Mom seems to be exercising all the time.
And hardly eating.
"Dallas, I'm worried about mom."
"Why?"
"She seems sick. Did you notice that she doesn't eat a lot, but exercises all the time?"
"Yeah...maybe she's just on a health kick?"
"I dunno."
"What type a sick is not eating, anyway?"
"I think it's a disorder...a food disorder, maybe?"
"Alex, being blue makes you worry to much."
"You got blue hair."
"Yeah, but I'm not a Smurf."
"Ya got Smurf-y hair." We both started laughing. "You're probably right. There's probably nothin' wrong."
"Hey, boys. Nothing's wrong with what?" She came up behind us.
"Oh, nothing." We both said.
"You're up to something, aren't you." She sighed.
"Yes." I mumbled, at the same time Dallas said "No."
"Boys," she sighed, "I know enough to know that you're planning something." She took a sip of her coffee. "I also know that you won't tell me. I won't interfere, as long as you promise to not get in trouble."
"Yes, mom." I said.
"We'll try." Dallas replied.
"Do you feel alright?" I asked.
"Yeah...the coffee tastes funny, that's all. Excuse me." She walked off, then.
"Dallas."
"Yeah?"
"You like coffee, right?"
"I'm only ten! Only old people like coffee."
"Fine. I'll taste it." I grabbed the mug and took a sip. "Seems like the normal-ish stuff. Wait. Here that?"
"Uh-huh. What is it?"
"Dunno. Lets find out." It sounded like it was coming from the bathroom.
"Bleh!"
"What is that?"
"It sounds like sick noises. The pukey kinda sick."
"Yeah...maybe she is sick." Dallas said. "How will we find out?"
"We'll Google it. Quick!" We ran off to the living room, pretending to play tag.
"Mom, wanna play?" I asked.
"Maybe later, boys? I have to go take of Paris and London. Poor girls are crying."
"Uh-kay."
We scurried up the stairs and quietly peeked in the room.
"She's busy!" Dallas whispered.
"Let's go. Her room has a computer."
Dallas let me have the computer, because I was the more techy person. I typed in the symptoms and tried to find something,
while Dallas tried to find something in a book.
"Find anything?" He asked, an hour later.
"Yeah. Did you?"
"Nope."
"Apparently it could be anorexia, if she starves herself. Or bulimia if she pukes after eating."
"What 'bout the exercisin'?"
"I dunno, but I she's sick. It's a mental disorder where people think they're fat, but they're not. They end up doing all this stuff, like not eating, and end up really sick. Like hospital sick."
"Mom can't be in the hospital! What's the cure? Mom took me to the hospital when I had strep throat... I had to take icky medicine. Does medicine help?"
"No, apparently therapy does. And eating."
"Mom needs therapy?"
"I guess so."
"What if she isn't sick, though?"
"Lets wait a day of two. If nothin' gets better, we'll tell her."
"Uh, 'kay."
"What's mom doing?"
"Boys! Dinner!" That answered that question.
"This is good mom!"
"Thanks honey."
"Don't you want some?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'm not really hungry after my exercise."
"Oh, okay." Dallas shot me a look as if to say "This isn't normal. Is it?" I shook my head, as if to say "No way! Uh, oh. She's sick!"
"Excuse me, boys."
"What?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm just feeling a little off."
"Okay. I hope you feel better." Dallas replied. Then, mom walked off.
"What's that?" I asked.
"It sounds like... she's sick!" We tip toed to the bathroom door.
"She's puking!" I whispered.
"Gross!" Dallas whispered back.
"Quick! She sounds done!"
"Hi, guys." She looked at us, funny.
"We're just getting ready for bed.
"Okay. You could stay up until nine-thirty, if you wanted. It's only eight, and tomorrow's Sunday, so no school."
"Great!" Dallas said, as I said "No, thanks." We both glared at each other, until Dallas said:
"That's great, but we wanna save our energy. Tommy Moore's Daddy is moving to Riverview so he's throwing a goodbye party. His dad got custody and his mom's upset, so she's spoiling-"
"They're parents are getting a divorce." I quickly interrupted him.
"That's sad. I hope that they can at least be civil for the sake of their son."
"Yeah, well we want to get to bed."
"Okay, then. If you want to. Night boys." She kissed the top of our heads. Tomorrow, we're going to confront her.
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