Callie Whittum sat down at the cracked, ancient oak table that dominated the Whittum family kitchen, ten minutes late for dinner.

       “Callie,” Mrs. Whittum said, fixing her gentle, watery gray eyes on Callie’s bright, mascara-lined aquamarine ones. “Dinner was ready ten minutes ago. I told you to be back by the time the streetlights turned on. Where have you been? I’ve been getting worried.”

       Callie tried not to let her grin show. No matter how upset her mother was, she could never really get angry. “Sorry, Mom,” she said breezily. “I lost track of time at Emma’s house.” She giggled, thinking of how she and her best friend, Emma Reynolds, had been pigging out on doughnuts, cold pizza, and freshly baked cherry cobbler when Mrs. Reynolds had found them and freaked out–she had spent all day baking the cobbler for a church party later that day. Then she had sent Callie home, ten minutes after the streetlights turned on.

       “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what’s important,” Mr. Whittum, the peacemaker of the family, said, rubbing his shiny, bald forehead. He gestured to the make-your-own-tacos ingredients that were spread out around the table. “Help yourself. Its delicious.”

       Callie stared longingly at at the just wormed tortillas, crisp, mint green lettuce, perfectly round tomato slices, diced meat, and mozzerella cheese. It all looked so delicious but...her bulging, full to the top stomach reminded her that she could shove an inch more of food down her pizza, doughnut, and cobbler filled stomach. “I’m not hungry,” she said, sighing. “I already at at Emma’s.”

       Mrs. Whittum eyed Callie suspiciously. “What?” she asked.

       “Oh, uh,” Callie mumbled. She didn’t want to have to explain to her mother that she’d gotten in trouble for eating the cobbler. “..you know,” she finished. “Just, um, stuff.”

       “Callie,” Mrs. Whittum bit her lip anxiously. “Are you trying to lose weight? Because you know you are a healthy girl.”

       Callie looked down at herself. ‘Skinny’ was never going to be a word used to describe her, but she certainly wasn’t fat either. As her mother had described it, she was healthy for a tall twelve-year-old. She had a lot of muscle on her bones from playing soccer, softball, and gymnastics. Unlike her older sister, Megan, she had never really cared much about her weight. She’d never worried about what she ate or counted calories and obsessed over carbs.

       “No, Mom,” Callie sighed. They had been over this many times before. “I’m seriously not trying to lose weight. I swear. I just totally pigged out at Emma’s and now I’m stuffed. Could I please be excused?”

       Mrs. Whittum glanced up at the ceiling and then at her husband. She looked tired and worried. She studied Callie intently, taking careful notice of the curves her daughter had recently developed. “Okay,” she agreed. “But remember, Callie, you’re growing up and your body is changing. It’s only natural for you to put on some weight. It’s nothing bad. And if you ever feel like you do want to lose some weight, come and talk to me first. Healthy eating and excersize is the way to lose weight, not starvation.”

       “I know, Mom!” Callie practically shouted, storming out of the kitchen. She slammed the door for good measure and the paused outside to listen.

       “Derek, I just don’t know what to do,” Mrs. Whittum whimpered. Callie could picture her usually bright, smiling face crumpled and bent over as tears began to form in her eyes.

       “Allie, it isn’t your fault,” Mr. Whittum responded. “You only want to protect her.”

       “I ju-just don’t want her to end up like M-m-m-megan,” Mrs. Whittum blubbered. “I couldn’t protect one daughter from getting h-h-huurt, and I need to protect the o-o-other.”

       “I know,” Mr. Whittum murmered. “I know.”

       Callie sighed impatiently. She had grown tired of her mother’s relentless antics months ago, and now she felt no sympathy for her. So what if Megan had been bulemic and later anorexic for four years without Mrs. Whittum noticing before a counselor at Megan’s high school had finally called her up and told her that her daughter had a life-threatening illness. So what if Megan was now in rehab and had to rebuild her whole life again. Just because one Whittum girl had a problem didn’t mean the other did. And Callie was sick of her parents constantly bugging her and bugging her about it. Just plain sick.