10
My last bag of Cheetos.
My last ice cream sandwich.
My last snack pack of Oreos.
All washed down with a Diet Coke.
My mother looked sort of horrified when I laid it all out on my desk, but then I handed her the permission form. “He said yes.” I hoisted my Diet Coke. “Cheers.”
Nancy chuckled and shook her head. “You’re a brave girl, Cat.”
“I can do it,” I said. “I’m motivated.” I tore open the wrapper to the ice cream sandwich. “And it’s just seven months.”
“I could have three litters of puppies in seven months,” Nancy said. “It’s longer than you think.”
“I don’t care, I’m excited,” I told her. “It’s going to be great.”
I decided to give my body a good send-off tonight. I talked my mom into ordering deep-dish sausage and onion pizza. I’m not proud to say I ate five slices—I was
