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she begins to close the door.
    “Uh, can she come in too?” Maggie asks.
    “Perhaps you’d feel freer if you were alone,” Dr. Fuentes says.
    “No,” Maggie answers. “I won’t. I now it.”
    Dr. Fuentes looks at me.
    I’m standing there, duh.
    “Well, it’s not my usual procedure,” Dr. Fuentes says. “Bu if Amalia has the time...”
    “OK,” I squeak.
    Maggie smiles. I walk in. there are to seats and a kind of bed/sofa thing, no back cushions, just a big headrest and pillow at one end.
    Dr. Fuentes sits on one of the seats. Maggie on the other.
    The only one who’s relaxed is Dr. Fuentes.
    Now what? I’m supposed to los on the bed?
    I sit on it. At the end.
    I feel like I’m the one in therapy.
    025
    A minute or two of small talk, then Dr. Fuentes opens a notebook and takes a pen in hand.
    Maggie starts talking.
    And talking.
    I’m waiting for the Tale of Gloom & Blume, and she’s yakking away as if life is great.
    She’s telling Dr. Fuentes about the good stuff. The adventures of her brother, Zeke. Her pets. Her school projects. Her song writing. Inner Vistas, the school literary magazine she edits.
    Dr. Fuentes seems totally entertained.
    Me too. I feel like I’m beginning to know her more.
    Maggie moves n to the details of her life. Her piano lessons, her singing, Vanish, the battle of the Bands.
    And I’m beginning to realise something.
    She’s stalling.
    She’s here to talk about a problem, and she hasn’t even touched the subject.
    I look at the clock. 37 minutes have gone by. The session is supposed to last only 45.
    Dr. Fuentes hasn’t said much at all. Just “Mm-hm” and “Well!” and “How does that make you feel?”
    Finally, when Maggie runs out of breath, Dr. Fuentes puts down her notebook.
    “Maggie, it sounds to me like a wonderful life.”
    Maggie nods.
    “I mean, what 13-year-old girl wouldn’t trade with you in a minute?”
    Maggie nods again.
    “The glamour. The parties. The music. I’d say you were a lucky kid.
    No.
    this can’t be happening.
    My stomach is sinking.
    This is her therapy?
    Telling Maggie that her life is perfect? Things aren’t as bad as they seem?
    They are bad. That’s the point.
    LOOK AT HER BODY! I want to scream out.
    It’s dawning on me that Dr. Fuentes is just like everyone else. She sees a rich girl and assumes nothing could possibly be the matter.
    And I’m thinking Mami was wrong. Going to Dr. Fuentes is a big, big mistake.
    I’m not done yet.
    But I’m beat. More tomorrow, Nbook.
    Thurs 10/1
    Morning
    Way, way early
    Back again.
    Where was I?
    Dr. Fuentes’s office.
    Maggie has just been told things are great.
    She doesn’t like this at all. Her smile vanishes.
    026
    027
    She says it’s just like that. Gently. Not a question, not a ridicule. Just a word.
    “That’s how I feel,” Maggie explains. “I...have this problem with eating. It’s like torture to me. I hate the sight of food. I hate the sight of myself. When I was 110, I wanted to be 105. When I was 105, I wanted to be 100. I feel like nothing comes easy to me—not weight, not school, not friends...”
    “Maggie,” Dr. Fuentes says, “what does come easily to you? What do you really enjoy?”
    Maggie thinks a moment. “Writing. My poems. My songs. I mean, I’m not that good at it, but I love it. I get lost in myself. Like I’m in a private little room where everything’s perfect.” She sighs. “Sometimes I wish I could stay there.”
    “Why don’t you?”
    “I can’t be lazy all the time. I have work to do. You can’t be the best if you’re locked away from reality.”
    “And you have to be the best.”
    “I try.”
    “And what happens if you’re not the best?”
    Maggie’s looking annoyed. “I don’t think about that.”
    “The world would end?”
    “No. But things would...I don’t know, fall apart.”
    “Your grades?”
    “Yes.”
    “Your lessons?”
    “Yes.”
    “Your band?”
    “Yes.”
    “Your family?”
    “Yes.”
    “Your body