Fat Cat

by Robin Brande

  Goodbye. Now go.

  Once we were all safely within Amanda's car, I slumped back against the seat. Then I told Jordan in as nice of a tone as I could muster, "Please don't ever, ever do that to me again."

  "Do what?"

  "You know what."

  Jordan sighed. "You know, Cat, someone might like you someday. I mean, someone besides us. Would that be so bad?"

  "Yes," I said. "I am a circle of three. No room at the inn."

  "What if I told you Greg thinks you're nice?"

  "Then I'd say he wasn't paying very close attention."

  At least that got a laugh out of both of them.

  "I didn't think he was that great," Amanda said, which really surprised me.

  But I went with it. "See?"

  "What do you mean?" Jordan protested. "He's a solid guy."

  "Eh," Amanda said. "Kind of boring."

  "He talked to you for about thirty seconds," Jordan said.

  "I could tell," Amanda said. "He just didn't strike me as right for our Kit Cat."

  I couldn't believe it. Amanda was actually discouraging me from being interested in a guy.

  "You're elitist," Jordan said.

  "Choosy," Amanda countered. "That's why I'm with you."

  The rest of the ride was pretty silent, except for some polite questions about how Jordan's other races had gone. When they dropped me off, they didn't seem all that pleased with each other.

  I signed to Amanda, "Okay?"

  She nodded and answered out loud, "He still loves me."

  "Elitist," Jordan muttered, but I saw the edges of a smile.

  Amanda reached over and squeezed his wrist. Jordan lifted her hand and kissed it. All was well.

  "Thanks," I told Amanda as I retrieved my bags. "For the shopping."

  "You're welcome. You look great. Doesn't she look great in those pants?"

  "The men were going wild," Jordan said. "Too bad you're so coldhearted."

  "They'll get over it," I said.

  "The whole team?" Jordan asked, smiling.

  I knew he was kidding, but still. As soon as they drove off, I went inside and did something I promised myself I wouldn't do.

  I weighed myself.

  Oh, happy day.

  25

  Day 40, Monday, September 29

  Breakfast: Oatmeal with raisins, sliced pears, walnuts.

  Lunch: Lentil and barley soup left over from last night (kept it hot in my thermos). (I know hominins didn't have thermoses, but I can't eat that stuff cold. Gag-reflex exception.) Also banana and water.

  This morning at breakfast Peter asked me if he could start walking with me to school.

  "Okay, I guess, but why?" I asked. "Wouldn't you rather just get a ride with Dad?"

  "Nah, I want to walk with you."

  How sweet! But it was still my duty to talk him out of it. "I have to leave a lot earlier than you would. You'd get there about half an hour ahead of the bell."

  "That's okay," he said. "Can I?"

  How could I refuse?

  We didn't really say much for the first few blocks--my little brother's not much of a talker. But then I decided I might as well try to make conversation.

  "So, how's school?" I asked.

  "Good."

  "How's soccer?"

  "Good."

  "How's life as my waiter?" "Good."

  "No complaints?" "Nope."

  "Any suggestions?" "Nope."

  "Should I make pizza tomorrow night?" "Sure."

  Probably not looking at a future as a talk show host, that boy. I decided to delve a little deeper.

  "So, tell me the truth--why did you decide to start walking with me all of a sudden?"

  Peter acted like he hadn't heard me. He concentrated very hard on the rock he was kicking.

  "Hello?" I said. "Speaking to you."

  "I dunno," he muttered.

  "Well, if you did know, what would it be?"

  Peter shrugged. Then he mumbled it so low I could barely hear him. "'Cause I'm fat."

  That stopped me cold. "What?"

  He shrugged again and kept on kicking his rock.

  "Peter, you're not fat. Why would you say that?"

  He simply repeated the shrug.

  The truth is he isn't fat, exactly, but he does have our dad's build. And mine. And even though the food I've been cooking the past month and a half has definitely dropped a few pounds from everyone, Peter is still pretty stocky.

  And it's not like he isn't active--the kid plays soccer twice a week and baseball and football when they're in season--but there's some definite pudge on him, to tell the truth. Not that he isn't still cute, in his way. Plus he's a really nice, considerate kid. There's just nothing wrong with him the way he is.

  "You're not fat," I tried again. "You're just big like Dad--we both are."

  Peter looked up at me. "No, you're not. You've gotten skinnier."

  "Yeah, I guess a little."

  "No," he insisted, "a lot. You look better."

  "Well, thanks ... I guess."

  We walked in silence for a while, then he added, "I want to look like you."

  "Peter--" What was I supposed to say? I stopped and gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "You're very cute--Amanda says so all the time. You'd be cute whether you lost weight or not."

  "Trina said I'm fat."

  Okay, now we were getting somewhere. And that somewhere was a place I was all too familiar with. My voice suddenly got hard. "Who's Trina?"

  "Forget it," Peter said. "See ya." Then he took off and ran the last few blocks to his school.

  I stood there and stared after him. Such a cute boy--what's some mean, horrible girl doing telling my little brother he's fat? Where does she get off?

  I hardly ever have violent thoughts, but right at that moment I could have dished out some serious big-sister whomping. Trina, you little witch. I hate kids like that. Mean, snotty, cruel. A kid like that can ruin your whole life.

  I ought to know.

  26

  Today was my second appointment with Jackie. And for once in my life I was actually pretty psyched about the weigh-in.

  "Nice work," Jackie said, reading off the number. "How are you feeling these days?"

  "Great!" I may have said it a little too enthusiastically. I was just so happy about the scale.

  "How are the cravings?"

  "Much better," I said. "I mean, I'd still love a Butterfinger every now and then, but it really has gotten easier."

  "I'm glad," Jackie said. "And do you see how your skin has cleared up?"

  It's true. Almost all my acne is gone. It's really amazing.

  We went over what I've been eating lately, and Jackie made a few suggestions, and then our time was up. Since she's seeing me as a favor to my mom, she's just squeezing me in when she can.

  I left her office feeling happier than I have in a long time. Because the best thing isn't even the fact that I'm definitely losing weight--although trust me, that's fantastic.

  The best thing is how different I feel. Before I started the project--back in my caffeine and potato chip and sugar days--I'd have these horrible afternoon slumps when I just wanted to lay my head down in class and take a nap. And I just felt ... squishy. Slow and lumpy and lethargic.

  I had no idea that this project would make me feel so much better. It's like I've finally drained off all the sludge in my body, and now I'm all light and energetic.

  I can sympathize with Peter. And now that I know the real reason, I don't mind at all if he wants to tag along. If my little brother wants to remake himself and feel better like this, I'm happy to give him some help.

  Not--let me be clear--to impress some girl, but for himself. In fact, I hope once he feels better he'll realize this Trina girl is just a little snot and he shouldn't even care what she thinks.

  It's finally starting to feel a little bit like fall here. It was cold and windy as Peter and I walked to school this morning. I stopped by the bathroom
before my first class and couldn't help noticing how nice my face looked--cheeks rosy from the wind, eyes bright. I think I looked better this morning than I ever have with makeup. Even my lips had some color on them, and it wasn't from gloss.

  I don't mean to be vain, but this is a scientific experiment, and I am required to make observations: I look good. Not great, not perfect, but definitely better than six weeks ago.

  Thank goodness I ended up with a picture of naked hominins instead of beetles or black holes or something useless like that. Otherwise who knows what my life would be like right now?

  27

  Amanda was waiting at my house when I got home from work.

  "Hey, what are you doing here?"

  She wouldn't answer until we were safely in my room.

  "Jordan's car is still acting up, so I had to take him to practice today. And Greg was there."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "So, he was asking about you. I think maybe you should give him a shot."

  "Wait a minute--you said he wasn't good enough for me, remember? You said he seemed kind of boring, as I recall."

  "Yeah, but I heard him talk a little more today, and maybe he's not so bad."

  "'Not so bad,' huh?" I said. "A really glowing recommendation." "Anyway, I gave him your phone number."

  "Amanda!"

  "What? He's entitled to call."

  "Since when?"

  "Since he said lots of nice things about you, like how pretty he thinks you are."

  That sort of brought me up short, but still.

  "I do not want him calling me," I said. "I won't talk to him."

  "I think he might be okay. And Jordan certainly thinks so."

  "First of all," I said, "I don't have time for any of this. Do you not understand my course load this semester? Second, I don't even like the guy--"

  "You only talked to him for two minutes."

  "On purpose," I said. "Third, you already said he isn't right for me, and we both know I have nothing in common with him."

  Amanda sighed. "Cat, I just think it's time, you know?"

  "Time for what?"

  "To test the waters a little. You've got this slinky little bod now--"

  I chuffed. "Hardly."

  "And you'd better get used to boys noticing."

  "I'm not interested," I said.

  "He said he's going to call you."

  "Too bad--hominins don't use the phone."

  28

  He did call. He waited a day and then called me last night. I asked my mother to take a message. It didn't matter--he found me at lunch today anyway.

  "Hey."

  Amanda kicked me under the table. "Hey," she answered Greg.

  Jordan shook his hand. I just don't get that. Girls never shake hands.

  "Hey, Cat," Greg said.

  I gave him a quick nod and pulled out my chemistry notes from this morning. My face felt hot. My pulse decided to skip around.

  I never talk to guys. Other than Jordan, I never have to.

  "Have a seat," Jordan said, and I shot him a look, but he either didn't notice or didn't care.

  "I didn't know you had this lunch," Amanda said.

  "I usually go off campus," Greg said. "But now that I know you guys are hanging out ..."

  Amanda kicked me again. I pretended to read my notes.

  Greg cleared his throat. "So, Cat, I was wondering. What do you like to do for fun?"

  I didn't look up. "Nothing. I don't do fun."

  Greg chuckled. "Yeah, right."

  "I don't," I insisted, pressing my leg against Amanda's. She pressed back.

  "So, Greg," she said, "tell Cat what you were saying about your entrepreneur class." To me she said, "Greg's taking the entrepreneur class."

  "I just heard." I kept on trying to read. My skin felt all clammy.

  Meanwhile Greg launched into some lengthy discussion about market studies and prototypes and this great idea he has for selling sweet-and-sour snack mix out of the student-run concession stand if he can work out a deal with the supplier, blobbity blah, and all I could think was, Why is he talking to me? What does he want?

  "I figure I'll start selling at the games," Greg said, "get a base, then expand to the daily concession."

  "Doesn't that sound interesting?" Amanda asked me.

  "Hmm," I said, still not looking up.

  Another five minutes of that, and finally Greg moved on. I didn't realize my shoulders had been up to my ears until I felt them relax.

  Jordan wasn't happy. "A little eye contact would have been good, Cat."

  "I told you, I don't want to go out with anyone."

  "Good," he said. "You're there. Beecher's a really nice guy. I'm sorry I ever introduced you."

  He grumped off, leaving Amanda and me alone.

  "You were really rude," she confirmed.

  Okay, they'd both succeeded in making me feel like a total pig.

  "What was I supposed to do?" I asked Amanda. "I didn't want to encourage him--that seems even ruder."

  "Cat, we're just trying to help you out here."

  I groaned. "Listen to me once and for all. I honestly, truly do not want a boyfriend. It's just not right for me. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm much happier being alone. I swear."

  Amanda handed me back my lunch container. "Thank you for the pizza. And the roasted asparagus. I'm going to try not to curse you right now, mainly because you're my friend and I love you and also because you cook such fabulous food and I want more of it. But tell me the truth--and I'm serious here, Cat. Is it even remotely possible that any of this has anything to do with you-know-who?"

  "No," I answered quickly. "Absolutely not."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  Amanda stared at me. I stared back.

  "Some boys are nice," she said.

  "I know. Look at Jordan."

  "Who may never forgive you." Amanda sighed. "So we should just give up on you?"

  "Yes, please."

  "And you don't care that you're going to end up a bitter--"

  "--dried-out old hag? No. I'm looking forward to that."

  Amanda slumped in her chair. "I failed you."

  "No, failing me would have been trying to force me to go out with someone I have absolutely no interest in."

  "I need you to promise me something," Amanda said.

  "Maybe."

  "I need you to promise that someday--I don't care if it's a year from now or ten years--but someday when you meet someone nice, you'll actually give him a chance. Do you think you can do that?"

  I mulled it over. "Possibly."

  "I mean, you're not saying you're never ever going to fall in love, right? Because if you tell me that, I'm going to stab myself in the heart with this spoon right now."

  "No, I'm not saying that."

  "Good. And can I tell you that you were really a bitch to Greg just now? I mean, really."

  "Sorry. I just wanted to make sure I discouraged him."

  "Oh, you did," Amanda said. "I think we can pretty much count on the Greg vote being lost."

  Incredibly, she was wrong.

  29

  "Tell him I can't use the phone," I told my mother.

  She handed it to me anyway. "You tell him."

  "Hi, Cat?"

  "Uh-huh?"

  "Hi. It's Greg Beecher. From school."

  "Right," I said. "I know who you are."

  A fine mist sprang up over my lip, like a tiny sweat mustache. If only Amanda were nearby so I could kick her.

  "Great," he said. "I, uh ... wanted to know if ..."

  Oh my gosh, he actually sounded nervous. Which was impossible, because I was nervous enough for everyone in the world.

  I needed to put us both out of our misery, fast.

  "Look, Greg, I'm not really supposed to talk on the phone--"

  "Oh, did I call too late?"

  Considering that it was only seven, that was hard to believe. "No, but I've take
n a vow not to use the telephone for about another 165 days. So I have to get off right now--"

  "Wait," he said quickly. "I just wanted to know if you want to go out with me sometime."

  There. Words I never thought I'd hear. From anyone. By now even the roots of my hair were sweating.

  "No," I said, "but thanks. I have to go now--"

  "Wait. Are you joking?"

  Like he'd never even considered I might refuse? "No, I'm not joking."

  "But Jordan said--"

  "Jordan was wrong," I told him. And for some reason the following words just sprang out of my mouth: "And besides ... I've sort of taken this vow of chastity, you know? So I can't really go out--"

  "Yeah, sure--"

  "I mean, I shouldn't even be around guys--"

  "Yeah," Greg said, "but I like you. I think you're cool. I really want to go out."

  What was I supposed to say to that?

  30

  I used the telephone again to call Amanda because it was a certified emergency.

  "Oh my gosh, it was horrible."

  "What did he say?"

  "That he likes me."

  Amanda squealed. "What did you say?"

  "Nothing."

  "Did he ask you out?"

  "Yes."

  Another squeal. "Well?"

  I paused, then let out a groan. "I said yes."

  You'd have thought from the scream on the other end I'd just told Amanda a publisher wanted to buy all her poems.

  "When?" she asked.

  "This Saturday. I told him he could come with us to Poetry Night."

  "A double date! I get to see everything! We need to go shopping," Amanda rattled off, "and fix your hair, and maybe do your nails--"

  "No," I interrupted before she could get too out of control. "I'm not doing any of that. I'm going as is or not at all. I shouldn't have even said yes."

  "But you did," Amanda said, "and that calls for clothes. We barely got started shopping last weekend. We need at least three or four more outfits."

  "No way," I said. "We're done."