Plastic by Sarah N. Harvey

Author:Sarah N. Harvey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, JUV000000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2010-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

When I get home from seeing Dr. Smithson, I post a few things on Slice and Dice. Stuff about the interviews I’ve done. I try to be fair. I’ve decided I don’t much care what adults do to their bodies. I focus on the whole issue of plastic surgery and teens. I’m still getting lots of comments, but it seems like it’s time to ramp it up a bit. Get some public attention on the issue. But first I want to see if I can talk some sense into Leah.

I pass her a note in English. I need to talk to you. Usual place at lunch?

No reply. I go to our usual place anyway. It’s a wooden bench outside the window of the teachers’ lounge. No one else ever sits there. Not even the teachers. To my surprise, she shows up.

“What do you want, asshole?” she says. She stands in front of me. Her hands are clenched around the straps of her backpack.

“A few minutes of your time. Just hear me out, okay?”

“You’ve got three minutes,” she says.

“You gonna sit down?” I ask.

“Tick, tick, tick,” she says, looking at her watch. She sits as far away from me as possible on the bench.

“I know you’re mad at me about the whole boob-job thing. But I did some research”—she rolls her eyes— “and here’s the thing. It’s risky, and you’ll need more surgery down the road, and it won’t make you happy. In a few years you’ll like your body better—”

“Says who?” she asks.

“This therapist—”

“You talked to a therapist about me?”

“Not about you. About plastic surgery. About body image. About BDD.”

“BDD?”

“It’s this thing where you can’t see yourself properly. Trust me, it’s weird.”

“So you think I have this BDD thing? That’s what you and this therapist decided?” She stands up and looks down at me. “You are such a jerk. Stay away from me.”

She stomps off. I don’t go after her. She has a mean right hook. After dinner I go down to the basement and drag an old protest sign from the pile. I paint over something about gay marriage and write Keep Your Scalpel Off Teen Bodies on one side and I’m Not Deformed. I’m Unique on the other. Mom comes downstairs and watches me paint.

“Never thought I’d see you with a sign in your hands,” she says. “Need any help?”

I shake my head. “I’m just about finished. Unless you want to make another sign and join me?”

“Join you where?”

“Outside Dr. Myers’s office. Tomorrow after school.”

She picks up an old sign and twirls it in her hands. “It’s been a while,” she says thoughtfully. “And it’s a good cause.”

“So you’re in?”

“Let me check my schedule. If I can make it, I will.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “Do you think the drops of blood are too much?”

She looks at the red paint dripping from the p in Scalpel.

“Nope,” she says. “It’s great. I’m proud of you.” She heads back upstairs, and by the time I finish the sign, it’s time for bed.

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