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when she spoke it was never above a whisper. her teachers would strain to hear, trying to pick out syllables from the rush of wind. impatient, given to sarcastic smiles, they'd ask, 'miss ----, please speak louder.' another hiss of wind from her, lips moving slowly and deliberately.

sometimes she would suck bits of food out from under her fingernails. the taste was of salt. secret and thirsty. lunch was spent sitting at a table filled with other girls. their laughter not infectious but sly. sometimes they spoke to her, sometimes not. their eyes would watch her ring her thumb and forefinger around her wrists. anxious, unhappy movement. the furtive touch to collarbone, as if it would become more pronounced under her fingertips. she would put her fingers into her chocolate cake (wrapped into plastic and quite dry) and then wipe them off. the others were used to seeing her nails dark with old food.

the girls would grin at her and say, 'want my cake? i don't want to get like you. do ya?' her lips would move and her hands would reach out, waiting for the slam of cake in her hands. then the ritual was repeated all over again.

she had a bottle of water by her at all times. taking big sips and refilling it in between classes. her teeth would chatter in winter. the girls watching the spaces between her fingers grow, eyes greedy with jealousy. at least that's what they told themselves. 'if only i could be as thin as ----.' they would cry to each other while in the bathroom, before the mirror. they would go in there in packs and watch their reflections move. watching the gentle curve of belly and the flare of hips. not the straight, narrow space the girl occupied, her nails a strange shade of blue.

in between classes she would feel the phantom hands of boys on her back, testing out the ridges of her spine. smiling like dogs as they say, 'i think you've gained some weight.' her lips would tremble and she'd miss the next class. during which she'd stay in the bathroom. counting each rib in the mirror. hiding in the toilet at the clatter of happy steps outside the door. the giggling of girls and the tinkle of urine. the other girls like sentinels for their friends.

the counselors would eye her but their questions went unanswered. calls to home were returned and her parents said they were working on it. working on what? teacher's discussed her as another statistic. another failure of parenting. but what could they do about it? instead they gathered up lesson plans and listened to her voice become smaller. her lips move slower.

she forgot how to speak. forgot how to want anything but hunger. instead she felt her wrists and sucked bits of food out from underneath her nails.