist."

Hallelujah! Now we were getting somewhere.

"Does he think I’m borderline schizophrenic?"

"No," she said. "He says you worry too much. Put on your seat belt."

"I worry too much? I’ve always worried too much," I said. "That’s the best diagnosis we could get for a hundred dollars?"

"He says stress is taking a toll on your health. That’s why you’re not sleeping and probably why you’re not getting your period. Put on your seat belt."

"I will gladly live without my period …"

"Put on your seat belt."

I put on my seat belt.

Dr. Hayden had given her the name of a good child/adolescent psychologist. If I were a legitimate wack-job, sure I’d hit the couch. But I told her there was no way I was going to see a shrink just to mellow out.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked, very earnestly.

Is there anything I want to tell her? Sure. There are a bizillion things that I want to tell her. If I could talk to her, I wouldn’t have had to spill my guts to poor Dr. Hayden, now would