Kate Karyus Quinn - Not Hungry

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Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Quinn, Kate Karyus.

Title: Not hungry / Kate Karyus Quinn.

Description: New York : West 44, 2020. | Series: West 44 YA verse Identifiers: ISBN 9781538382691 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781538382707 (library bound) | ISBN 9781538383353 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Childrens poetry, American. | Childrens poetry, English. | English poetry.

Classification: LCC PS586.3 Q566 2020 | DDC 811.60809282--dc23

First Edition

Published in 2020 by Enslow Publishing LLC 101 West 23rd Street, Suite #240 New York, NY 10011

Copyright 2020 Enslow Publishing LLC

Editor: Caitie McAneney Designer: Sam DeMartin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.

Printed in the United States of America

CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CS18W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC, New York, New York at 1-800-542-2595.

A liar who tells only one lie.The same one again and again.As I skip lunchfor the third timethat week.Or pass on the tub of popcornthe biggest they offeras it travels between my sister, my mom, and I.Or pick ata piece of pizza before tossing it in the trash.In all these situationsthe same three words work. Im not hungry.This is my lie.A simple one.A huge one.Truth is:I amALWAYShungry.Truth is:Im starving.I must be a good liar, though.No one ever calls me on it. Shes so anorexic.Lacey whispersas Stasia Keenewafts by.Caught shoplifting,she says ofDane and Darcy,the Vinet twins.She even knows the details.Dane tried to get a power drill down his pants!Darcy lifted her shirt as a distraction!Usually, though,its lessreporting factsand moreLacey has a hunch.Heard Simone Avet puking duringthird period.The upchuck diet is big with the Perfects. Perfects.Thats Laceys namefor the popular girls.Bet shes trying to size down in time for prom.Actuallywe later learnedSimone Avetwas pregnant.Lacey still claimed itas a win.I knew something was going on!Lacey thinkseveryonehas secrets,but reallyshe means everyonewho isnt us.Never,not once,has sheeverguessedat mine. When I have:five baby carrots,four bites of an apple,three swallows of nonfat yogurt,and one nibbleat the edge of an OreoLacey istoo busyscanning the cafeteriato notice.Anyway,whats thereto see?Just anotherfat girlon a diet. The best I can dois misplace it.Give it a month, maybe two.I find it again.Rounding out my hipsso my jeanswont z i p.Beneath my chin,making mine aD O U B L E W I D E.Even at mylowest,Ive neverbeen skinny.I cantstop tryingthough. My dream isnt to be a n o r e x i c.But for peoplelike Laceyto think I could be. for two whole days.After my second nightnot eating dinnerI passed outwalking up the stairsto my room.My mom was screaming. Are you sick? We cant afford an ambulance! Whats wrong?So I confessed.She went quiet.Then finally she said,softly, Wish I had that sort of self-control.Like she was proud of me. Once I wonthe spelling beeat school.I brought a trophy home.I was so happy.But Momonly glanced at itand said,Well, thats good I guess, but dont get too full of yourself. Youre only spelling the words, not inventing them.But the night I passed outshe helped me stand.Put me on the couch.Propped upwith a pillow.Then sheheateda canof soup.Chicken noodlewithout the noodles. She picked them out.So I hadbrothand carrotsand a fewsad chunksof gray celery. We dont want all your hard work to be wasted.She stroked my foreheadin a way meant to be motherly.Except she wasnt that type of mother.It just felt weird. is beautiful.She wakes uptwo hoursbefore school starts.Paints her lips dark red and ripe.Her cheeks pink dots on glowing skin.Long dark hair hangs down her back, in long, silky ringlets.My sister, Mae, is beautiful.Every day she wears a dress.Polka dotsorstripes.Sweetheart necklineand a nipped-in waist. Wide flowing skirt and cute little kitten heels.Like a glamorous50s housewifeon her wayto high school.My sister, Mae, is beautiful.Sometimes shellcomplete the perfect picturewith a plateof browniesshe stayedup lateto bake.Not from a box, either.Its her own extra gooey, extra chewy triple chocolate brownie recipe.Mae gives themto her boyfriend,Erick.Er- ICK.Emphasis on the ick.Erick, star of thewrestling team.Neckless wonder.A guy who says, Mae, get your fat butt over here.Erick.The love of Maes life.He gets Maes specially baked brownies. Erick eatshalfof themwhilehanding outthe restlike a king.Everyoneat schoolknows aboutMaes brownies.Tweets go out: Brownies sighted!Erick loves the attention.And Mae loves him.I guessit allworks outthat way.My sister, Mae, is beautiful.She counts herself L-U-C-K-Yto have Erickin his varsity jacket. Even whenhe grabs her chestin the middle of theSENIOR HALLWAY.And yells HONK, HONK, HONK.My sister, Mae, is beautiful.But shes a liar, too.Because sheLAUGHSand says,Its just a joke.ORHe doesnt mean it. ORI dont mind, really I dont.My sister, Mae, is beautiful.And the BEST person I know.Sometimes,when my armsare too heavyand too tiredto lift upand washmy hairMae will do it for me.In the kitchen sinklike whenwe were kidsplaying beauty shop.Her hands are soft and exact.She combs outthe tangles,then blows it dry, too. My sister, Mae, is fat.The doctoractually saidshes obese.Fat is ugly.Everyoneknows that.My sister, Mae, is a mystery.Shes both fat and beautiful.She is completely herself.Like she doesnt knowhow else to be.I once said to Lacey, Everyone knows Mae. And everyone likes Mae. So Mae must be popular.Lacey laughed. Thats not popular. Popular is everyone wanting to be you.Our moms sister,our aunt,who is both scary and skinny,once told Maeit was a shameabout her weight.She couldve been a real beauty.Like Maes beautywas trapped----------------------------------under----her own flesh.And not sitting out on TOPwhere everyonecould see. I see it, though.I see Mae.And she is beautiful. The hunger was unleashed.Usually it growlsand strainsat its chain.Today it burst free.I ateall the leftovertakeout rice.It fell outof the containersolid like a brick.I bit into it coldas it crumbledin my hands.Scooping up the bitsthat fellto the floor,I shoved them in, too.It wasnt enough. I ateleftoveroff-brandOreosforgottenat the backof the cupboard.I atethe smashedbits of chipsleft at the bottomof threedifferent bags.I ateinstant puddingmixed with milknot waitingfor it to set.And thenI licked the bowl.I atebread.Toastedwith butterand honey.Slice after slice.Fast as the toasterspit them out. I ateslices of pepperoni.Old and crustyat the edgesfrom that nightlong agowhen Mae and I made pizzasfrom scratch.(Really Maemade themand ate themwhile I watched.)I ateuntil mid-chewIfeltIT.Then I ran. Theres a rowof hedges HUGE and OVERGROWN.I leavea little shovelout thereto quicklyre-digmy hole.The purging place,I call it.Where I bury my shame.Now I throw up,eating in reverse,closing my eyes soI dont have to see.The ground is not like the toilet,whisking all awaywith a brisk flush.It just takes it into itself.Isnt that what dirt is anyway?The guts of the earth. The things underneathwe dont usually see.