Fat Cat

by Robin Brande

  "So," she said, settling herself and her plate onto my bed. "What's the plan?"

  "With what?"

  "Your swimming, obviously. Going out for the school team?"

  I snorted. "The season's over, for one thing," I said, "and absolutely not. I'm still huge."

  "Cat, you're not huge! Are you crazy? You look fantastic!"

  "You haven't seen me in a bathing suit."

  "Show me," she said, waving her hand. "Right now."

  "No!"

  "Then don't complain," she said. "I know what I see, and I know you look like as much of a swimmer as those Amazon girls on Jordan's team. Have you seen their backs? They're as wide as truck beds."

  "I am never swimming in public again," I said. "I mean, other than the rehab pool. This is just for me."

  Amanda rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to try to force you, but I really think you have a distorted picture of yourself. You're like one of those anorexic girls who looks in the mirror and sees a blimp. You're not a blimp, Cat. Do I need to do an intervention here? I'm serious."

  "No. I know I've lost weight, thank you. I know I'm not such a blimp anymore. But there's a big difference between that and wanting to parade around in Lycra."

  Amanda shook her head and ate another bite of bread. "Chef, scholar, champion athlete--what can't she do, ladies and gentlemen?"

  "Um, sew a purse?"

  "Oh, yeah. You really sucked at that."

  56

  Day 103, Monday, December 1

  HALFWAY MARK!!!!!

  "So," I asked Peter on our walk this morning, "how's it all going?"

  "Fine."

  "How's school?" "Fine."

  Some days we're pretty silent. Even after all the time we've been spending together lately in the kitchen and on the walks, I still feel like I don't really know my little brother all that well. Part of it is that he doesn't talk much, but part is also that I haven't really paid much attention to him since he was a baby. Back then he was like having a little live doll. But over the years I sort of got involved in my own life and forgot about him.

  But I'm trying to change that.

  "So what do you like in school?" I tried again. "I mean, to study?" Peter shrugged. "Math. History."

  "History? Uck. You wouldn't feel that way if you had my teacher Mr. Zombie."

  Peter nodded and kept walking. He hasn't quite mastered the art of the follow-up question. Or maybe he just isn't all that interested in my life.

  "So tell me the truth," I said. "What did you really think of Thanksgiving? I know you and Dad didn't really like the tofu thing, but was the stuffing okay?"

  "Yeah."

  "Really, really okay, or just kind of?"

  "I like the way you cook," Peter said.

  "Thank you! Do you have any requests? I mean, I sort of always make what I want, but I'd be willing to try something else." "No," Peter said, "that's okay."

  "Has the pizza been all right?" Because I've been sticking to our deal and faithfully making it for him once a week.

  "Yeah, it's good."

  Maybe this is why I haven't spent too much time talking to my brother. He doesn't really have much to say.

  But maybe I wasn't hitting the right topic.

  "Okay," I said, "if you want to talk about Trina, go ahead."

  He walked along for another half a minute, not saying anything. Then he blurted out, "She hates me."

  "Why would she hate you?"

  "I told you. I'm fat."

  "No," I said, "she told Savanna she thinks you're fat. That's not the same thing as being fat."

  "Do you think I'm fat?"

  "No, Peter, I don't."

  "I think you used to be fat."

  "Thanks a lot!"

  "Well, you were."

  It was hard to argue with him. "Yeah, I guess I was. Do you think I'm fat now?"

  He laughed. "No."

  "Do you think I'm pretty?"

  He laughed again. "No."

  I chucked him on the shoulder. "You're a brat. I knew I never liked you."

  "Me neither."

  I held out my hand and we shook on it. "We're even."

  That was all the conversation we had in us until we got up to the corner. He was going straight ahead, I was going right.

  Peter pretended to concentrate on the traffic as he asked the question. "Do you think a girl will ever like me?"

  "Yes. I have no doubt."

  He rocked back and forth on his heels. "Why? I mean, what do you think they would like?"

  "Hmm. Can I only pick one thing?"

  "Yeah."

  I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "Too bad. You're smart and you're thoughtful and you're kind, you're great at sports, you always get your homework done, you care about other people and animals, you have those beautiful green eyes, and the girls are going to go wild for you, but you should only go wild back for the very nicest ones. How's that?"

  "Good." He didn't smile or act embarrassed or flattered. He simply took it in, as if I'd just told him I was done with the bathroom and it was his turn.

  "Okay?" I said. He nodded. Then he crossed the street and went about his business, as if his big sister hadn't just given him some of the greatest compliments in the world.

  Boys. I'm beginning to think they really should have been my research project.

  57

  Day 114, Friday, December 12

  Still working on the applied kinesiology portion of my project. Sometimes this whole thing feels so huge I don't know how I'm going to bring it all together into one cohesive theory by next March. I guess I just have to keep taking it one piece at a time.

  "Hey," Nick Langan said in Mr. Fizer's class this afternoon. "How's it going?"

  I looked up from the chart I was making.

  "Yeah?" I asked, because obviously he needed something, right? Like to borrow a pencil or a sheet of paper. Because Nick never talks to me. Nick lives in a world that doesn't involve talking to me. I don't understand him, he doesn't care to understand me--we're both fine with that.

  We've been fine with that since about third grade, when he announced to our teacher, Mrs. Tomarchio, that he wouldn't read any of the assigned books anymore because they were "irrelevant" (Mrs. Tomarchio used it as a teaching moment and had us all look up irrelevant in our dictionaries). Nick preferred to read "only the facts." So while the rest of us enjoyed stories about talking animals and ten-year-old private detectives, Nick read Time and U.S. News & World Report, and, if he really wanted to kick back, Psychology Today.

  Which probably explains why Nick has never really had that many friends at school. Instead he stays in touch with kids he meets at the various brain camps he goes to every summer. I heard that last summer he hooked up with some Russian girl whose English was a little sketchy, and they'd have these incredibly loud arguments in the mess hall over their respective country's energy policies, then they'd both suddenly stop arguing and she'd jump on his lap and they'd make out right there in front of everybody.

  Ewwww.

  Nick is a major hound dog during the summers, total celibate monk during the school year. At least that's what everybody says. I'm not that surprised he can get girls when he wants them. He's not bad-looking--tallish, skinny but not geek-skinny, light blond hair he wears sort of long, decent enough face. If you can just get past the personality.

  Turns out his, "Hey, how's it going," had a purpose behind it, but it wasn't to borrow a pencil.

  "Winter Formal's next Friday," he said. "Want to go?"

  "Huh?"

  "We should go." And then he just walked away.

  Okaaaayy ...

  For some reason Matt has been showing up in class again lately, and so he was there. And he overheard Nick asking me out, which was great. He looked thoroughly shocked. Yes, Matt, some boys might actually like me.

  If I expected Nick to hang around after class, maybe discuss it a little further, I was wrong. He gathered his stuff and took off, as if we'd never
even spoken.

  Luckily I could talk to Amanda at work tonight.

  We had a little time together in the kitchen while she helped me form more black bean burgers so Dave could keep grilling. Sometimes when we're really swamped in the kitchen I ask Amanda to scrub in and help.

  It's amazing how much busier the cafe has gotten in the last month and a half. Amanda says it's because people found out they can finally get fantastic gourmet food there, but I know it's all really because of Amanda's hard work.

  When you walk into the cafe now, it's so cozy and relaxing--the soft lighting, the music, the decorations. And Amanda improved the dress code of the servers--dark pants and a Karmic Cafe T-shirt. She's been cranking out new designs all the time, and now people have even started buying them. They're like individual works of art.

  Plus she's been doing all these online promotions and specials, and so more and more new customers have started coming in. Business has improved so much, Darlene went ahead and renewed her lease. Yay! She's also started paying Amanda to manage the place, and she's giving her a portion of the T-shirt sales on top of it. Which only seems fair--she wouldn't have any of this if not for Amanda.

  "So do you think that conversation with Nick was a real invitation?" I asked her as we continued molding burgers.

  "Depends. Was he looking at you when he said it?" Amanda's known him since junior high. "Because sometimes when I think he's talking to me, it's more like he's dictating a memo to himself and my face happened to be in his way."

  "No, I'm pretty sure he meant me."

  "Huh. So what do you think? Are you going to go?"

  "No!"

  "Could be interesting for a laugh," Amanda said. "Haven't you always wanted to know what he's like in real life?"

  "No, seeing him in school is bizarre enough. Although I am curious what his project is--maybe I could worm it out of him. I overheard Mr. Fizer say something to him like 'cat's gill.' What do you think that could be?"

  "Underwater genetic mutations in cats? Who knows. But I think you should go. Maybe talk a little Russian to him. Make him go wild."

  "Thank you for your lack of help."

  "My pleasure," Amanda said. She washed off her hands. "I've got to go check on my tables. Want to come over after work tonight? I think Casablanca is on."

  "Haven't you already seen that like a hundred times already?"

  "So? Love is timeless."

  "Nah," I said, "not tonight. I just want to do some laps and go to bed."

  "You Olympians are so boring."

  "Yeah, well."

  "Anyway," she said, "back to Nick. I think you should go. Could be a trip. What's the worst that can happen?"

  "Being stuck on a date with Nick."

  "Besides that."

  "Why did he even ask me?"

  "Kitty Cat, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

  58

  There's something about the monotony of swimming laps. Your mind can just wander. Stroke, stroke, Nick, Winter Formal, stroke, stroke, Russian girl, Greg, Matt, Nick, Peter, can't figure guys out, should have been my research project, stroke, stroke, looked at yourself in the mirror lately--

  Eureka.

  I stopped at the end of the pool and rested my arms on the ledge. My feet kept kicking, I was so excited.

  Oh, it was wicked evil. But also kind of genius.

  I needed a second opinion. I jumped out of the pool, quickly changed, and then drove to Amanda's house on my way home. She was in the middle of Casablanca, but she graciously turned it off.

  "I have a new experiment," I said. "Listen." Then I told her my whole idea.

  "Is it just too ... wrong?" I asked when I was finished.

  "Wrong how? I think it's funny. Besides, you said it yourself--you're just gathering information. It's all very clinical, very scientific."

  "But, it's not like I'm tricking people?"

  "How?" Amanda asked. "You're just finally accepting your powers--it's about time. There's nothing wrong with seeing how people react to that. And if it's Nick you're worried about," she added, "there's definitely no problem there. He asked you out, you're going to say yes, and then you'll just observe the night as it unfolds, right? In fact, since it's Nick, you could probably just tell him straight-out what you're up to. Superbrain can take it."

  She had a point. And that really would make me feel better.

  Amanda smiled and cocked her eyebrows. "And you know this means shopping."

  59

  Day 117, Monday, December 15

  Research Project, Phase II: Effects on male population of changes in female appearance. Experiment #1.

  I'm not really sure if I'm going to make this an official portion of my project--I think it might just be for me. But I'm keeping track of it in a separate notebook, just in case I think it's science fair worthy.

  Today was my first experiment.

  When I walked into Mr. Fizer's this afternoon, Matt noticed. I saw him notice. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.

  The clothes were perfect: these soft black pants that flared at the bottom in a way Amanda said made me look taller and skinnier. A tight white knit top beneath a royal blue sweater that crisscrossed over my chest. Pearl stud earrings, my hair long and curly and unfrizzed (okay, some product in there), and a better makeup job than I've ever done in my life. Amanda made me practice with her this weekend until she was sure I had it right.

  It felt weird to wear makeup again. In the past 117 days I've only worn it once, for the Halloween party. But even though it felt wrong in a hominin sense to wear it, I know it's all part of the new experiment. Besides, it's just temporary. I just want to satisfy my curiosity. Isn't that what experiments are for?

  I walked up to Nick, very aware that both he and Matt were staring at me.

  "I've decided to go with you to the formal," I told Nick. "You can pick me up at six."

  He sort of acted surprised that I even needed to say that--as if there were no question I had already said yes. I guess in Nick's world, no one can resist him.

  I sneaked a peek at Matt, who quickly looked away. Good.

  I spent the class period on the computer, pretending that I didn't notice Matt and Nick taking turns staring at me. What a weird and yet satisfying feeling.

  The question is, can I do this right? There are so many variables when you start involving other people. It isn't like working with fig wasps. I can't just crush boys into a petri dish and extract their DNA. Or really, in this case, their whole psychological makeup.

  But it's like what Einstein said: "If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn't be called research, would it?"

  60

  Day 121, Friday, December 19

  Phase II, Experiment #2: Winter Formal.

  As soon as school was out I walked home, grabbed a shower, then waited in my robe for Amanda to show up at four-thirty to do my hair and makeup before she had to get to the cafe. I'm taking the night off, obviously. Some things are more important than crafting the perfect vegetarian pizza.

  I told Amanda I thought I could handle the primping myself. "Didn't you think I did a pretty good job with my makeup all week?"

  "Yes, but this is no time for amateurs. Step aside and let me do my job."

  She set up all the tools of her trade, then before getting to work she planted herself in the center of my bedroom and whipped out a sheet of paper.

  She cleared her throat. "A poem, in honor of your night:

  Beautiful Catherine, her spirit afire

  Nick the unwary, consumed with desire

  How love finds us sleeping

  It ensnares and infects us

  As true today

  As with Homo erectus."

  I gave her a standing ovation and Amanda took a bow. "Can I have that for my research files?" I asked.

  She handed the paper over. "Be my guest. Now, enough chitchat. Time to do some major construction."

  By the time she was done, I looked like ...
not me.

  I could see some of the basic parts--my chin, my cheeks, a few limbs here and there--but the whole girl was unrecognizable.

  And a big part of it was the dress. Amazing. Amanda found it at a thrift store and surprised me with it. It smelled a little musty, but nothing a little perfume couldn't cover, she said.

  She thinks it was from the 1940s or 1950s. It looked liked something Marilyn Monroe could have worn: ivory satin, about calf length, full skirt (the kind that puffs out if you twirl around--we tested that a few times), and a top half that made the most of what I have without being totally slutty about it. Topped off with some fake pearls, smoky eyes, and red, red lipstick, and I looked like I belonged in an old movie. Plus Amanda overrode my complaints and used both a blow-dryer and hot curlers to make my hair look like nothing it's ever been.

  A pair of black velvet pumps Amanda lent me, and the look was complete. I was no longer Catherine Locke, Science Wonk. I was Sex Goddess Glamour Queen.

  At least that's what Amanda called me. And I don't think it's conceited to agree, since it's not like that was the real me at all tonight. Amanda completely invented me out of satin and lipstick and hair.

  Nick showed up at the door two minutes early, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He looked pretty amazing himself. There's something about a guy in a tux--it's like some fantasy of your wedding day or something. Nick isn't bad-looking anyway, but when I first caught sight of him tonight he sort of took my breath away. I had the passing thought that if not for the circumstances, I might actually be attracted to him. That came as a total shock, since I've known Nick so long and never ever felt that way.

  But I put it out of my mind. This wasn't a playdate, it was research. I was on duty.

  Still, nothing wrong with being polite. "You look very handsome tonight."

  "You too. Wow, Cat." His eyes immediately snapped to the cleavage. But I was ready for that. I knew full well that no part of an actual breast was out there for the world to see--I had checked that in the mirror from several different angles. So even though my inclination was to stand there with my arms folded across my chest, I forced myself to keep them at my sides. I could be a little exposed for one night--this was for science, after all.