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.

The next afternoon, Willow came to the old punk club early. She wanted to practice eating near people before the band arrived. The plan felt smart. Strangers filled the floor for the daytime show. Nobody here knew her. Loud music meant nobody would watch her chew. Low pressure, she told herself. She could eat a little, hidden inside the crowd, before rehearsal made it real. She found a spot against the far wall, under a torn band poster. She pulled a small bag from her hoodie pocket. Apple slices, six of them, cut thin. Kandi's rule sat in her head: eat before we play. Willow lifted one slice to her mouth. She bit down. Her count started on its own. One, two, three. She always chewed eleven times on each side. It kept the food safe. It kept her safe. The bass thumped through the wall. Bodies pressed close, sweat and hairspray in the air. Willow kept counting. Six on the left. Seven. The rule was working. She could do this, one slice at a time, no one looking. Then a flash of neon pink cut through the crowd. Kandi. Willow froze mid-chew. Kandi was dancing near the front, arms up, tiara catching the stage light, rainbow hoodie bright against the dark. She wasn't supposed to be here yet. Willow's whole plan cracked. If Kandi turned, she would see. She would see the counting on Willow's face, the slow careful bites, the rules. Willow's hand jerked. She dumped the apple slices onto the sticky floor. They scattered under boots. Her heart slammed. She shoved the empty bag deep in her pocket and pressed flat against the wall. Kandi spotted her anyway. She danced her way over, breathing hard, grinning. "You came early," she said. Then she looked down. Apple slices lay crushed near Willow's platform sneakers. Kandi's grin dropped. She didn't ask what happened. She already knew. "I couldn't," Willow whispered. "You saw me. I got scared." Kandi crouched. She picked up the bag from Willow's pocket without asking and looked inside. Empty. She stood back up. For a second she said nothing, and the music filled the space between them. "Okay," Kandi said. "So hiding doesn't work." She said it flat, like a fact. "You throw it out the second someone sees. So you stop hiding." Willow shook her head fast. "I can't eat where people watch." "Then you eat where I watch," Kandi said. "Just me. Every day before rehearsal. Right here." She wasn't asking. "You're not doing the alone thing anymore. It's done." Willow's stomach turned cold. Her private, controlled spot was gone. There would be no more practicing in secret, no crowd to disappear into. From now on, Kandi would sit across from her and watch her eat. She wanted to run. She didn't. She nodded, once. It felt like stepping off a ledge.