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Those
unwanted inches? That’s what the fast-talking male voiceover said in the
television ad, spoken as if all women would want them taken off. In my
Journalism and Media Studies class, I had learned and understood the marketing
strategies of the pill’s makers before I even bought them. With twenty-twenty
hindsight, I’m ashamed to admit that I let the ad prey upon my desperation, and
I’m ashamed at how superficial what I was desperate about was.
As I
think about those supposed unwanted inches, only just a few of them—if even
that many—were unwanted. The others, I wanted to keep. But they were taken off
too, from places I never imagined they could be taken off, all because of those
stupid…
No,
I won’t preface anything I write with a statement of blame like that. It would
come across with an extreme bias, and I need to behave more like the journalist
I had been studying to become. So I’ll begin with simple, unbiased facts.
I’m
a normal eighteen-year-old girl—worried about my senior year of high school, my
looks, my clothes, my popularity, my grades, my college applications, my
boyfriend, and finding the right dress for the upcoming Valentine’s Sweetheart
Dance. As angst-ridden as all these worries could be at times, it was
comfortable to know that they were my
worries, and that it was absolutely expected for me to have them. It was
perfectly normal for me to have them. Back then, my life was about as normal as
it could possibly be.
Until
I started losing inches.
My
name is Carrie Roberts, and this is my story.
All Carrie Roberts wants is to be a little bit smaller.Find Just a Few Inches online at:
To fit into the perfect dress for the Valentine’s Day Dance. To look beautiful for her boyfriend, the school’s star basketball player. To keep his jealous ex-girlfriend, a rival cheerleader, away from him. And to be noticed by her classmates.
Exercising and dieting don’t work, but an advertisement for weight loss pills promises a quicker solution to her problem. As time runs out, she takes more than the recommended dose until she’s just a few inches slimmer. Heads turn when she arrives at the dance, and the wonderful night with her boyfriend is beyond what she dreamed it would be.
Days later, Carrie discovers that her body is changing in ways that should be impossible. While her doctor searches for a cure, she desperately turns to her friends and family for support. Everyone is noticing her now whether she likes it or not, and even the media is intrigued by her incredible story. Getting everything she once wanted has created new problems—problems that are growing more terrifying every day.
Because Carrie Roberts is shrinking.
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Tara St. Pierre has been writing for over two decades, but her muse only sporadically provides inspiration. Her laptop is filled with incomplete manuscripts and other plot outlines, and she feels blessed when one finally pushes its way through to completion--no matter how long it takes!
She enjoys classic science fiction movies and television shows. When driving, she sings along with the radio loudly and off key. She prefers tea over coffee, spring over autumn, vanilla ice cream over chocolate, and caramel over hot fudge. Though she lives by herself, one of her two cats enjoys cuddling with her.
Follow Tara on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorTaraStP
Excerpt from Just
a Few Inches
5’ 2”
We changed into
our uniforms in the visiting girls’ locker room. When I took off Amy’s skirt
and pulled my cheerleading skirt up to my waist, it wouldn’t cling to me at
all. As soon as I let go of it, it dropped back to the floor. “Do you think Ms.
Martin has any smaller uniforms with her?” I asked.
“It’s an away
game, so I doubt it,” answered Lauren, who reappeared from the bathroom stalls
dressed in her uniform. She sat on the bench and started tying her sneakers.
“And I’m assuming you haven’t told her you might need one.”
Lauren was right—I
dreaded speaking to our cheering coach about my condition, though it became
more apparent it was a conversation I needed to have—but she didn’t have to be
so blunt about it. Standing beside Lauren, I noticed for the first time that
she was looking down at me.
“Tucking in your
sweater might work,” said Trish. “Ooh! Safety pins!”
They checked their
purses, and Lauren found two. Trish’s quick survey of some other girls on the
squad produced a few more. Since my shoulders stopped my sweater from falling
off, I pinned my skirt to it. It would work for one night.
Because the Tigers
had already clinched the top seed in the play-offs, the outcome of the game
didn’t matter. Coach McCarthy rested the starting players, and the other team
took the lead. Secretly, I was grateful we were losing because it meant our
cheering was minimal, and I could stay seated and unnoticed.
However, we did
our usual half-time routine. The safety pins held fine, but every time I
jumped, my sweater-skirt combination shimmied. At the end, it took more effort
to lift Trish into position, and even when I stood on my toes and straightened
myself as much as possible, I couldn’t keep her right foothold even with her
left.
Maintaining the
required cheerleader smile, Janelle chastised me through her clenched teeth.
“Higher, Carrie.”
“This is as high
as she goes,” one of the other girls whispered so she wouldn’t be heard over
the music.
In an unexpected
display of professionalism, Janelle bent her knees to even out Trish’s
footholds, and then she rolled her eyes at me.
“Did you get
shorter?” snapped the girl closest to Janelle while eyeing me up and down.
“What’s up with that?”
The moment I
dreaded had come. Without my heels, I couldn’t come close to making up my lost
six inches, and Janelle and her clique had caught me. My heart sank as my loose
sleeves slid down my raised arms.
While waiting for
the cue to release Trish, my body quivered from the pain in my overstretched
muscles. At the last possible moment, my arms gave way, but Trish jumped and we
caught her as if there hadn’t been an issue. I sighed in relief, but my entire
body felt deflated.
Once the routine
ended, I ran for the locker room. Trish and Lauren followed and found me
bawling my eyes out. Sitting on the bench beside me, Trish said, “You know,
Carrie, I really respect what you’re doing.”
“You mean almost
letting you fall?”
“No. You’re not
letting this thing that’s happening to you stop you from doing what you want
to. I don’t know if I’d be able to do that.”
Lauren sat on the
other side of me and put her arm around me. “Trish, go tell Ms. Martin that
Carrie’s—”
“Female problems.”
Trish hopped up and skipped away. “Got it.”
“It’s going to be
all right, Carrie.” Lauren let me cry into her shoulder. “Just try to keep your
mind off it.”
But I couldn’t
keep my mind off it. When I went to change, my skirt fell into a puddle around
my ankles as soon as I removed the final safety pin. And once back in Amy’s
clothes, the sliver of midriff showing that morning had been sealed up. People
were shorter in the evening, I tried to rationalize to myself, but I knew that
I was continually getting shorter.
And I couldn’t
keep other people’s minds off it. On the bus ride home, I overheard some of the
other girls on the squad whispering about Trish’s near-accident being caused by
my strange new height. Trish helped me tune them out by letting me listen to
her earphones, and I slumped in my seat to avoid being seen.
When we got back
to Montvale, Todd found me outside the gym. After bending down and kissing me
on the forehead, he put his arm around me and asked, “What’s goin’ on? Why are
you shorter than you used to be?”
Before I could
answer, Janelle strutted by and said, “Hey, Todd. Great playing this season.”
“Thanks, Janelle.
Great cheering.”
“That’s sweet of
you to say.” She touched his shoulder and then turned to me. “You hear that,
Carrie? Great cheering.”
“Yeah,” I said,
trying not to look directly at her.
“You shouldn’t
slouch like that. It’s bad for your posture, and people with bad posture aren’t
attractive.” Janelle kept her back perfectly straight but wiggled her behind as
she walked away.
Even back in
three-inch heels, I couldn’t hide my smaller height from Janelle since that cat
was already out of the bag. In my despair, I convinced myself that since her
previous plan to steal Todd away from me at the dance had failed miserably, she
would use our difference in height. I looked up at Todd’s chin, which had
always fit securely atop my head. It was a special part of our relationship,
and that night, I’d have done anything to keep our relationship.
“Why don’t you
tell me what’s wrong?”
“Let’s go to your
place, like we had planned.”
Before long, we
were in his living room eating a pizza we had grabbed on the way there. I
wasn’t hungry, and I nibbled on one slice while he wolfed down five. As I sat
back and sank into the high sofa, my feet didn’t touch the ground—a sensation I
wasn’t accustomed to yet.
When he finished
eating, he dimmed the lights. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have
realized he was setting a certain mood.
He put his arm
around me. “Aren’t you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m shrinking.” I
leaned against his shoulder. “I’m seeing a specialist tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you
tell me before?”
I knew I had to
say something, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to start from the beginning. If I
told him I took the pills to fit in a dress because I suspected Janelle was
trying to steal him away from me, he’d probably think I was crazy. And then
even crazier if he knew I tried to cover it up while hoping it was only a
temporary thing. But the reason that spilled out of my mouth was that I was
afraid he wouldn’t like me anymore.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I stood up. “Look
at me!”
He squinted.
“What?”
“These are my little
stepsister’s clothes.”
He stood and
looked down at me. “You look great.”
“You’re, like,
more than a foot taller than me now. Talk about lopsided.”
He shrugged. “So?”
“But I can’t be
your custom-sized chin rest.”
“You think I’d
dump you for that?” He reached over to put his arm around me but gently set it
atop my head. “Besides, now you can be my custom-sized arm rest,
Shorter-Stuff.”
I knew he was only
trying to make a joke, but it wasn’t funny. I turned away and folded my arms,
but he wrapped his arms around me from behind and held me close to him. “Will
this make you feel better?”
When his chin
touched down atop my head, I giggled, imagining him hunched over behind me. “A
little,” I replied.
“You look kinda
cute shorter.” He squeezed me a little tighter. “Like you need someone big and
strong like me to protect you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tara St. Pierre has been writing for over two decades, but her muse only sporadically provides inspiration. Her laptop is filled with incomplete manuscripts and other plot outlines, and she feels blessed when one finally pushes its way through to completion--no matter how long it takes!
She enjoys classic science fiction movies and television shows. When driving, she sings along with the radio loudly and off key. She prefers tea over coffee, spring over autumn, vanilla ice cream over chocolate, and caramel over hot fudge. Though she lives by herself, one of her two cats enjoys cuddling with her.
Like Tara on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTaraStPierre
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