The next day was church.
"What'll I say when people ask me where Idina is?" I asked my mom right before we walked in the church doors.
"Tell them the truth," my mom replied.
It wasn't like I was going to tell them lies, but for some reason, the thought of telling my friends about Idina's anorexia seemed impossible. It felt like pouring salt on a heavily bleeding wound. But I knew my mom was right. There was no beating around the bush anymore.
I walked into church and went over to where a group of my friends was standing. After all the "hello"s and "how are you"s, the dreaded question came.