Chapter 1: Garbage Disposal Goddess

Jessica slumped deeper into the couch, her phone tilted in her hand, the glow of her screen reflecting off her perfectly contoured cheekbones. The latest post—a mirror selfie in her new sage-green workout set, captioned “Post-leg day glow 🔥 #BuiltNotBought #ThickFitQueen”—had barely crossed the 300-like threshold.

"Seriously?" she muttered, thumbing the analytics. “Thirty-seven saves? Zero shares? What is happening?”

She groaned dramatically and threw her head back, ponytail flopping over the armrest like a tired golden retriever. She wore her frustration like a sports bra two sizes too tight—compressed and uncomfortable.

This was supposed to be her year. Her account had been steadily climbing throughout the spring, collaborations with supplement brands had started rolling in, and a few followers had even recognized her at the juice bar near campus. She’d imagined doing fitness retreats by now. Paid beach photo shoots. Maybe even her own line of branded resistance bands.

But her content lately? Stagnant. The same poses, the same smoothie bowls. Too polished. Too fake. The comments were slowing, and worse—so were the shares. The fitness algorithm gods were turning their backs on her.

She scrolled past a newer fitness account blowing up—some guy doing a month-long experiment where he ate only gas station food and tracked how bad it wrecked his body. The comments were exploding. Raw. Honest. Messy.

Jessica sat up straighter.

“People want real, huh?” she murmured.

She looked up just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Rachel shuffled into the kitchen like a creature in molting season—baggy hoodie, floppy pajama pants, and mismatched socks. Her messy bun had half-fallen out, and she looked like she hadn’t slept, or maybe had cried off her mascara last night. She passed by the full-length mirror in the hallway without glancing at it—something Jessica had started to notice more and more.

Rachel muttered something under her breath and opened the fridge like she was searching for purpose. Or maybe cheese.

“Morning,” Jessica offered.

Rachel grunted. “Barely.”

She grabbed a bottle of water, twisted it open, and sank into a chair.

Jessica studied her. “Rough weigh-in?”

Rachel nodded silently, staring down at the table.

“I’m up. Again. It’s like the scale’s laughing at me at this point.”

Jessica frowned and crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “That’s weird. I thought you were cutting soda this week?”

“I was.” Rachel’s tone cracked. “Then I had a breakdown and crushed a whole bag of kettle chips at 2 a.m. while watching reruns of Nailed It!... and then the soda started looking lonely.”

Jessica didn’t laugh. Not this time.

“I just…” Rachel rubbed her temples. “I’m tired of trying so hard and still failing. And honestly? I’m starting to wonder if this is just who I am now.”

The vulnerability hung in the air like steam over the stove.

Jessica opened her mouth to say something comforting, but instead, her mind clicked into something... different.

A story.

A concept.

A hook.

“Wait,” she said, lifting a finger. “What if… we tried something totally insane?”

Rachel gave her a side-eye. “Insane how? Like injecting chia seeds straight into my bloodstream?”

“No, no—fun insane,” Jessica said, voice bubbling with excitement. “What if I helped you get healthy by literally eating the temptation out of your way?”

“…Come again?”

“I’m serious. You said junk food’s your weakness, right? So, what if I take on that burden? I’ve got a metabolism like a bullet train and abs that literally scare breadsticks. I eat all the bad stuff so you don’t have to. Like a… sacrifice.”

Rachel blinked. “You want to eat my junk food. For me.”

Jessica nodded proudly. “Garbage Disposal Goddess.”

“That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Excuse you, it’s iconic.”

Rachel laughed despite herself, but the skepticism was written all over her face. “Why would you even want to do that?”

Jessica shrugged, trying to play it off casual. “Because you’re my friend. And maybe also because I need a new angle for my content.”

There it was.

Jessica sat down, now speaking more seriously. “Look, my page is plateauing. I’ve been doing the same stuff for months, and people are getting bored. But if I did something bold—something real—like eating the bad food for my roommate to help her transform? That’s next-level. Like… ‘Reverse Diet Challenge: Can I gain while my bestie loses?’”

Rachel raised a brow. “That’s not how reverse dieting works.”

Jessica waved her off. “Details. It’s not about science—it’s about the journey.”

“You just want to go viral while I suffer.”

“Correction: I suffer too. You know how bloated I’ll get? It’s a mutual self-sabotage.”

Rachel hesitated, staring into her water bottle like it held the answer.

It was dumb. Unorthodox. Possibly unhealthy.

But it also wasn’t another lonely attempt at cutting carbs and crying into Greek yogurt.

“…You really think it could work?”

Jessica leaned in, hopeful. “I think it might be the craziest thing either of us has ever tried. Which means it might be the first one worth doing.”

Rachel bit her lip.

She remembered the way her jeans hadn’t zipped last week. The way she’d turned down happy hour with her coworkers because she didn’t want to be the biggest one at the table again. The way she avoided mirrors and gym selfies and shopping for anything but hoodies.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try it.”

Jessica’s face lit up. “YES.”

“But,” Rachel added quickly, “if you start feeling sick or weird, we stop. I’m not ruining your health for a social media stunt.”

“Deal,” Jessica said, grinning. “Pact?”

Rachel offered her pinky.

“Pact.”

Jessica jumped up and snatched a hot pink sticky note off the fridge. In loopy bubble letters, she wrote:

THE PACT: Jess eats the junk. Rach gets the glow-up.

She stuck it on the freezer door like it was the Declaration of Independence.

“And now, for your first offering,” she said grandly.

She flung open the pantry like a game show host revealing prizes: half a bag of barbecue chips, stale cinnamon cookies, a pint of unopened brownie batter ice cream, and a crumpled bag of caramel popcorn.

Rachel winced. “I was going to throw all that out today.”

Jessica held up the pint like a trophy. “Now I am.”

With dramatic flair, she peeled the lid, grabbed a spoon, and dug in. “For you, my queen.”

Rachel sat on the stool, equal parts horrified and amused as Jessica ate her way through the junk pile with performative gusto.

After two cookies and a handful of popcorn, Jessica flopped onto the couch with a groan, cradling her belly.

“Okay,” she wheezed. “I may have… underestimated the density of caramel clusters.”

Rachel snorted. “You look like you’re going into snack labor.”

Jessica lifted a finger in the air, weak but proud. “Worth it.”

Later that night, Rachel sat cross-legged on her bed, journaling by soft lamplight.

Day One. Pact started. Not sure if this is brave, dumb, or a weird coping mechanism. But Jess believes in me. And honestly? I kind of want to believe in me too.

Her phone buzzed.

A selfie from Jessica: messy hair, bloated belly on full display, surrounded by wrappers, giving a tired thumbs-up. The caption read:

“Garbage Disposal Goddess. Full and faithful. 💪🍪 #Snackrifice”

Rachel laughed, shaking her head.

Down the hall, Jessica rubbed her stomach with a pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering if she could burp a hashtag.

She groaned softly but still smiled.