Page 112 of Against The Rules

“THROW ON DANCE CLOTHES?!” I shriek. “I WISH!”

He blinks in surprise.

“Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“That was more than a yell. You seem… stressed, Peaches. You sure you have to go to this? What if you just take the day off and rest?”

“It’s an honor to represent the Beavers,” I say through gritted teeth. “I just have to put on full makeup and hair in less than an hour.”

“And eat,” Tyler says carefully.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I say, scrambling around my bathroom, turning my curling iron on, brushing my teeth and setting my skin care products out.

“You need to eat something before you go dance all day, Savannah.”

“I will.”

“Real food. Not baby carrots or whatever.”

A nasty suspicion rises in me, and I choke it down. “Why would you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you…” I don’t want to say it out loud. Don’t even want to think about it. “I’m fine, Tyler. I can take care of myself.”

He’s standing at the door to the bathroom, watching me manically pat product into my skin.

“Peaches, I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“When I was in college, I roomed with a wrestler. He was on athletic scholarship, like most of my dorm. Except, they moved him down a weight class. The shit he did to make weight before tournaments… it was fucked up. He was not… healthy. Maybe I’m too sensitive, I don’t know, but he was my friend and I hated watching what he did to his body.” He rakes a hand through his hair, real concern wrinkling his forehead.

Fingers of terror grip me, real terror. I don’t want to look at the reason I don’t need contour on my face anymore, the reason I’m getting out chicken cutlets I haven’t used in years to push my boobs up in my uniform. I don’t want him to see me like that.

“I might be… a little weird about what I eat lately. I’m just under a lot of stress.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches me as I brush my hair out.

“So let me help you,” he finally says.

“How? Are you going to tell the directors to stop doing weigh-ins for cheerleaders? That’ll go over real well.”

“Let me put you on my insurance. Let’s get you to talk to someone, okay? It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“I’ll eat breakfast,” I tell him, a sinking feeling in my stomach. I’m not sick. I’m just careful. I have to look good on the field. This is normal. Counting calories and watching what you eat is normal, working out every day is healthy.

Isn’t it?

“Please,” Ty says, his brown eyes wide and full of an emotion that makes my chest ache. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help. But you’re right, I can probably eat some more.” I pump some foundation out onto my beauty blender.

“I can make you breakfast. What do you have?”

I stare at him in the mirror, guilt rising in me. “I haven’t gotten groceries in a little bit.”

“I can go pick food up,” he continues.

---