She'd lost two more pounds. A picture of the models she'd cut out of the magazine flashed through Kessa's mind. And the winner is... seventy-three!

Kessa ran her fingers over her stomach. Flat. But was it flat enough? Not quite. She still had some way to go. Just to be safe, she told herself. Still, it was nice the way her pelvic bones rose like sharp hills on either side of her stomach. I love bones. Bones are beautiful.

From the newsstands a dozen models smiled up at her from a dozen magazine covers, smiled in thin-faced, high-cheekboned agreement to Kessa's new discovery. They knew the secret too. They knew thin was good, thin was strong thin was safe.

Repetition brings familiarity, and familiarity is the opposite of the unknown.

How silly people were to eat. They thought they needed food for energy, but they didn't. Energy came from will, from self-control.

Kessa began to cut her meat into tiny pieces. As a whole it was unmanageable, frightening but divided and arranged, the meat could be controlled. She cut four pieces. She'd count to four between each bite.

Soon I'll be thinner than all of you, she swore to herself. And then I'll be the winner. The thinner is the winner.