Rita Arens - The Obvious Game

The Obvious Game

Rita Arens

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

The Obvious Game

Copyright 2013 Rita Arens

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13 (print): 978-0-9856562-8-7

ISBN-13 (ebook): 978-0-9856562-7-0

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

Edited By Deb Anderson.

Cover art By Najla Qamber

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the authors rights is appreciated.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900870

Praise for The Obvious Game:

"Lovely, evocative, painful and joyful all in one ... much like high school." Jenny Lawson, author of LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED

I couldnt put down THE OBVIOUS GAME. Arens perfectly captures the hunger, pain and uncertainty of adolescence. Ann Napolitano, author of A GOOD HARD LOOK and WITHIN ARM'S REACH

"THE OBVIOUS GAME is a fearless, honest, and intense look into the psychology of anorexia. The charactersespecially Dianaare so natural and emotionally authentic that youll find yourself yelling at the page even as youre compelled to turn it." Coert Voorhees, author of LUCKY FOOLS and THE BROTHERS TORRES

"Lets be clear about one thing: theres nothing obvious about THE OBVIOUS GAME. Arens has written a moving, sometimes heart-breaking story about one girls attempt to control the uncontrollable. You cant help but relate to Diana and her struggles as you delve into this gem of a novel." Risa Green, author of THE SECRET SOCIETY OF THE PINK CRYSTAL BALL

"THE OBVIOUS GAME explores the chasms between conformity and independence, faith and fear, discoveries and secrets, first times and last chances, hunger and satisfaction. The tortured teenage experience is captured triumphantly within the pages of this unflinching, yet utterly relatable, novel. - Erica Rivera, author of INSATIABLE: A YOUNG MOTHERS STRUGGLE WITH ANOREXIA

DEDICATION

for my parent s

W hen we were in seventh grade, Amanda and I snuck out of her house one foggy Saturday night to meet her boyfriend, Matt. We spent more time planning our escape than we did actually conducting it.

Wed made a list while pretending to do our homework:

Wrap flashlights with black electrical tape. (check)

Make fake bodies out of pillows to hide in our sleeping bags. (check)

Booby-trap her bedroom door with string across the threshold so we could see if her mom had tried to check on us. (check)

Assemble all-black outfits, complete with stocking caps, so we would blend in with the shadows as we walked. (check)

Arrange the rendezvous point ahead of time with Matt: the third-grade playground at the elementary school. (check)

It wasnt until wed successfully shimmied down the fence, jogged the four blocks up the street, and seen Matt sitting there alone on the seesaw that I realized I had nothing at all to do while they giggled and kissed. Id been so caught up in the planning portion of our escape that I didnt notice how pathetic my part in it seemed.

I twirled on the swings across the playground and out of view, once again pretending to be totally cool with it. The thing was, though, I wasnt cool with it. I felt about as important as the guy who wrote the cooking instructions for Pop-Tarts.

We probably wouldve stayed there for hours if I hadnt finally strode over to the jungle gym, coughing and kicking rocks as I went. Amanda poked her head out.

Whats up, Diana?

Can we go soon? I forgot to bring a book.

Her expectant smile turned sour. Okay, she finally said, disappearing in the darkness. Just five more minutes.

I wandered to the edge of the playground, thought about turning back on my own, letting her get caught out there by herself. But I wouldnt. Thats what friends are for. She knew it. I knew it.

Everyone trusted me. Good old dependable Diana. Which was why most people didnt notice at first that I was in trouble.

S o who is Jesse? asked Ma. I sat on her bed in the darkened room. Her hair was almost gone, and shed wrapped her head in a purple terrycloth turban knotted in front. The hair loss aged her from forty-something to nearly dead, making my breath catch every time I looked at her. Her face was like a canyon denied rain.

Hes just a guy I know. I smiled at her, not really meaning to, giving myself totally away.

But I dont know him, said Ma. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Last month, one leg had been operated on to remove the tumor. The scar reminded me of a shark bite. Chomp, chomp. All gone. So long, normal life.

He moved here this year from Kansas City, I said. I decided not to tell her about either Jesses brother or Jesses drivers license. Hes a sophomore, and Im sure his record is clean.

Ma ignored me. Is he cute?

Ma . I was not looking forward to a whole afternoon of this. I gave Ma a look that told her the conversation was over. She still wanted me to marry Dylan Morgenstern just because she liked his mom. What did she know about guys?

Oh, she said, pulling out a shiny envelope, by the way, I have something for you.

I flipped open the flap, smelling the film still tucked in beside the glossy pictures. Thanks, Ma. Ill go put these in my room.

As I padded down the stairs, I pulled out the stack, flipping through the images of our Fourth of July picnic. Scattered, blurry fireworks barely visible in a huge background of night sky. Pa standing behind Ma, his fingers rabbit ears over her turban. And holy Lord me...from the back, in a pair of pleated, high-waisted cut-off jeans. I didnt think they looked too bad from the front, but Id never seen them full-on from the back. I looked like a thirty-eight-year-old woman with three kids and a cheeseburger habit.

I felt the sweat start to prickle on the back of my neck, and my throat tightened. I stared closer at the photo. My arms were up in a victory sign. I clearly had no idea what I looked like.

But everyone else did.

Not again. I sank down into my desk chair, pulling out the drawer with one hand, rifling through the contents by touch. I couldnt look away from the picture. My fingers closed around the scissors, the sharp ones with orange plastic handles.

The first cut felt smooth, the blades slicing through gleaming photo paper, just the right amount of resistance. I took quite a bit off my butt and thighs, slightly less around my calves. My breathing slowed as I worked, as though my transformation were already happening.

I held up the scissors, running the sharp tip down the inside of my thigh, right where Id shaved an easy ten pounds off the me in the photo. The blade drew a drop of blood. And it hurt.

Diana! Ma yelled from upstairs. Whats taking you so long? Come on, lets go.

I tossed the scissors and the pictures into the desk drawer.

Pa was in the field, so Id agreed to go with Ma to get her new hair.

Wig Ladys housea sky-blue ranch with white vinyl shuttersperched at the deep end of a cul-de-sac in the nice part of Omaha. When the thin older woman answered the door, I stared hard at her hair, trying to decide if she was modeling the merchandise.