1996. I am in high school. I am sitting in health class. Health is a required course, and it is held in the basement of the gym. The room looks like a large concrete box. There are no windows in health class. I am sitting next to the boy who eats orange peels and talks to himself. I am getting an "A" in health, but the only thing I've learned of value as far as I'm concerned is to splash cold water on my face after washing to close up the pores and prevent blackheads.
I haven't eaten in three days. I consider this a victory although I haven't seen any results yet besides a sticky mouth that tastes like bile. I don't mind the taste so much. It reminds me of my strike on food. But I don't kiss my boyfriend anymore, just in case it bothers him.
We have a guest speaker in class today. She is short with a platinum bob and a figure that brings to mind the phrase "roly-poly." She's going to talk to us about sex. There is a hush in the room followed by a few snickers and eyes start shooting around the room. We've pretty much all had sex. The boy who eats orange rinds taps me on the shoulder and flicks his...