Wrong Thing To The Right Girl

"You're a fat whore." That's all the message said. I knew it, so it didn't bother me. Still, I replied.
"Look whose talkin." Now, though, she's asking for ways to lose weight. I thought I didn't matter, hun. So, why are you ninety-seven pounds and askin for tips to lose weight after I say you're fat?
My friend reads your status on facebook, saying you're sick of being called fat. Thoughts of how I would kill to have your weight or even BMI fill me. Worry follows soon after. See? I ain't so bad these days.
The next day, I see you. You don't look ninety-seven pounds, or even like you've lost weight. You're not fat, just not skinny. Whatever, though, I think, she's not my concern. Still, I feel proud when I don't eat lunch because I know you will. The people at my table don't even ask anymore why I'm not eating. They must think my family is dirt poor.
Pacing my room that night, the number ninety-seven fills my thoughts. Ninety-seven. Each step seems to sing of the word. Ninety-seven. I could do that, I tell myself. I could do it easy.
My goals don't change, though, just because you lost weight and think you're still fat.

Alex's End Of Story Note:
So, I was listening to The Maine and remembered calling J.P. fat and then having Anna read to me a status from facebook about J.P. wanting to lose weight. Then again, she basically told me she gave up being anorexic as if it's a diet. So, I've got pretty mixed feelings about it. Maybe I shouldn't have used myself as the character thinking and doing throughout this. Maybe someone more compassionate should've been displayed...