After a week of not eating Cameron is giddy. It’s not just the low blood-sugar; there’s a weird feeling of empowerment from denying himself food. “Gotcha,” he tells the stranger in the mirror. “Pow.”
He’s got to be careful, though he’s lucky because he’s a guy. Nobody really expects a guy to stop eating, or if they notice anything they figure he’s just eating in his room or late at night or something. “He’s so moody,” his dad complains to his mother after Cameron misses dinner for the fifth time. Cameron’s in the hallway but they don’t know he’s there, so he hears everything.
“It’s just the age,” his mom says. “Everybody’s moody when they’re fifteen.” There’s a long conversation afterward that’s not exactly complimentary but not once do they even mouth the word anorexia.
Cameron joins the wrestling team, not because he wants to wrestle but because it’s a good excuse to skip meals. “Gotta reduce,” he says, when his dad tries to give him his lunch. “Match tomorrow.”
“Good luck,” says his dad, and calls him Bear, bemusedly.
After three months wrestling season is over and the stranger in his mirror is banging on the glass in desperation. “Can’t catch me,” Cameron says. “I’m like the wind.” The shadows between his ribs look like racing stripes; they promise speed and escape.