Deeply moving and authentic, this debut novel-in-verse follows teenage Evie through her eating disorder treatment and recovery―a Wintergirls for a new generation. Light Enough to Float by Lauren Seal is coming to shelves October 8, 2024!

Evie has just barely acknowledged that she has an eating disorder when she’s admitted to an inpatient treatment facility. Now her days are filled with calorie loading, therapy sessions, and longing—for home, for control, and for the time before her troubles began. As the winter of her treatment goes on, she gradually begins to face her fears and to love herself again, with the help of caregivers and of peers who are fighting their own disordered-eating battles. This insightful, beautiful novel will touch every reader and offer hope and understanding to those who need it most.

Scroll down to see the cover and read a sneak peek! And remember to preorder your copy here.

Cover design by Kaitlin Yang; Cover illustrations by Holly Stapleton

Content warning: This book contains content about eating disorders, self-harm, suicidal ideation, hospitalization, and near-drowning.

the psychiatrist

dr. mantell,

the psychiatrist’s

nameplate shouts.

i fight the urge

to ask if his name is

printed in loud uppercase

letters to drown out us

lowercase people and our

lowercase lives.

his scalpel-gray

eyes dissect me,

quarter me, sternum

to pelvis, left breast        

                 to right,

wrench me open, reach

inside, find all the

nothing

i’ve eaten since yesterday.

                             evie,

the muscles in my body contract

and freeze. i sit, still and staring:

portrait of a girl afraid.

                             evie,

                 do you know why you’re here?

why i’m here

because of the tests.

they took my height and weight,

took my blood, took my heart

rate, took my pee,

took my family history,

then a man in a lab coat took

my parents aside

to tell them i failed.

i’ve never failed a test in my life.

because my mother says

this is an important

appointment. we are lucky

a cancellation let

capital-t Them

fit me in.

because sometimes

i get a little sad and overwhelmed.

because sometimes i feel

like falling asleep and never waking up.

because my parents and my sister and my friend darcy and my dog

would probably be happier without me. because all i do is try and try

to be a perfect daughter and sister and friend and student and person

but it doesn’t make me any less scared of living. because i would be

happier without me.

because sometimes

i have trouble

eating

and my mother and i

argue over dinner plates

     just three more bites

like i’m a misbehaved toddler.

i slouch down in my chair,

glare at the doctor,

refuse to speak.

 

why i’m really here

because of my lies.

the first:

     i’m on a diet.

wrong,

i’ve been on all of them:

mediterranean,

keto,

raw food,

low-fat,

gluten-free,

atkins,

vegan,

paleo,

south beach.

whatever let me

restrict.

intermittent eating with frequent fasting.

second:

     it’s only one more . . .

sit-up,

push-up,

squat,

mile.

that i wouldn’t add

one

plus

one

plus

one

plus

one          

     until

my muscles ached,

body broke.

third:

i’m in control.

i can stop whenever

i want.

 

professional opinion

                             your height and weight

                             are very low

                             for a fourteen-year-old,

dr. mantell says

                             same with your hemoglobin,

                             and your electrolytes.

                             you have all the symptoms of

                             extreme malnourishment.

pride flutters in my chest.

i nod along benignly, glare

at the office door my mom

stands behind. i missed school

to be here. does no one

care about my GPA?

                             the results from your EKG

                             indicate

                             bradycardia.

bradycardia?

                             a slow heart rate.

                             thirty-eight beats per minute.

i nod. i don’t want him

to think i am a stupid girl.

i am not a stupid girl.

                             do you understand?

don’t blink.

yes.

                             evie,

                             your heart is so slow

                             it could stop

                             at any moment.

the offbeat drumming of said organ

floods my ears.

dr. mantell observes my reaction.

me the frog, his eyes

the scalpel. see the ease

with which they slit

my pale, white skin,

my muscles,

my rib cage,

until my empty guts

spill out.

you are,

     in my professional opinion,

anorexic.

that word

anorexic.

it lodges itself

in my coronary artery.

heart palpitates. thousands

of excuses

dam up my mouth:

i eat,

i’m fat,

i’m not obsessed with my looks,

i eat,

that’s not the type of girl i am.

i come from a good family—

but i eat,

i squeak.

                             do you eat enough?

i think about

the ice cream i don’t eat.

the chocolate,

the potato chips

i also don’t eat.

the avocados,

bananas,

cookies,

french fries,

granola,

hamburgers,

marshmallows,

peanut butter,

spaghetti,

tacos,

yogurt,

an alphabet of off-limits food.

yes?

dr. mantell leans back in his chair,

scrunches his white face in thought,

impatiently tap-tap-taps his pen against

the notes he’s been taking.

                             i think we should get

                             your mother in here.

my mother

she barges in

with as much restraint

as a freight train. this woman

who gobbles firewood

so she can keep

running and running and

running along

her one-track mind.

my diagnosis derails her.

she fires coal-hot questions:

     what does this mean?

     how does she get better?

     can she get better?

     what about her heart?

     how do i make her gain weight?

i think she’s really asking,

     what do i do

     with this damaged daughter?

drowning

mom and dr. mantell

position me as a

problem

to solve.

say words like

program,

therapy,

refeeding.

i’m stuck on

anorexic,

ANorexIC,

ANOREXIC.

it floods me, fills my lungs.

i can’t shout, can’t breathe,

only flail. fail.

drown.

too weak to

surface.