My Best Friend's Weight-Transfer System

The very night I signed up, Zach and Lauren practically threw my bags into the car and drove me straight to the weight-loss bootcamp's campus. They called it "eliminating distractions" so I could "focus on my mission."

While I sweated through brutal workouts each day, Zach spent his evenings "unwinding" at sketchy massage parlors. He'd text me graphic details—rating the women's bodies or their "special services"—and claim it was all to "light a fire under me" to get thin.

It was repulsive. Looking back, I couldn't fathom how I'd ever been blind enough to love him.

Thankfully, a whole lifetime of hindsight had cured me of that delusion. His words rolled off me now like water off wax.

Meanwhile, Lauren dedicated her days to curating a private show just for me. She'd post story after story on Instagram—juicy burgers, loaded cheese fries, decadent milkshakes—each one carefully tagged "Close Friends" so only I could see. When mutual friends commented with concern, asking if she'd get sick, she'd reply with a winking emoji: "It's my secret weight-loss hack!"

Nobody else understood. But I did.

Her "hack" was theft.

I ignored their little performances and kept my head down, following the camp's regimen to the letter.

A week later, they showed up for a progress check.

The second Zach's eyes landed on me, his face darkened like a storm cloud.

He exploded right there in the lobby.

"Jen! What the hell is wrong with you? I told you to lose weight, not blow up like a balloon! Are you actually trying? Or are you just here to stuff your face?"

Watching me get torn down, Lauren's smile was so wide and bright it could have powered the building. She sauntered over, reached out, and pinched the roll of fat at my waist between her thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, Jen," she sighed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "You really are hopeless. Look at you—getting bigger by the day. And look at me." She did a little spin. "I've been eating everything in sight and I've still lost… let's see… almost twelve pounds! Ugh, it's so annoying."

I lifted my gaze. It was true. On her petite frame, the loss was dramatic. Her cheekbones were sharper, her collarbones pronounced, giving her a gaunt, almost modelesque look.

I let my shoulders slump, painting misery across my face. "I don't get it… I've been doing everything right, but I've gained ten pounds. I feel horrible."

My display of defeat was the fuel she needed. Her preening intensified. "I guess it's just genetics! Some people are just born to be lucky, you know? Right, Zach?"

"Huh? Oh—yeah. Lauren, you look… really fit lately." His eyes had been glued to her newly-svelte waistline. It took her prompting to tear his gaze away.

He lavished her with a few more compliments before turning his scowl back on me. "Look at her, Jen. Then look in a mirror. Don't you feel ashamed? Are you even taking this seriously?"

I just shook my head, silent.

He stepped closer, his voice a low threat. "Get your act together. Lose the weight. Or I swear, I'll make you regret it in front of everyone."

Lauren piled on with her signature brand of poison, wrapped in concern. "You just have to be stricter, Jen. You don't have my metabolism. You actually have to try."

They only left after their two-part humiliation was complete.

At dinner, I received several photos from Lauren of her and Zach eating together.

Lauren: [Aww, Zach insisted on celebrating my "transformation", so he brought me out for steak. I don't want to lose weight anymore though.]

Lauren: [You're so lucky, Jen! Getting to gain weight on vacation while I have to watch my figure.]

Lauren: [You need to work harder or I'll steal the spotlight at your wedding as the prettier bridesmaid.]

…

I read each gloating message, then calmly took another bite of my drumstick.

After a long moment, I typed a reply.

Jen: [Don't worry. You're my best friend—having you as my bridesmaid is the best gift I could ask for. Even if you overshadow me, I won't blame you.]

Of course, I wouldn't blame her.

In fact, I was counting on it. The "spotlight" I had in mind for her was going to be absolutely unforgettable.