My sister weighed three hundred pounds, and after she lost the weight, she weighed five pounds, box and all. My three-hundred-pound sister found a weight-loss camp online. They guaranteed they could turn her into a goddess in one month. I discovered the camp was an unlicensed, fly-by-night operation. After I pleaded with her, my sister finally gave up the idea. A month later, all the girls who went to the camp had transformed into slender beauties. The camp announced it was closing its doors. My sister had a complete breakdown. She blamed me for sabotaging her journey to beauty. She soaked all my clothes in industrial-grade pesticide. I died of multiple organ failure. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my sister wanted to go to the weight-loss camp. 1. I opened my eyes to see my sister, Naomie, sprawled on the couch. She had a chicken leg in one hand and was scrolling through her phone with the other. The rolls of fat on her stomach jiggled with every laugh. “Mom! Mom! Come look, there’s a fitness boot camp here!” she shrieked. “They guarantee they can make me gorgeous in just one month!” My mom emerged from the kitchen with a plate of cupcakes and set them in front of Naomie. “Oh, sweetie, you’re not even fat. Why would you want to put yourself through all that trouble?” Naomie’s face fell. She started yelling at my mom, screaming that she didn’t understand anything, that all she ever did was cook for her, which was why she’d ended up like this. She wailed that because of her weight, the guy she had a crush on had been stolen from her. The camp cost ten thousand dollars for a one-month program. They only accepted women over two hundred pounds and offered a full refund if they didn’t lose weight. Naomie wrapped her arms around my mom, whining and pleading. She argued that even if she didn’t lose weight, there was no financial risk. My mom hesitated, then looked at me. “Raina, what do you think?” I snapped back to reality. In my previous life, my mom had asked me the same question. I’d grabbed my phone and looked up the boot camp Naomie had found. It was a brand-new company with no credentials, no online presence to speak of. Their announcement stated it was a one-time, one-month program. After that, they would suspend operations indefinitely. I knew immediately it was a scam. A classic cash-grab. How could they guarantee someone over two hundred pounds would get thin in a month? Naomie was pushing three hundred. She could barely walk a few steps without needing to rest. I told my mom all of this, urging them not to choose this company. If Naomie really wanted to lose weight, I would find her a legitimate, reputable program. They had reluctantly agreed. I found a top-rated camp for her, but Naomie lasted less than two weeks before complaining about how tired she was and coming home. A month later, the first camp released a video. The girls who had signed up, all over two hundred pounds, had been transformed into stunning beauties. They glowed with health, their cheeks rosy and full of life. The camp simultaneously announced the success of their program and that they were closing their doors, with no date set for reopening. My sister went ballistic. Her hatred for me became absolute. She was convinced I was the sole reason she’d missed her chance. One day, while I was out, she bought a bottle of industrial pesticide and soaked all of my clothes in it. I died in agony from multiple organ failure. And my parents, to protect Naomie, told everyone I had mistaken the pesticide for laundry detergent. They wept, clutching a photo of me at my funeral. “Raina, honey, we’ve already lost you. We can’t lose Naomie too.” “A big sister should always forgive her little sister. She knows she was wrong now. You’d forgive her, right?” “Besides, you can’t blame her entirely. If you had just let her go to that camp in the first place, none of this would have happened.” I pushed the thoughts away, hiding the hatred in my eyes behind a smile. “Naomie wants to lose weight,” I said brightly. “That’s a great thing.” 2. My mom blinked, then asked again, “Raina, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with this boot camp?” I tilted my head, feigning curiosity. “Mom, do you think there’s something wrong with it?” She wiped her hands on her apron and stood up with a smile. “What do I know about these things? You’re the one who went to college. You must know better than me.” The moment the words left her mouth, her face changed. She wrung her apron anxiously. Naomie’s face crumpled, the fat on her body quivering with rage. “Mom! What is that supposed to mean?! You’re looking down on me, aren’t you?! What’s so great about going to college?” “So she’s the college expert, and I don’t know anything, is that it?!” Two fat tears squeezed out of her tiny, puffy eyes. Sobbing, Naomie struggled off the couch and stormed into her room. The floorboards shook with each step. “College” was a forbidden word in our house. Ever since her crush was “stolen,” Naomie had lost all interest in school. She failed her college entrance exams and refused to retake them. Now, she just lay around at home, waiting for my mom to feed her. Naomie believed that if she were thin, there was nothing she couldn’t do. She was convinced that even Ivy League schools would be begging for her to attend. My mom shot me a disapproving look and clicked her tongue. “Why did you have to provoke your sister? She’s already so insecure, and you say something like that?” “And there’s no need for that boot camp anyway,” she continued. “You know how she is. She’ll be back in two or three days.” “You can tell her that at dinner.” She wiped her hands and went back to the kitchen. I watched her go, a cold smile on my face. My mom was always like this. She was afraid of Naomie’s anger, so she always pushed me to be the messenger, the one to break the bad news. The moment Naomie got upset, my mom would swoop in to play the peacemaker, throwing all the blame onto me. That’s why Naomie had always hated me. She was convinced I was deliberately trying to sabotage her. At lunch, Naomie brought up the boot camp again. “Mom, Dad, the deadline to sign up is the day after tomorrow!” she whined. “Hurry up and give me the money! Don’t you want me to get thin?!” My dad kept his head down, silent. My mom was frantically winking and making faces at me. I shoveled a few mouthfuls of rice into my mouth. “Mom, is there something wrong with your eye?” Before my mom could scold me, Naomie’s glare shot toward me like a dagger. My mom carefully chose her words. “Don’t rush, sweetie. We’ll have your sister look up the camp online later.” “It’s not that I don’t want to spend the money, it’s just… I trust your sister’s judgment more.” I quickly refused. “Mom, I don’t know anything about this stuff. If Naomie wants to go, just let her. It could be fun, right, Naomie?” 3. After lunch, my mom dragged me into my room. She demanded to know what I was playing at. I was about to ignore her, but then I saw a fleshy bulge in the crack of the doorway. Naomie was hiding, listening. “What’s wrong, Mom? If you don’t want Naomie to go, you can tell her yourself,” I said innocently. “I think it’s great that she’s motivated. Even if it’s just for fun, what’s the harm? They’ll refund the money anyway.” “So why won’t you let her go?” My mom’s temper flared. She slammed her hand on the table. “Don’t you get it? What kind of willpower does your sister have? Ten thousand dollars for a month, down the drain!” “Fun? A thousand, maybe. But ten thousand?! Are you going to pay for it?!” I pretended to hesitate. “If I had the money, I’d help her out. But I just started working, where am I going to get ten thousand dollars?” Bang. Naomie threw the door open, standing in the doorway, panting for breath. Her eyes were bloodshot, her teeth clenched. “So that’s it! You just don’t want to spend the money! You don’t want me to go!” “I’m so fat now, I might as well just die! I’ll go kill myself! Then you can save your precious money!” she howled, then thundered out of the apartment. My mom shot me a look of pure hatred. “Look what you’ve done.” “Naomie, sweetie, let me explain!” Naomie ran downstairs and collapsed onto the community lawn, wailing. Snot and tears smeared all over her clothes. This was her usual tactic. Whenever she didn’t get her way, she’d go downstairs and cry to the neighborhood gossips. And just like that, every busybody in the complex knew my mom was too cheap to spend ten thousand dollars on her daughter’s weight loss. I bought a soda and watched the show from a distance, thoroughly entertained. The neighborhood ladies surrounded my mom, clucking their tongues and lecturing her. “You really need to pay more attention to your child’s health. Look at little Naomie, she’s so big.” “It’s ten thousand now. If she needs surgery later, who knows how much it’ll cost.” “Exactly. And how is she supposed to find a boyfriend like this? It’s not like you’re short on money. Just let the girl have some fun.” At the mention of not finding a boyfriend, Naomie’s wails grew even louder. “My mom just doesn’t want me to get married! If I were thin, I could have any man I want!” The rolls of fat on her body shook with each sob. It was a ridiculous sight. My mom’s face cycled through shades of red and green. She tried to explain, but she was no match for the gossips. She was thoroughly shamed. She wanted to drag Naomie home to talk, but Naomie refused to move. Defeated, my mom had to give in. Right there, in front of everyone, she transferred the deposit through the website. Only then did Naomie wipe her tears and follow her home. My mom slammed her bedroom door and didn't come out. Naomie couldn't have cared less. She was happily browsing online for pretty dresses, already planning where she would go on a date with her dream guy in a month. 4. The next day, the boot camp called and said they needed to register in person. My mom took Naomie first thing in the morning. And she made me come along, to “see if there was anything fishy.” I had to laugh. Even if there was, I wouldn't say a word. I had no intention of dying a slow, agonizing death in a hospital bed again. That kind of pain was seared into my brain, unforgettable. At the entrance to the camp, we were greeted by several muscular, handsome men. Naomie’s eyes were glued to them. She practically dragged my mom forward, sweating profusely after just a few steps. The director saw Naomie’s size and his eyes lit up. He rushed over as if he’d found a treasure. “This must be your daughter! Come, come, fill out the registration form.” I glanced at the form. It asked for the basics—name, age, ID number—but also for blood type and even date and time of birth. My mom looked confused. Why would a weight-loss camp need all that? The director explained it was part of their new, high-tech approach. Every program was custom-tailored. My mom looked at me. “Raina, you went to college. What do you think?” I shrugged. “I have no idea. Why don’t you call someone and ask?” Naomie was getting antsy. She scribbled down the information on the form. “Mom!” she yelled. “You promised! You can’t go back on your word!” There was also a confidentiality agreement and a refund policy. A full refund was guaranteed if she didn’t lose at least one hundred pounds in a month. Naomie didn’t even read it before signing her name. The director showered Naomie with compliments. He said her features were exquisite, her proportions perfect, her legs long. She would be a true beauty once she lost the weight. He didn't stop there. He even took a jab at me. “This is your sister, right? I’m a brutally honest person, so please don’t be offended.” “Once you lose the weight, you’ll be much more beautiful than your sister.” “You’ll be the campus queen! Even A-list celebrities won’t compare. Men will be lining up, willing to pay a fortune just to meet you.” Naomie was floating on cloud nine. She shot me a triumphant, smug look. After all that flattery, there was no way my mom was going to make that phone call. Naomie cornered her, demanding she pay the full fee right then and there, threatening to jump off the building if she didn't. After the payment was made, the director told her to pick a trainer. It turned out the handsome men at the door were all trainers. Naomie was spoiled for choice. She pouted and batted her eyelashes at the director. “It’s so hard to choose! I can’t decide. Can I have two?” The director’s smile twitched, but he was a professional. His expression remained perfectly composed. He made an “exception” and let Naomie have two trainers. As we were leaving, I deliberately lingered for a moment. I noticed the director was saying the exact same thing to every single person who signed up. 5. My mom was so angry when we got home that she refused to eat lunch. Naomie, of course, didn’t care. She hummed a tune as she packed her things. They were moving into the camp for a month. That afternoon, my mom was still fuming and sent me to take Naomie to the camp. When we got there, a few of the trainers started taking Naomie’s measurements. The director pulled me aside, going on and on about how great their program was. I was bored until I saw some live-streaming equipment inside. “What’s this?” The director gave me a mysterious smile and just told me to follow their social media account. He said their training would start tonight. When I got home that evening, my mom was looking at a picture of Naomie and wiping away tears. “My sweet Naomie is so pampered. Will she be able to manage without us? Will she miss her mommy?” I rolled my eyes. “If you miss her so much, why don’t you just go live with her at the camp?” Her eyes lit up, and she actually pulled out her phone. The call was answered by a stream of curses from Naomie. I went back to my room and opened the social media app. The account was already live. Naomie and the other girls were lined up. Above their heads were gift icons. A caption explained that whoever got the most votes would get to start their weight-loss journey first. The stream didn't have many viewers, but there was a steady flow of votes. Naomie was the biggest, so she had the most votes. When the voting ended, Naomie was the winner. She started her live-streamed workout. I watched for a bit. It was no different from any other fitness stream. Just dancing and exercise. After only five minutes, Naomie was drenched in sweat, panting heavily. She cried out that she needed a break. They were surprisingly humane. They let Naomie rest and brought another girl up to do aerobics. I wondered, how could anyone lose two hundred pounds in a month like this? It was just a normal workout. It was impossible. Five minutes later, Naomie was back on camera. She didn't say a word. She just diligently danced for half an hour. Even when she was dripping with sweat and so tired she could barely lift her arms, she didn't ask for a break. This wasn't Naomie’s style. Maybe they had threatened her, or promised her some incredible reward. But what did that have to do with me? She had brought this on herself. I watched the stream for two days but didn't see anything else out of the ordinary. It was boring. There was one strange thing, though. The viewers who were sending gifts seemed to be the same few people every time. A week later, I opened the stream again. My eyes widened in disbelief. Was that really my three-hundred-pound sister? She had lost eighty pounds!
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