Deeply moving and authentic, this debut novel in verse—winner of a Schneider Family Book Award Honor—follows teenage Evie through her eating disorder treatment and recovery―a perfect choice for readers of Louder Than Hunger and Wintergirls. Evie has just barely acknowledged that she has an eating disorder when she’s admitted to an inpatient treatment facility. Now her days are filled with calorie loading, therapy sessions, and longing—for home, for control, and for the time before her troubles began. As the winter of her treatment goes on, she gradually begins to face her fears and to love herself again, with the help of caregivers and of peers who are fighting their own disordered-eating battles. This insightful, beautiful novel will touch every reader and offer hope and understanding to those who need it most. Schneider Family Book Award Honor Winner "Skillfully crafted . . . A realistically complex yet hopeful account of eating disorder treatment." — Kirkus Review "An emotionally complex novel that that will linger in readers' minds." —Booklist "The tone and tempo of this verse novel tracks with Evie’s journey toward healing. Spare, hyper focused, and compulsive at first, the cadence moving with a staccato franticness; as she comes to terms with her diagnosis and treatment, eventually a steadiness—fragile, to be sure—threads through the text. . . . A smart acknowledgment of the effect that social media has on disordered eating." — The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books Lauren Seal is a writer, librarian, and the third Poet Laureate of St. Albert in Alberta, Canada. She mentors the teen and young adult poets of a spoken word youth choir and her poems have been published in various anthologies. This novel-in-verse, her first book, is inspired by her own experiences with anorexia, anxiety, and hospitalization. When she’s not busy recommending books to library patrons, Lauren can be found reading, writing, and composing poems in her head on long dog walks. September the psychiatrist dr. mantell, the psychiatrist’s nameplate shouts. i fight the urge to ask if his name is printed in loud uppercase letters to drown out us lowercase people and our lowercase lives. his scalpel-gray eyes dissect me, quarter me, sternum to pelvis, left breast                                                to right, wrench me open, reach inside, find all the nothing i’ve eaten since yesterday.                                                                       evie, the muscles in my body contract and freeze. i sit, still and staring: portrait of a girl afraid.                                                                       evie,                                                                       do you know why you’re here? why i’m here because of the tests. they took my height and weight, took my blood, took my heart rate, took my pee, took my family history, then a man in a lab coat took my parents aside to tell them i failed. i’ve never failed a test in my life. because my mother says this is an important appointment. we are lucky a cancellation let capital- t Them fit me in. because sometimes i get a little sad and overwhelmed. because sometimes i feel like falling asleep and never waking up. because my parents and my sister and my friend darcy and my dog would probably be happier without me. because all i do is try and try to be a perfect daughter and sister and friend and student and person but it doesn’t make me any less scared of living. because i would be happier without me. because sometimes i have trouble eating and my mother and i argue over dinner plates                        just three more bites like i’m a misbehaving toddler. i slouch down in my chair, glare at the doctor, refuse to speak. why i’m really here because of my lies. the first:                         i’m on a diet. wrong, i’ve been on all of them: mediterranean, keto, raw food, low-fat, gluten-free, atkins, vegan, paleo, south beach. whatever let me restrict. intermittent eating with frequent fasting. second:                         it’s only one more . . . sit-up, push-up, squat, mile. that i wouldn’t add one plus one plus one plus one                                       until my muscles ached, body broke. third: i’m in control. i can stop whenever i want. professional opinion                                                                       your height and weight                                                                       are very low                                                                       for a fourteen-year-old, dr. mantell says                                                                       same with your hemoglobin,                                                                       and your electrolytes.                                                                       you have all the symptoms of