THINNER
by
Antigone
Chapter 7
The Chapters
“Joe.”
The younger Hardy started and sat up; he hadn’t heard his
brother come through the bathroom.
“Need something?”
Frank nodded. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Joe scooted down near the headboard so Frank could sit
beside him on the bed. Frank was still dressed, but Joe was in a t-shirt
and sweatpants.
“Going to bed already?” the elder Hardy asked.
“It’s ten.”
“That still seems early.”
“It’s been a long day.”
Frank nodded and looked down at the floor, avoiding his
brother’s gaze.
“Frank, what’s wrong?”
The elder Hardy took a deep breath, then laid a gentle hand
on his brother’s arm.
“Joe,” he began, “just listen, okay? I’m not trying
to upset you, and I don’t want to fight. I care about you, that’s
all, and I’m worried that you’re not taking care of yourself. I’m
not saying you’re sick or crazy or anything, but it worries me that
you’re not eating enough. An apple is what, eighty calories? Sixty?”
“Ninety-five,” Joe murmured, looking away.
Frank took a deep breath. “So an apple and lettuce,
that’s all you had today. That’s what, 150 calories?”
“One hundred and ten,” Joe snapped. “The medium
apples are ninety-five and a cup of lettuce is fifteen.”
Frank bit his lip, hard. “Do you hear yourself? Joe, do you know how many calories you burn in a day without
exercise, yet alone all the activity you’re doing—“
“Frank, please I’m
fine, I swear. No—“ he rushed on when Frank tried to interrupt, “I
know you’re worried. I appreciate
you worrying. But I’m really okay. All I have to lose is a few more
pounds—“
“That’s what you’ve been saying for two months now!
Joe, you’re not only small for your old category, you’re too small. You know what Chet told me today? That Coach Finley had
to drop you down a category, because you’re too small to compete in
your old one. You’ve lost what, thirty pounds? And it’s not weight,
Joe. It’s muscle. You’re beginning to look kind of sick.” He
reached out and slowly put an arm around his younger brother, who
stiffened at his brother’s touch. “I’m not mad. I’m just
worried.”
Joe began at the threads on his bed spread, refusing to
meet his brother’s concerned gaze.
“Look…I appreciate it, Frank. I’ll eat a little more,
if it will make you feel better, okay?”
“Why did you lie about your category?”
“I didn’t lie,
Coach told me he wanted me in that other one, thought it was better
suited for me. He thinks I can do better there, he told me so when I went
on a diet. Honest.”
“But I don’t like
this. It’s not as if you were out of shape and needed
to drop the weight. You were fine to begin with.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t okay,”
Joe snapped, throwing off Frank’s arm, “I’m not
okay, God, can’t you all just stop.
Look, it’s my body, all right? I can take care of it. I don’t
need you all lying to me, telling me what I look like when I know
all right?”
“So you know you’re too thin?”
“I know I’m fine.”
“But that’s just it,
kid, I don’t think you are—“
“Don’t call me kid. I hate when you call me that.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Take a hint then! Let it go!”
“No. I’m not
going to sit back and let you make yourself sick, Joe!”
“I’m not sick!”
Frank sighed, clenching his jaw in frustration. The
brothers glared at each other for a moment; Frank’s shoulders slowly
slumped.
“Let’s see,” he said sharply, “the male body needs
around 2,500 calories a day to maintain
a healthy weight. In order to lose
one pound per week, doctors recommend eating roughly 1,500 calories
per day plus exercising. Now, you consumed 110
calories today, which is enough to lose about ten
pounds per week, plus exercised
in gym, at wrestling, and when you walked home. You’re sleeping much
more than usual, tire easily, don’t fit in any of your old clothes, and
have dizzy spells. But you’re fine. You don’t want my advise or
anyone else’s, you just want to go about making all the wrong decisions
and expect the people who care about you to sit back and respect them.
This is bullshit, Joe, do you know that? It’s all bullshit. I want to
know what’s really going on,
because I know enough about eating disorders to know that it’s not
about the food or the weight. That’s all a distraction. That’s
right,” Frank snapped as Joe tried to interrupt, “eating
disorders. You’re showing signs, you know that? Not just with
weight and calorie counting and obsessive exercising, but this isolating
yourself, Joe. You won’t come out, you won’t talk
to anyone, including me. I just want to help you, bro, that’s all.
If something’s bothering you, you can tell me, you know that, right?
Joe? Do you know that?”
Joe felt heat rising to his face and stared at the carpet.
Girls had eating disorders, not guys, not athletes, not him. Frank was
being ridiculous, overprotective and worrisome as usual.
“Thank you,” the younger Hardy said mechanically.
“I’ll think about it.”
Frank felt his shoulders slump.
“Have it your way,” he snapped, getting to his feet.
“I’m not done with this. But since you’re so tired I guess
I’d better go. Don’t want to be a problem—“
Joe’s eyes widened. “Frank, you’re not—“
“No, you know best, right? I’ll see you tomorrow. And
we will talk tomorrow.”
Frank was through the doorway crossing the bathroom before
Joe had a chance to protest, pausing only to turn on the light in his
room. He was shaken and trying hard not to show it, because he hadn’t
expected Joe to be so resistant to him; had expected him to argue a bit,
maybe, but not resist. He’d
figured his brother had just got his information wrong, was confused with
calories, hadn’t realized how little he’d been consuming.
It had not occurred to him that Joe might be doing this on
purpose.
“Don’t leave.”
The plea startled the older Hardy, and he turned to see his
younger brother in the doorway, gripping the edge as if for support.
“Are you dizzy again?” Frank asked.
Joe just nodded and let his brother help him back to his
own bed, this time weakening rather than stiffening when Frank slipped an
arm around his shoulders. The two sat in silence for a moment, Frank
slowly rubbing his brother’s arm as Joe swayed a bit.
“Joe—“ he began.
“Don’t say it,” the younger Hardy pleaded—was it
Frank’s imagination, or was his brother trembling?—“just don’t
go. Frank, please don’t go.”
“I’m right here,” the older Hardy murmured, pulling
his younger brother closer. Joe bit his lip as he leaned into the
embrace, deciding not to explain to his brother that Frank had
misunderstood, that it wasn’t in the present his brother was afraid of
losing him.
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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.