Willow Wicked's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Willow Wicked had one week until the reunion show, and she planned to sing every song on an empty stomach. Rehearsals ran through dinner. She liked that. It gave her a reason. When the band broke for food, she slipped into the bathroom, ran the tap, and counted her breaths until the pizza smell faded. She wanted to eat a full meal someday, sitting next to Kandi, no counting, no rules. Someday was not this week. Today her father caught her on the stairs. Derek Holloway blocked the way, phone in hand, refreshing his play counts. "Look at you," he said. He nodded at her bone hoodie, the one that hid everything. "You're disappearing, man. Skipping meals so you can go scream at that little club." He laughed. "Might snap in half on stage. That'd get views, at least." Willow's throat closed. She pushed past him and ran to her room. She shut the door, pressed her back to it, and slid down. The heated blanket lay bunched on her black bed. Skull stickers stared from the wall. She pulled her knees up and cried into her sleeve. She grabbed her phone. Her thumb shook. She typed to Kandi: nothing dramatic, just a test. "you busy?" If Kandi answered, maybe it meant something. If she didn't, that meant something too. The reply came fast. "omw." Twenty minutes later Kandi came through the door without knocking. Neon pink hair, crystal tiara crooked, false lashes half-peeling. She didn't ask what happened. She sat on the floor beside Willow, close, shoulder to shoulder. "He said it again," Willow whispered. "About my weight." "Your dad's a SoundCloud clown," Kandi said. "Nobody listens to him. Not even you." She said it flat, final. Willow almost smiled. Then Kandi pulled a granola bar from her hoodie pocket. She peeled the wrapper and broke it in half. She ate her half first, chewing loud, on purpose. "Not counting," Kandi said. "Just sitting here. You don't have to eat the whole thing." Willow stared at the broken half in Kandi's open hand. Her rules screamed. Skip it. Wait for tonight. Wait for empty. But Kandi wasn't leaving. Kandi had come the second she called. Willow took the half. She didn't count the bites. She ate it slow, next to her friend, on the floor of a dark room that smelled like nothing bad. It was small. It was three bites. It was the first food she'd eaten beside someone in months. When it was gone, Kandi wadded up the wrapper. "Rehearsal tomorrow," she said. "You're not skipping dinner again. I'm bringing food. We eat before we play." Willow nodded. She meant it. Something had shifted, and now the band would see her eat, or not eat, every single day.