Not Just a Number: A Young Adult Contemporary Novel

by Sara Michaels

  Funny that, I thought.

  The area outside the school entrance on a Friday was very similar in makeup to the cafeteria. Groups of friends gathered in crowds. The football players all wore their letter jackets on Fridays no matter how hot it was, and their group was a mix of well-built young men, loudly proclaiming their plans for the weekends while blonde girls bobbed in between. They were desperate to be seen and I was desperate not to be seen.

  I spotted Brady Thompson, Kya’s ‘stalker,’ standing on the opposite end of the entrance and staring at Kya. It really was a bit freaky, if I was honest. If Kya noticed, which she likely did, because she didn’t miss much, she said nothing.

  Ryan joined us with a huge smile on his face, greeting us like we had not seen each other in years. He hooked his arms through ours as we set out on the walk to the diner.

  “Mmmm...I can taste that caramel banana shake already,” Ryan said as we started a slow walk off the school grounds and turned right to head down to Betsy’s Diner.

  The noise of excited teens on a Friday fading into a distant hum. I felt sorry for people who lived around the school—it wasn’t exactly the quietest neighbor to have, but then it had been there longer than most houses, so anyone living nearby had known what they were getting themselves into. If it wasn’t the noise of kids coming or going to school, then it was sports activities or fun days. The people living around here probably didn’t get much peace.

  Betsy’s Diner had been a gathering place for neighborhood high school students for years. Although my mom had gone to a different high school in a neighboring district, even she had often been to Betsy’s with her friends during her high school years. It was yet another place I would miss when I went off to college. Just another tradition I would have to rebuild somewhere else with other people that I did not know or probably would not even like.

  As we neared the diner, I noticed that it was pretty quiet, which was strange for a Friday afternoon. Often, we had to wait for a table if we did not get there quickly enough. Thankfully, that hardly ever happened, as none of us were prone to dawdling after school. It wasn’t just high school students filling the tables and booths, but also families having an early dinner together.

  I remembered there was a big football game that night, though, so it could be that everyone was getting ready for that.

  I wouldn’t be attending the football game. It really wasn’t my cup of tea, but it had been difficult to avoid the chatter about it in the hallways at school and the posters plastered all over. The football groupies also had a different buzz about them when there was a game. I knew Kya and Ryan would not be attending the football game either. It was just another thing we had in common. It had been difficult enough to attend hockey games when I was seeing Brandon. Sports like that were really not my thing.

  Betsy’s Diner was maintained to look old, which sounded counterproductive, but the feel was retro, cool, and pretty accurate, from what I could tell, to the times it was trying to reflect. The floor was black and white checks, and the walls were clad in red tiles and chrome slats. Ten booths with comfy couches lined the perimeter of the diner, and the center of the area was dotted with two-person tables. Those were usually taken up by couples on dates, unless they were lucky enough to somehow snag a booth, which was far more conducive to a date. Groups of three or more automatically got a booth, and because we were Friday regulars, we got the same booth every time as long as we got there early enough. It was tucked into the corner of the diner and hidden from most other tables so we could chat and laugh without bothering anyone else.

  The waitress that worked the shift we always arrived in on Fridays—Lisa—knew us by sight and had learned our names over time. She was really good at her job, and I could tell that this was not a part-time job for her. She was a career waitress and knew her trade like the back of her hand.

  “Abby! Kya! Ryan!” she exclaimed as she saw us enter Betsy’s, the door jingling on entry, yet another throwback to the ‘60s they had kept to add to the atmosphere. “I didn’t think I would see y’all today. Aren’t you gearing up for the big game like everyone else?” Lisa had a bit of a Southern drawl despite being in the middle of Brooklyn, and that, paired with her Betsy’s Diner uniform of a white dress, red apron, and name tag made guests feel like they had been transported not only back in time, but to a diner set in a Southern state.

  “Oh no, no football for us,” explained Kya. “We’re more concert people than football game people.” She winked at Lisa.

  “Ah, okay then. My granny always used to say, ‘every chicken has a coop that fits its shape.’”

  That piece of Southern wisdom could probably be roughly translated as “to each his own,” I guessed.

  Lisa showed us to our seats and stood with her notepad at the ready. “Shakes for y’all?”

  Betsy’s was known for two things: their huge range of delicious milkshakes and their peach cobbler. If you were brave and didn’t mind a sugar high, you could try both at the same time.

  Kya ordered the Rocky Road shake she had been craving, and Ryan his usual banana caramel shake.

  My heart had started pounding from the moment we had walked into the diner. I had been dreading this moment the entire day. I really wanted a milkshake, but it seemed like such a waste to ruin all the hard work I had done just to give in to that temptation. I mean, I had literally dragged myself home from my run that morning and had one rice cake at lunch. To spoil all that hard work by indulging in a calorie-packed treat just because I was too weak to say no seemed ridiculous. I would come up with something to ward off Kya and Ryan.

  “Abby?” I knew it was my turn to order, and I could not look at Lisa when she said my name. How dumb was it that I was worried about disappointing the waitress at the diner? “Hot chocolate shake topped with whipped cream, right?”

  It was a bit embarrassing that I’d had so many of those shakes that the waitress knew my exact order. In all fairness, she knew everyone else’s orders too, but still, it was a problem. Maybe if I’d had fewer milkshakes to begin with, I would not be in the situation I was in. I actually wanted to have a milkshake. I wanted to suck the creamy chocolate ice cream mix through my straw and scoop up mounds of whipped cream into my mouth with the end of the straw, but discipline had to win out sometime. I was doing this for a major end goal, after all, and I was letting myself get in my own way. I could not allow the little obstacles along the way to trip me up.

  I pictured the race to prom and Jen’s bridesmaid dresses as a hurdle race, and this milkshake was just another hurdle. I could either stumble over it and faceplant on the track, or I could leap over it and be a winner. I had an image of me tripping over a giant milkshake and landing in a puddle of whipped cream.

  Food fantasies? Really, Abby? I chose to be a winner despite the fierce stares I could feel coming from my friends.

  “Um, no, you know, I haven’t felt great the whole day, actually since yesterday. My stomach feels weird. I’m just going to get a glass of water. Thanks, Lisa.” As the words left my mouth, I felt like the atmosphere immediately became as thick as the shake I was missing out on. I watched Lisa’s brow furrow as she jotted down my very boring order, and I caught a look exchanged between Kya and Ryan. I immediately felt like a watched child that had just said something that worried their parents.

  My friends said nothing, though, as Lisa scurried away with a surprised look on her face to prepare our order, and Ryan started to talk about his plans for the weekend.

  I was in the clear, it seemed.

  His mom was taking him shopping for college, and I realized that was something I would need to think about doing soon too. I would not really need much, as I could probably just take a lot of what I needed from home. Other than that, he said he was going to be studying, and we all considered the possibility of studying together on Saturday.

  Kya had her final dance exam to practice for, and she thought she would probably be working on that the whole weekend. She pr
acticed in the gym at school. Part of the gym had been redesigned to accommodate the dance troupe. One wall now had mirrors all along it and a bar secured to the wall for ballet classes. Kya was more of a modern dance girl, ballet being far too structured for her. Occasionally, if I knew she was practicing on the weekends, I would head out to the school, sit and watch her, and keep her company. I knew I wouldn’t be doing so that weekend, though.

  I needed to study, but did not have anything else planned except as much exercise as I could squeeze in, although I did not verbalize that. I was pretty sure Jen would find some wedding stuff for us to do—hopefully nothing to do with bridesmaid dresses, or any dresses for that matter.

  Our conversation trailed off as Lisa arrived with our drinks balanced on a bright red tray. She placed Kya’s tall glass of Rocky Road deliciousness in front of her and Ryan’s banana shake in front of him. His glass was lined with a sheen of caramel sauce before the shake was poured into it.

  My glass of water was placed in front of me without much ceremony.

  “Enjoy!” Lisa squealed. “And be sure to shout if you need anything else.” I was certain that she was looking directly at me when she said that, probably hoping I would change my mind.

  Ryan and Kya unwrapped their eco straws and sucked up mouthfuls of their milkshakes with resounding slurps.

  I lifted my water to my lips and sipped delicately. Wow, such good water, I thought.

  Quite suddenly, Ryan pushed his milkshake to the middle of the table and turned to me. I briefly wondered if there was something wrong with his shake, but then he spoke. “Okay, I’m sorry. I can’t just not say anything anymore.” Kya looked at him with wide eyes, and I already knew what was coming. “We’ve come here every Friday for years and had a milkshake. You have had a milkshake, Abby.” He was turned toward me now, and I felt cornered. “And now you’re having water? What’s going on, Abby?” He wasn’t angry, but his tone was strong and filled with concern.

  In return, I hoped that my own answer would be convincing, but what came out was weak and thin. “I’m just not feeling well today, Ryan. I told you that earlier, remember?” I did my best to sound annoyed that he had forgotten. I wanted to add something about dairy not being good for stomach bugs but could not form the words.

  He turned back toward his drink, stirring in the caramel syrup with his straw and shaking his head gently. “Abby, you haven’t been feeling well for ages. It’s always something. I can’t remember the last time you actually ate lunch with us.” He turned again to look at me, and I struggled to hold his gaze. “I’m worried about you.” His deep brown eyes bored into mine, and I had to look away. I could not lie to him while looking in his eyes.

  I did my best to muster up anger so that I could take him on. Who did he think he was, anyway? “I’ve been having a lot of stomach issues, Ryan. There’s nothing sinister about it, I just don’t feel well.”

  Kya said nothing. She just sat there, sipping on her shake occasionally and casting glances between me and Ryan. She had never been one for confrontation. She would rather walk away from something than make a scene. She looked like she wanted to melt into her seat, but I knew that she had concerns too. Sometimes that annoyed me about her because, even though Ryan’s questioning was not what I wanted right now, at least it showed that he cared. Did Kya care, or was she just happy to sit there and drink her milkshake?

  I knew it was an unfair thing to think. Of course, she cared; she just showed it in a different way. I also hoped that she was not in the process of tying my missed period to this in any way in her head at that moment. That would not be a good correlation for her to make.

  “Well, maybe you should ask your mom to make a doctor’s appointment for you, because I’m really concerned that whatever is going on with you is getting worse and it’s not going to get better without treatment.” His voice was softer now, and I felt horrible to be lying to him and worrying him like this. The only treatment for my problem was if a doctor could strap me to a hospital bed and suck all my fat out.

  That would be nice, I thought, even though the image was disgusting. Did they do mass liposuction? Wherever I watched those plastic surgery programs, the surgeons always made the patients lose weight first. Well, hello, if I could lose enough weight, I would not need liposuction.

  The diner suddenly felt like it was closing in on me. The red and chrome seemed to swivel slightly as it came closer and closer to my face. I cupped my hands over my eyes and rested my head there for a moment. Maybe I could close my eyes for a while, and when I opened them again all of this would be over. I could not deal with all this attention being focused on me and my eating habits like this, and I hated that I was lying so easily to people that I loved.

  If they did not ask so many questions, though, I would not have to lie.

  My heart thudded in my ears, and my breathing started to quicken. I was certain if I sat there for one more minute I was going to explode. I pictured parts of my inside splattering against the chrome slats and all over Ryan and Kya, completely spoiling their milkshakes.

  I scoffed to myself silently. That would teach them.

  My pounding heart resonated in my ears, and I heard myself say, “Actually, I’m starting to feel really ill now. I think I’m going to go.” I stood up and Ryan and Kya looked at me, dumbfounded. “I probably just need some sleep or something. Sorry, guys. I will catch up with you over the weekend.” I grabbed my bag and slipped out of the booth.

  They did not have a chance to stop me, ask questions, or insist that I stay before I had pushed my way through the diner’s door and I was half walking, half running up the street, taking in large gulps of air. I was certain that the world was closing in on me and I was about to get sucked into an invisible vortex. Cars whizzed by on the streets, and I slipped into an alleyway between the grocery store and the hardware store just to escape the world for a moment and catch my breath. The alleyway smelled like old urine from stray cats and probably also homeless people. I pinched my nose and breathed in through my mouth.

  Leaning against the wall, I slid down until my butt was touching the floor. The world eventually started to still, and I stood, still using the wall as a support. The tears were already pouring down my face before I realized that I was crying. Where were all of these tears coming from all of a sudden?

  I walked home in a bubble of isolation, pushing past people and wiping back tears until I collapsed in a heap on my bed, sobbing into my pillow—alone in so many ways.

  8

  I dreaded going to school on the Monday after the milkshake incident. I had pretty much avoided Ryan and Kya the whole weekend. At first, I had ignored their messages on Discord, but then realizing that it was really unfair to them, I typed a quick message saying that I still felt ill and did not feel like doing anything. I had to keep up the charade of being sick and I was worried that they would see me running, so I ran only in the early mornings on Saturday and Sunday. I refused my mom’s request to go grocery shopping with her. I told her I had to study.

  On Sunday morning, I heard my mom on the phone in her room. A few minutes later, she knocked on my door.

  “Abby?” I was lying on my bed watching YouTube videos to pass the time and avoid thinking about the horrible predicament I had gotten myself into.

  “Come in.” I wanted to add, “if you really have to,” but didn’t. She slid through the door with a look of concern on her face. What now?

  “I was just on the phone with Kya’s mom about the PTA meeting next week, and she asked if you were feeling better.” My heart sank. I had not continued the stomach bug charade at home because I hadn’t felt it necessary and I didn’t want Mom to try to get me to the doctor. “Are you not feeling well?”

  I forced myself to smile brightly and let out an utterly fake laugh. “Oh, no, I was feeling a bit sick on Friday afternoon when I was with Ryan and Kya, but I am totally fine now.”

  The look of concern had not left her face. “Are you sure? You didn
’t say anything about not feeling well, and you do look pale.”

  “Yeah, well, it was not that bad, and there wasn’t really anything that I needed beside some rest anyway.” I felt like time stood still while I waited to see if she was going to fall for it. She did.

  “Okay, well, next time let me know if you aren’t well, okay? You don’t have to struggle through everything on your own.”

  I agreed that I would and was grateful when she left my room, clicking the door closed behind her. It was going to be a problem if my lies from school started crossing over with my lies at home. How the hell had I got myself into this mess?

  By the time I made my way to my locker the next day, there were only about ten minutes before our first class started, but Ryan was still hovering by his locker. Was it my imagination, or was he waiting for me? And if he was, why?

  “Hey, Abby.” Ryan’s broad smile was always welcoming, but today there was a touch of concern in his eyes. “How are you feeling? Any better?” I had no idea what the right answer to that question was. I could not still claim to be feeling as bad as I was on Friday because then I should not be at school. I also could not tell him that I was feeling fine because then I would have no excuse for not eating lunch. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, I thought.

  “Uh,” I stammered, “I am a little better.” I emphasized ‘little.’ Halfway would do it. “Still not one hundred percent, though.” I left myself a little leeway for whatever else I would need to accommodate later in the conversation.

  He swallowed hard, and his frown deepened. “That’s not good. I’m sorry if I put too much pressure on you on Friday with my questions. I know if you feel sick, you don’t really feel like getting the Spanish Inquisition.” He reached out and touched the coat I had dragged on before leaving the house. I’d been feeling chilly despite it being a beautiful Brooklyn day outside. “Hey, why are you wearing a coat? It’s so warm out.”