Perfect Read Online Free PDF Page B

were pink, like
she'd been running.
    "Sorry," she said.
    Trish smiled. "Good to see you, Ashley. We're talking
about journaling." She handed Ashley a pen.
    "Thank You," Ashley said. She sat in Dawn's old chair
and bent over to unzip her backpack.
    Turns out, Ashley's journal is just a plain black memo
hook like mine. Funny, I expected something leather, with
her initials engraved in gold or something.
    Dawn's journal is covered in sunflowers. Mathilde's
has a picture of a kitten on the front, dangling by its claws
from a tree branch, with bright pink script saying Hang in
there.
    Our first journal assignment was to form two lists: on
the left-hand page, the things we like about our bodies; on
the right, the things we'd change if we could. We might be
doubtful at first, 'Irish said, but once we gave journaling a chance, we would be amazed at what we could discover
about ourselves.

    "Um, Trish?" Lila raised her hand. "Does penmanship
count?"
    Phase.
    Trish said no, and neither did spelling. Journaling is
just for us. Unless we want to share, the contents of all
journals will be kept confidential. Ten minutes of journaling, starting now. Hmmm.

    If Trish thought I was going to share this list out loud,
she was crazy. It's not like anyone needed me to announce
how gross I am. They could tell just by looking.
    When I was done writing I started doodling all over
the front of my journal. I'm pretty good at drawing vines.
Also, tiny footprints.

    According to the clock on the wall there were still six
minutes left. If I were Ashley Barnum, would six minutes
be enough for me to finish writing down every single thing
I love about myself?
    Lila was writing furiously in a notebook the size of her
hand. Microscopic mouse-print, invisible to the human
eye.
    Mathilde's cursive, large and loopy like a little kid's,
was easy to read. There wasn't one thing she liked about
herself.
    "Time!" said Trish.
    She told us to close our journals and our eyes. "Now,
raise your hand if you wrote down more things you don't
like about your body than you wrote things you do like."
    Obviously, this was some kind of test. Trish was checking to see if we're normal or messed up, right? Fine.
    I raised my hand.
    Trish told us to open our eyes but keep our hands in
the air. "Look around," she said. "Everyone in this room
has her hand in the air. So, if you think you're alone in
this, think again. We're all in it together."
    Rachel snorted.
    I didn't blame her. Trish was grating on my nerves too.
    But then, she surprised us. She told us to trash what
we'd written. "Rip those pages out. Tear them into tiny
pieces and dump 'cm!"
    Trish held the trash can up in the air, like it was a trophy.
    "But, Trish," said Lila. She sounded like she was about
to cry. "My pages aren't perforated."

    "That's okay, Lila," said Trish. "Just do the best you
can.
    There was all sorts of ripping and tearing and crumpling of paper. We got to shoot baskets from wherever we
were sitting.
    Once all the paper was in the trash, Trish started telling us how the first battle we were going to have to learn
to fight was our voice of negativity.
    Huh?
    Trish explained. "That little voice inside you that
tells you you're too fat, or your thighs are too big, or you
shouldn't eat this and you shouldn't eat that, otherwise
you're a horrible person? That voice."
    But what if you really are fat and you are gross and
your thighs are too big?
    "The trick," Trish said, "is to replace the voice of negativity with something that makes you feel good rather
than had. Instead of heating yourself up all the time, you
can build yourself up by changing the dialogue in your
head."
    Rachel snorted again. I got the feeling she was going to
be doing a lot of snorting.
    Trish ignored Rachel and asked us to partner up.
    Flashback: fourth-grade gym, picking teams for dodgeball. I was horrible at dodgeball. I was always one of the
last kids standing, staring at my feet, while