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I take a slow, deep breath to calm my pounding heart. I’ve never been so nervous in my life, especially where school is concerned, but the thought of pitching my thesis project—something so dear to me—and having it rejected? Talk about palpitations and unregulated armpit sweat.

Thank God for extra-strength deodorant.

Clutching my box of homemade cannoli— thank you, Theo! —I climbed the steps at the university to my thesis advisor’s office. Dr. Waylen Wright is a notorious hard-ass when he takes on a student. It’s why he has so few.

He’s also notorious for his old-school views on health and fitness.

And I need him to say yes. I need this project. I have something to prove.

Knocking on his open office door, I spot him bent over a file open on his desk.

Blond and gray curls top his head and fade down the sides around his ears.

Rough stubble shadows his cheeks. The blue collar of his shirt is unbuttoned at his throat and his navy tie is loose around his neck.

His strong hands brace the file almost like a caress.

When he looks up at me, I’m struck by his stormy blue eyes, like a midday sky covered in gray clouds.

I’m not a girl with daddy issues, but I can’t get past how his age makes him look both ruggedly and elegantly handsome at the same time.

My heart pounds a little harder.

Please don’t let there be rings of sweat staining my shirt. Not the first impression I want to make.

Dr. Wright leans back in his chair, closing the file and holding it with his thumb. “Are you my eleven thirty?”

“Yes, sir. Olivia Lawless.”

He sets the folder aside and waves me in. “Miss Lawless, please come in and have a seat.”

I do as he asks, perched on the edge to keep my back straight. It’ll keep me from bouncing my leg in a nervous twitch and make me seem more professional.

“I understand you’re here to pitch me your thesis project.” His fingers fold neatly together across his stomach.

“I am. Shall we jump right in?”

“Why don’t we.” His tone is soft, not at all as I imagined from the stories I’ve heard about him and the reviews I’ve scoured on his RateMyProfessors.com page.

Okay. This is my chance to get him on my side and make a real change. I take a deep breath and dive in.

“Okay. Well, as you might be able to tell, I’m a bigger woman.

But what you might not be able to tell is that I’ve been a swimmer all of my life, that my blood pressure, cholesterol, sugar levels, and resting heart rate are all well within normal ranges—in fact, on the lower side.

” My shoulders shimmy back, straightening my spine even more.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward just a fraction, and I know my intent has hit its mark.

“However, whenever I go to my doctor, whether for a routine checkup or for something more serious, my fatness is always examined first as the root of every issue I have. And this is where I have a problem. So much time and effort is wasted ruling out my obesity before we can dig into the real cause of why I’m there. ”

I take a renewed deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s frustrating, insensitive, and quite frankly insulting to be defined by my weight so completely in every single medical interaction I have.

” I press my lips together to quiet my tone before I continue.

“I understand that many obese individuals do not take care of themselves. But many do. Yes, we eat too much. Obviously.”

I laugh at myself a little bit, and I get just a fraction more of a smirk out of Dr. Wright.

“But the world puts too much pressure on being skinny to be healthy when many times thin people aren’t healthy either.

Genetics play such a large role in our weight and how easy or difficult it is to maintain it.

All of that said, what I propose as my thesis project is to prove that overweight and obese individuals can live healthier lives when they are not focused on their weight but rather their movement. ”

My fingers dig into the edge of the box on my lap.

“Exercise vastly improves our health and should not be seen as a weight loss tool but as a health tool. Based on my own experience, it helps regulate our body’s performance in a vital way.

So I want to choose twelve to sixteen subjects who are obese, do not have a history of regular exercise, live essentially sedentary lives, and introduce activity into their routines to track the changes it causes in their bloodwork, muscle and bone density, and general health to prove that fat isn’t the sole component of their worth. ”

The last line, as many times and as many ways as I’ve phrased it differently, always brings tears to the back of my eyes. I blink them away, and I swear Dr. Wright’s features soften as if he can see them.

“What do you hope to gain by the end of this experiment?”

Sighing, I grimace at the exasperation that likely seeped through in that one noise.

“To invoke a change in the general treatment of fat people, to put it bluntly, by the medical community. If I could go as far as to say, eventually, the fitness and health community as well. Exercise has so many benefits, and we should focus on that rather than making thinness the only outcome anyone is expected to strive for.”

I swallow and take a chance with my candor. “And I might also like to use my results to offer a big fuck you to the doctors who try to blame everything on my fat in order to not have to deal with or treat me properly.”

That earns me a small smile. Apparently, he can appreciate a little rough honesty.

But when he leans forward, hands clasped together in the middle of his desk, my optimism wanes a few degrees.

“It seems as though you are already aware of what I’m about to say, but it does beg repeating.

You are going to have a hard time with this.

As much data as you can collect, you have a plethora of preconceived notions and long-held truths about obesity and health. ”

“I do understand. And I’m not trying to prove that being fat is healthy. I feel like that’s the misnomer of the fat acceptance movement society is privy to and creating backlash about.” Brushing my hair from my face, I can feel myself growing flush.

He follows the movement like he can see everything. Maybe I’m projecting too much.

“I want to prove that obese people deserve to have respectful interactions with their healthcare providers. That we can address obesity without the stigma of calling out people for being fat. Believe me, we know we’re fat.

And telling us doesn’t make losing weight or being healthy any easier.

Weight is a complex issue, and we need to treat it as such.

We need to treat everyone like they’re human. ”

After another long, slow breath, I re-center myself.

“I want, more than anything else, to offer people the chance at a healthier life. To let them know that they are worth the effort. No matter what size they are. What shape they are. We’ve made great strides in doing so for the disabled—those missing limbs for example.

Why can’t we do it for people whose disability shows up as excess weight? ”

Dr. Wright nods, and I feel like I’ve got him. “I agree with you that treatment should remain equal and not focus solely on obesity as a scapegoat; however, obesity is the main cause of many ailments obese patients seek medical attention for.”

Biting my bottom lip, I’m still not certain if he’s going to approve my thesis or back me up at all.

“But you bring up a lot of good points, and I’m sure that you have more to offer if I pressed you. Is that correct?” His blond brow lifts.

I nod. I certainly could go on about how badly I want to give others the language and data they need to advocate their own needs and their own health. Too many doctors use losing weight as a prescription for what’s medically wrong instead of treating us…

My nostrils flare, and I force myself to tamp it back down where I can hone this anger, this indignity, for future use.

Dr. Wright studies me, and I feel the calculating judgement. I won’t back down though.

“You’re going to have a hard time, but I’m willing to give you a chance to find more proof than your predecessors.”

I flash him my best grin in gratitude and stand, offering him the box of cannoli over his desk.

I can see the polite acceptance as he takes it, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to end up in the faculty lounge untouched. He doesn’t seem like the type to let himself indulge. At all.

Too bad. My brother made them, and they are bomb.