Looking to Score - CoraLee June, Carrie Gray Page 0,1

bright green apple on the kitchen island. “First day of the new semester.”

“Nice,” she replied half-heartedly. I continued to stare longingly at the Granny Smith apple on our kitchen island, mentally calculating its nutritional value as Shelby continued. It looked to be about seven ounces. One hundred and two calories. Twenty-four grams of carbs. If I skipped the bus to class and jogged for about twelve minutes, it would be enough to burn it off.

Shelby was rambling about something, but doing mental food math took all of my brainpower. My stomach growled, and I reached for my water bottle to take a drink. “Amanda,” Shelby said, drawing my attention back to her. “Did you listen to a word I said?”

No. I didn’t. But Shelby took it personally when she felt like I was ignoring her, so I lied. “Yep.”

“So you don’t mind? Awesome! It won’t be full nudes. I’m thinking a couple of shots of him in a towel and—”

“What?” I cut her off. I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d agreed to. Shelby sighed in annoyance before explaining.

“I found the perfect subject for my next exhibition. It’ll make a huge statement about the human body and resilience.” Her voice had that faraway quality to it that she usually got when she spoke of her art.

“So basically, you found a hot guy with a six-pack and lured him here for a photo shoot.”

“You know me so well,” she deadpanned. “He’s an athlete actually. I’m going to do some commentary about how we sell our bodies for higher education. It’ll be great.” Shelby waved her hand for emphasis, and I forced myself not to roll my eyes at my eccentric roommate.

“Well, I’m supposed to start my internship today, so I’ll be late.”

“Perfect,” Shelby replied. “Can we use your room? The layout in there is perfect for my lighting kit and—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Right. Right,” Shelby said with a tight smile and a wink. She was totally going to take nude photos on my bed. My door didn’t have a lock on it, either. I was just about to yell at her when I saw my phone ringing. Mom.

“I gotta go to class,” I told Shelby, swiping the apple off the countertop.

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here so I can go nap,” Shelby relented.

Once I was outside of my apartment, I quickly answered my cell phone and made my way down to the street. “Hey, Mom.”

“I need your help hiding a body, no questions asked,” she hissed into the phone. I could hear people chatting in the background, and I snorted.

“Did Lacey McGuire try selling you anti-aging cream again?” I asked with a chuckle.

My question released the floods of her fury. “That bitch had the audacity to tell me that I could look fifty again with a proper skin care regimen,” Mom snapped with a huff. “I’m forty-fucking-seven! I mean seriously, last month she was selling diet pills. I heard her garage is filled with boxes of pyramid scheme shit.”

Mom hadn’t worked since I was born, and filled her life up with three things: my dad, me, and gossip. Her hair was so big because it was, in fact, full of secrets. She was a midwest prom queen grown up to be a Silicon Valley housewife. She drove a Range Rover, attended goat yoga, and called me every other day to complain about her friend circle. I fucking loved her.

“That’s insane,” I replied.

“You’re telling me. Do you want to know what else is insane? How fucking skinny you look. I saw your Instagram post yesterday. Have you just not eaten at all this summer, Amanda?”

I cringed at her statement. I knew what photo she was talking about. I’d snapped a shot of me reading a new self-help book at the lake. I guess my legs did look a lot thinner. Diets were such a slippery slope. I read once that if you developed an eating disorder while you were fat, you were a success story. If you developed one while skinny, you were sick. I didn’t know what I was or what I had or what the fuck I was doing with my life, but I did know that I was avoiding shit.

“I’ve just been trying to get healthier,” I explained. “Ever since the incident, I just…” My voice trailed off. We both knew what I was going to say. Traumatic experiences tended to make you rethink everything. In the spring, I was an overweight alcoholic. Now, I was...something else. A health nut obsessed with