A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I last updated; I really am! Here's where you find out how the story got its name. Thanks for your patience and understanding; Melanie I hope you get the chance to read this!

January 25, 2:17 p.m.:

I got up really, really late this morning. As in, I just got dressed three hours ago. Since then, I have been hovering between my math notes and the treadmill, never really caring much about either.

Today is a snow day. They announced last night on the radio that they would cancel school the night before as there was no sign of the storm letting up. So when my alarm clock went off this morning I just hit the off switch. I don't even care about my routine anymore. I don't care about anything. Since I lashed out at Velma yesterday, I cried and cried and cried until 2 a.m. this morning. Now I'm done crying. Now I'm done with everything.

The phone rang just before noon. I didn't even answer it. I was so scared it was Velma I didn't dare even check the caller ID. If I knew for a fact it was her, I would have to pick up. I don't want to talk to her anymore. I don't want to talk to Fred, either. I just know they talked to each other last night. Swapping stories about me, no doubt.

It turned out not to be from either Velma or Fred. I heard Coach Sandra leave a message on the answering machine, saying that because all the schools are surely going to be out for the next few days, there was a unanimous decision to move the cheer competition to a week from tomorrow, instead of tomorrow as originally planned. Now I can just hear Emily when we get back: "So like, didn't you girls practice while we were gone?" Stupid skinny Emily. Watch her blame it all on me when we don't win.

I've got to make more progress...

I climb on the eliptical, desperately struggling to burn 25... 50... a hundred more calories. I feel weaker the harder I try.

I step on the scale once more. For a second I'm confused by the reading; that's when I realize I've been leaning on the counter for balance. I manage to stand on my own and read the screen.

98 pounds.

There. Only double digits. Exactly what I've been trying for. So through hard work, diet and exercise... that's it. A number on a scale. I'll starve myself until I waste away to nothing, and it still won't be enough. My friends tell me I'm perfect, and I want to believe them. Maybe I even do believe them. But I'm not trying to be perfect; I'm trying to be good enough.

Which is harder than perfection, I'm coming to realize.

I collapse on the floor, catching myself with my hands. I pull over my math book and actually make an attempt to study. There's no way I can stand up, let alone do my exercises.

I open the book to chapter 14, which we supposedly went over in class even though I don't remember ever reading it.

A definition jumps out at me, its bold letters popping out of the page:

Asymptote-- A straight line that is approached but never met by a curve.

Approached but never met by a curve.

Approached... but never met.

I know that feeling. It's the same feeling I've been having for months now.

Because there's something I am approaching. I'm getting there, all right. Every day it seems I lose just a tiny bit more, and I'm getting closer and closer to that perfect, beautiful, thin girl I keep having dreams about.

I'm always getting closer... closer... toward perfection and beauty. I approach it.

But I will never meet it.