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a complicated thing though. Many people don’t stop at one surgery. It can be addictive.”
    â€œLeah’s mom’s like that. Addicted.”
    â€œThat’s pretty common,” she says. “Did your mom tell you anything about what I do?”
    I shake my head. “Not much. Just that you teach a course about body image.”
    She smiles. “Did she tell you that I used to be a man?”
    I stare at her, not sure what to say.
    â€œYup. Dr. Robert Smithson. So you can understand my interest in body image. And cosmetic surgery.”
    I still don’t know what to say. She’s so hot. My brain can’t put her hotness together with what she just told me.
    She uncoils herself from the chair and sticks her feet out. “These are a bit of a giveaway, don’t you think?” she says. The nails are painted hot pink, but she’s gotta be a size 11. Men’s 11. “So, shall I give you Body Image 101?”
    I nod, and she leans forward in her chair. “Have you ever heard of body dysmorphic disorder? BDD?”
    I shake my head. She continues.
    â€œBDD is a preoccupation with an imagined or slight defect in appearance that leads to significant impairment in functioning.” I must look puzzled, because she says, “Sorry. Even to me, that sounds like something from a textbook. Let me try again. A person with BDD gets so freaked out about their appearance that they can’t think about much else. They look in the mirror and all they see is some abnormality or deformity—breasts too small, ears too big, belly too round.”
    â€œNose too bumpy,” I say, stroking mine.
    â€œExactly. Anorexics often see themselves as fat, even when they’re near death from starvation. Body image starts to develop when kids are really small. Families influence how children think about themselves. So does the rest of the world: toys, television, movies, magazines.” She pauses. “Make sense so far?”
    I nod.
    â€œTeenagers think plastic surgery will make them happier, more self-confident, more popular. But it doesn’t. So if the goal of cosmetic surgery is to feel better about yourself, you’re better off seeing a therapist. Which is where I come in. Lecture over.”
    â€œIs plastic surgery ever a good thing?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
    â€œOf course,” she says. “I’m living proof. Plastic surgeons do great work all the time: cleft palates, burns, traumatic injury, sex changes. The man who does my surgery works part of every year in third-world countries. They’re not all greedy bastards.”
    â€œSo I should try and stop my friend from having surgery, right?”
    â€œUnless she has three breasts and a cleft lip, yes.”
    She stands up and shakes my hand. Her grip is bone-crushing, but she smells completely girly—like roses. I close my eyes and inhale.

Chapter Eight
    When I get home from seeing Dr. Smithson, I post a few things on Slice and Dice . Stuff about the interviews I’ve done. I try to be fair. I’ve decided I don’t much care what adults do to their bodies. I focus on the whole issue of plastic surgery and teens. I’m still getting lots of comments, but it seems like it’s time to ramp it up a bit. Get some public attention on the issue. But first I want to see if I can talk some sense into Leah.
    I pass her a note in English. I need to talk to you. Usual place at lunch?
    No reply. I go to our usual place anyway. It’s a wooden bench outside the window of the teachers’ lounge. No one else ever sits there. Not even the teachers. To my surprise, she shows up.
    â€œWhat do you want, asshole?” she says. She stands in front of me. Her hands are clenched around the straps of her backpack.
    â€œA few minutes of your time. Just hear me out, okay?”
    â€œYou’ve got three minutes,” she says.
    â€œYou gonna sit down?” I