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“Wendy, have you ever hated your body?”
Wendy peeks up from her book - a trashy romance novel Mabel lent her upon arriving at the Corduroy cabin. The writing is terrible, but regardless, Wendy has tried to keep her biting commentary to herself. Apparently it’s Mabel’s favorite book (at the moment; who knows what’ll be next) and The One Juicy Romance Story About Supernatural Beings That Everyone Needs to Read Before They Die Alone and Unloved (TM, Mabel Pines).
The reason why her friend has stopped asking what part she’d gotten up to every five minutes now makes sense. Mabel is sitting on the edge of her bed, back faced to her. A frown crosses Wendy’s lips. She answers genuinely, “Yeah, all the time,” because she has been there, and she is still there.
Even after getting to know Mabel for an entire summer, Wendy doesn’t expect the girl to grab the sides of her face and scream “WHAT!?” directly into it.
“But you’re, like, one of the prettiest girls I know!” Mabel tosses her arms up; practically flails them as she goes on, “How could you even say you don’t like yourself!?”
Wendy blinks. Places the book to the side. Glances down. “I mean…” She rubs the back of her neck. “I guess I just don’t.”
“But that’s crazy! You’re so pretty and cool and - ”
“Why don’t you believe that about yourself?”
Mabel’s tangent comes to a halt. She stares at Wendy. A short moment of silence passes where the younger girl simply gazes at the older one, who always acts so confidant yet has just admitted to being insecure. Mabel pulls her legs up to her chest; hugs them. She looks like a kitten trying to hide itself underneath all its fur. Finally, her eyes downcast, she mumbles into her legs, “Because everyone else is so much better than me.”
“But you’re just as…” Wendy begins to protest. She pauses, gathering her thoughts. Arguing won’t work; she knows that from her fights with Tambry about her low self-esteem issues. So her voice becomes softer, and she says -
“Mabel, I’ve been there. Well, I am there.” She scoots closer to Mabel. “Girls are taught to be critical of their self-image because of dumb magazine covers with ridiculously thin models who probably don’t even look the way they do in real life.”
Wendy gently rests a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “You’re beautiful the way you are.” She gives her friend a small smile. “You may not believe that about yourself, but you are. The voices in your head may tell you otherwise, but they’re wrong. If you ever have any doubts about how you look, just pretend your insecure thoughts are actually coming from some weirdo shouting out conspiracy theories. And if that doesn’t work, come to me, and I’ll fight off those thoughts for you.” She raises a fist for emphasis, the side of her mouth twisting into a cocksure-like grin.
The younger girl giggles. She lifts her head up, looks up at Wendy; and even though she’s holding back tears, she gives a large, bright, toothy grin. “Thanks, Wendy.” Mabel sniffs. She swipes her arm over her eyes. “You’re such a good friend.”
Wendy shrugs. “I try to be.”
Just as she didn’t expect Mabel to grab her face before, Wendy doesn’t expect the sudden tight hug either – but who is she to complain about it? Wendy chuckles softly. She wraps her arms around Mabel, pulling her close.
You’re so much better than you think you are, Wendy thinks. Please believe that. Because no one taught her otherwise, and she refuses to allow Mabel to slide further down the same slippery slope the way she herself almost had.
She hears Mabel mumble into her chest, “So what part’d you get up to?”
Wendy laughs. Let kids be kids and teens be teens before they risk becoming skeletons.