Never Enough (36 page)

It had to be.

Because Marcus was right. Claire would have wanted this for me.

And now I had to live it all enough for both of us.

Many of us have suffered from a food issue of some kind, whether it’s cutting
calories on a regular basis or trying to “make up” for a junk food binge. These are simple solutions, ones that don’t seem dangerous or hard to control. I’ve personally struggled with my perception of healthy eating on and off for years. For me, conquering this has come only by way of self-acceptance, but even still, it seems more than possible that I might fall back into destructive patterns at any time.

When it comes to severe eating disorders, often we can’t understand why some people won’t just make better choices when it comes to food. I have known women who have suffered severely from eating disorders, and yes, it can be easy to judge. But our lack of understanding and compassion is one reason that so many people suffer alone, only letting their disorder become worse. An eating disorder gives a false sense of control, while in reality it’s an all-consuming monster that wants to take over every bit of a person’s life.

My first inspiration for writing this book was a close friend of mine who has suffered for many years from a combination
of severe eating disorders. I didn’t write this book to show or teach her anything. I wrote it because I wanted to understand her and connect with her in a way that would be helpful rather than hurtful.

My friend can’t avoid food like she’d avoid cigarettes if she were quitting smoking. She has to face her addiction every day. Sure, it gets easier. But then sometimes it gets harder again. Above all, I’m glad I made a deeper connection with her and with others. Honesty among true friends can be a hard thing to come by, but it’s worth the effort not to have to endure a lifelong battle alone. You may be surprised how accepting others can be. And then maybe you’ll start accepting yourself.

It’s estimated that more than eight million Americans suffer from an eating disorder, and eating disorders have the highest death rate among mental illnesses. The statistics are scary—don’t try to battle it by yourself. And if you’re not the one suffering, and someone comes to you admitting they have a problem, be a supportive friend. Encourage him or her to seek help, and then walk through it with them. Making the first move to be honest is hard, but I guarantee there’s somebody in your life who really needs you.

And who knows? Maybe you need them too.

For more information on eating disorders, where to get help, or how to be a support to someone with an eating disorder, visit the National Eating Disorders Association at
www.nationaleatingdisorders.org

Maybe one day I’ll be able to write a book with the help of only one or two
people. Today is not that day.

Never Enough
had been a work in progress since 2004. It has been through so many drafts and titles and characters that I’ve lost count, so you can only imagine how difficult it is to name every person who had a hand in helping with various versions of this manuscript. I apologize to those I miss. I am truly thankful to all of you that Loann finally has her place in this world. First of all, a humongous thank-you to anyone who has taken the time to pick up this book or my debut novel,
Losing Faith
. I know there are mounds of wonderful new books coming out every year, and it means more to me than I can say that you’ve given my book a chance. You people are what dreams are made of. Thank you.

Heartfelt thanks also:

To Annette Pollert for finding my vision in my mess of pages, and for helping me bring it to life. Thank you so much for your time and unending energy on this book.

To Anica Rissi for always being such a strong supporter
and champion of my work and, really, for being such a darn cool person.

To the amazing Pulse team. I still have yet to meet many of you, but I’m so thankful for everything you do to bring my books into the world.

To Michelle Humphrey, agent extraordinaire, who leads me and protects me and offers me stellar editorial advice. She also advises on such important matters as which particular sweets we will celebrate each happy milestone with. (I’m waiting to hear from you on this one, Michelle. . . .)

To my incredibly talented writer friends, whose advice can be seen in these pages: Shana Silver (who deserves an extraspecial shout-out for her insight, many hours of close examination, and last-minute saves—this girl needs to become an editor!), Elle Strauss, Caroline Starr Rose, Craig Pirrall, Tara Kelly, Amy Brecount-White, Margie Gelbwasser, Pendred Noyce, Jennifer Hoffine, Shari Green, Sharon Knauer, Pam, Katie, Lorrie, Maria, Angela, Lucie, Bonnie, Don, Joel, Stacey, James, and the whole Critique Circle gang.

To my writing community friends, the Class of 2k10, the Tenners, the Blueboarders, my Blogger friends, my Twitter friends, the Teenlitauthors, and my LiveJournal friends. You make my life fun and teach me so much.

To the awe-inspiring book blogger community, as well as teachers, librarians, and booksellers: Thank you for all you do
to spread the word about YA books, especially the books of new and up-and-coming authors. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

To my high school drama teacher, Terry McLellan, for making my high school years bearable, and for being the coolest teacher ever.

Thanks always to my family: Ted, Teddy, Mom, Brent, Jody, Harry, Shelly, Kim, Duane, Bruce, and Lynda—your support means the world to me (and special thanks to Lynda and Jody, whose babysitting efforts helped me complete my revisions on time).

During the editing of this book, my dad passed away in a sudden accident. He was one of the biggest influences in every part of my life, and so, of course, he needs to be included here. But a simple thank-you is not enough. There’s a special book coming for you, Dad. Just letting that one brew . . .

A terrible secret.
A terrible fate.

DON’T MISS

denise jaden’s

LOSING FAITH

T
he statue has got to go.

That’s my first thought as I prep the living room for Dustin’s visit later tonight. I know I’m the only one who would notice the discriminating eyes of Mom’s four-inch Jesus staring down from the mantel. Dustin probably wouldn’t look away from my breasts if the room were two feet deep in holy water. Still, I reach for it.

When my hand fumbles and the statue topples sideways, I pick the thing up and scan the hearth for any other too-holy housewares.

“What are you doing?” My older sister rushes in from the kitchen, scuffles across the carpet, and ignites a spark when she snatches the statue out of my hand. She settles it back into its ring of dust, adjusting it to its all-seeing viewpoint, and then eases her hand away like she’s afraid the thing might fly right up to heaven. Turning, she glares at me.

Great. Caught in the act of abducting a religious icon. Not exactly the act I feared being caught in tonight.

“Actually, Faith”—I stare into her eyes so she won’t miss this—“I was wondering if you could give me a lift to the church.”

As expected, her whole face lights up, and I’m tempted to let her believe she’s finally fished her heathen sister out of the sea of despair. It’s better than telling her the truth.

“Amy’s going to meet me at a coffee shop near there,” I add. Not complete honesty, but close enough.

“Oh.” Her face falls. “I’m not sure, Brie. I mean, I wasn’t going to—” She flicks her fingernail against her thumb a few times and looks away.

She wasn’t going to what? Wasn’t going to youth group like she has every single Friday night since she was born? I glance at the clock above her head. Good thing Dustin’s not waiting down the street somewhere, which was my initial idea. But me staying home alone on a Friday night would be far from ordinary and I don’t want to raise anyone’s suspicions. I stare back at Faith until she goes on.

“Celeste doesn’t want to go, my car’s out of gas, and I can’t find my Bible.” She starts for the kitchen. “Sorry, Brie, I’m not going tonight.”

Usually, I strategize about as well as a fly caught in a screen door. But tonight I had taken the initiative to plan
something nice—really nice—for Dustin, and tonight, of all nights, Faith’s turning into someone I don’t even know. What happened to her Big Salvation Plan, the one that wraps around her life in giant, multicolored jawbreaker layers of certainty?

I can’t do anything about Celeste cutting out on her. They argued on the phone earlier and I learned a long time ago that I don’t understand their friendship well enough to get involved. But I can fix other problems. I reach for my purse. “I have gas money.”

She stops in the kitchen doorway.

I dig out the only bill I can find, walk toward her, and push it at her chest. She looks down at my hand like it’s covered in warts.

“I know it’s only five bucks, but that’ll at least get your car to the church and back, right?” Heading to the bookshelves in the living room, I scrunch my nose because the dog, curled up on the couch, must have farted. I pull off a Bible with
Brie Jenkins
inscribed in the bottom corner of its black leather cover. “Here,” I say, coughing from the flutters of dust. “Take mine.”

“That’s a King James Version,” Faith says. “I really need my N.I.V.”

Faith and her New International Version. Like it matters. And here I thought getting my parents out of the house would be the hard part, but they left before six, barely taking
time to say good-bye. When I don’t move my outstretched hand, Faith lets out a sigh and takes my Bible from me.

She opens it, apparently figuring this is the perfect time for her daily devotional, and I call the dog to get him and his raunchy smell out of here. “Nuisance, here, boy.”

Our overweight golden retriever has selective hearing. It’s probably too late anyway; Dustin will certainly end up with blond dog hair all over his pants, but I want to at least try to give the cushions a once-over with the lint roller.

I pry my fingers under the dog’s mass, using all my weight to lug him off. He takes my gesture as an attempt to play and jumps up, frothing all over my freshly made-up face. I fall on my butt and let out a giggly yelp. When I look up, expecting to see Faith laughing, she just stares into the open Bible, and nibbles on her lip.

She shakes her head, and at first I think it’s at me and my stupid predicament, but then she flips the page and scowls hard down at the words. I’m baffled, since I can’t imagine her disagreeing with anything in The Good Book.

The loops of her blond hair mimic the paisley wallpaper behind her. It’s hard to remember when my hair used to be even curlier, before Amy permanently lent me her straightening iron. It takes me a second to notice Faith’s whole body trembling.

“Faith, what’s—”

“Nothing.” She snaps the book shut, and heads for the foyer. Her renewed determination makes me wonder if it had been my eyes that were trembling. “You wanted a ride, right? Let’s go.”

I follow her, but she picks up the hall phone and dials while she slips on her shoes.

“Oh, good, you’re still there,” she says into the handset. “I’m driving my sister to the church, so I think I am going to go. That’s my sign.” Her forehead creases as she stares at the floor listening.

At least she doesn’t sound angry with Celeste anymore. Though she doesn’t exactly sound cheery either.

“Nothing dangerous, but I need you, Celeste,” Faith prods.

I wonder what kind of crazy, shake-in-your-shoes idea the church has planned for them tonight. Perhaps they’ll play tag in the parking lot in bare feet.

When she glances up from her call and notices I’m still there, she whispers, “Hold on,” into the receiver and moves down the hall with the phone pressed to her chest.

Fine. Not like I wanted to listen in on
that
conversation anyway. I open the door, calling, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just be in the car,” loud enough so they can both hear me.