Love Me, Love My Broccoli

by Julie Anne Peters

  Chloe moaned.

  Later, after dinner, as Chloe accompanied Brett out to the driveway, he remarked, "Your family's, uh, interesting." He laced his fingers through hers. "Was your grandmother in the Holocaust or something?"

  Chloe burst into laughter. "No, she's just OD'd on spy novels. You know, Ludlum and Clancy? Le Carré? She's an espionage junky. I like to think of it as her Bourne Identity crisis."

  "Huh?" he said.

  "She loves this one book, The Bourne Identity." Chloe shook her head. "Never mind." She didn't really want to tell him the truth, so she changed the subject. "What do you think of my father?"

  Brett took Chloe's other hand. "It's hard to read him. You said he was an anthropology professor at the university, so I kind of expected . . . I don't know, this is stupid. Indiana Jones." He made a face at her. "I hope I did okay. He sort of intimidates me."

  Chloe smiled. "He intimidates himself. Anyway, does it really matter what he thinks of you?" Chloe only wondered because she could read her father perfectly, and she knew that he was not bowled over by Brett.

  "It matters, sure it matters," Brett said. "I don't want him to think some creep is taking out his daughter. I don't want him to worry about you, especially on those nights when I keep you out real late."

  He was using that voice again. Chloe felt the tingle begin in the roots of her hair. "I, uh, better get back," she said, smooshing down her bun to keep it from lifting off. "Homework, you know." Sure, she added to herself, as if you could concentrate on anything besides the scrumptiousness of those milk chocolate eyes.

  He released her hands and began twisting a stray curl at Chloe's neck around his index finger. A movement drew their eyes to the picture window. Chloe's father stood there, conspicuously cleaning his glasses on the curtain sheers. Brett jerked his hand away. He started down the driveway, then turned and said, "I'll pick you up for school tomorrow. What time's your speech?"

  "Oh, no, my speech!" Chloe gasped. "I haven't even written it. Is it tomorrow? I'm not ready. I have to call Muriel. Good luck. I mean, goodbye. Good night." She cried, "Good grief!" and raced for the house.

  CHAPTER 9

  Under a spray of moonbeams Chloe lay stretched out across her window seat. She'd just begun to polish her speech when she heard a faint mewing. "Deaf?" she called, looking up. Deaf Leopard was in his usual spot on the bed, a camouflaged ball of fur against her giant stuffed panda. Chloe heard the sound again.

  She set her notebook down and headed for the door. Outside on the landing the noise was louder, more distinct, like the whimpering of a wounded animal. A sound she recognized from the shelter.

  Padding down the stairs, following the noise, she stopped in front of her grandmother's room at the end of the hall. When she peered in through the cracked door, Chloe found Gran sitting on the edge of her bed, still fully clothed. The antique clock on her bureau chimed eleven.

  "Gran?" Chloe pushed open the door.

  Her grandmother gazed up at her with unseeing eyes. Eyes brimmed with tears.

  "What is it, Gran? What's wrong?" Chloe sat next to her and took her hands.

  "Chloe?" Her grandmother inhaled a shallow, quivery breath. "I can't remember . . ." She looked at Chloe with panic-stricken eyes.

  "What Gran? What can't you remember?" Chloe asked. She wiped a tear from her grandmother's cheek.

  "My nightgown. Where is my nightgown?"

  Chloe said, "Right here. Next to you." She reached around to pull the flannel gown into her grandmother's lap.

  "I can't remember . . ." The gown untouched, Chloe's grandmother reached up to finger a button on her dress.

  It took Chloe only a moment to realize what Gran had forgotten. "These little bitty buttons they sew on everything today are so irritating, aren't they? I swear, I can't work them through the holes myself." She removed her grandmother's dress and undergarments, and then slipped the nightgown over Gran's head. The whole time, her grandmother stared ahead into the darkness, mewling a little with each exhale of breath.

  Chloe pulled back the covers and eased her grandmother into bed. She kissed her cheek and murmured, "I love you, Gran. Sleep well. And don't worry, I'll be here in the morning to help you get dressed."

  At the door, Chloe heard her grandmother whisper urgently, "Mishka, take the two-twenty to Lausanne. Bring nothing. Tell no one. We will have your papers when you arrive. Carry a rose, Mishka. A single red rose so that we will know you. Sub rosa. Remember, sub rosa."

  Chloe blew her grandmother a kiss and pulled the door closed behind her.

  Chloe feathered her hair around her shoulders, adjusted her beret, and stood up straight. Shoulders squared, she faced the mirror. "Remember, you have the right to refuse." She cleared her throat and started again. "You have an obligation to refuse. Put an end to senseless animal slaughter. There are so many alternative ways to study anatomy—computer simulations, robotics, in vitro cultures." Chloe moaned. Too technical. You have to appeal to their emotions.

  She set her shoulders again. "Consider, when you slice through the heart of a pig, it used to be alive. It might've been an adorable piglet, like Olivia in the children's books. It might've squealed for its mother when it was caught and taken away to be killed and gutted, just so you could see what real organs look like. Think of the nightmares you'll have when you cut open that little piglet. When you remove its eyeballs. You," she pointed. "who choose to dissect animals in class because you won't refuse. You are condoning the slaughter of innocent beasts who deserve to live out their lives the same way we do."

  Chloe wrenched down her finger that was shaking uncontrollably out of anger. "Oh, God, please don't let me get carried away." She inhaled deeply to calm herself. I wish Muriel was doing this, she thought. If there's one fear she really does have it's public speaking. She goes into shell shock whenever she gets on stage. Chloe sighed. The doorbell rang, jolting her back to reality, and she hustled to gather her books.

  At the bottom of the stairs Chloe heard someone puttering around in the kitchen, so she took a quick detour. Gran stood at the stove. There was a wooden spoon in one of her hands, swirling a glop of smoking oatmeal, while the other hand propped open a dog-eared paperback on the counter. Earlier, Chloe had risen to make sure her grandmother was up and dressed.

  Chloe turned off the burner under the oatmeal. "Big day, Gran." She kissed her on the cheek. "Gotta save some beasties from going under the knife."

  Gran glanced up and nodded. "Yes, of course," she said. "The dagger must be buried with the corpse. Find the body and you'll find the murder weapon." She returned immediately to her novel.

  Chloe smiled meekly. The bell sounded again and she scampered. It was a crisp October day, the kind of morning that made the world smell fresh and free. Chloe filed it in her memory bank under E for exhilarating. Life is glorious, she thought, smiling at Brett.

  He took her books, then laughed. "Let's see your shirt."

  She held open her jacket.

  "That's great. Pigs Have Hearts, Too."

  "I like it." Chloe beamed.

  "I like you." He smiled and Chloe melted.

  Her speech had its intended effect on the students at Aspen Grove Middle School. She knew it when most of the girls at the assembly began to weep. Only once did she stray from her index cards, when she got to the part about making a choice. As if there was any choice other than refusing to carve up animals. Muriel steered her back with a gesture from the front row to stay cool.

  "Chloe, you were magnificent!" Muriel rushed up to her afterwards. "You really made people examine their consciences."

  "Do you think so?" Chloe exhaled a long breath. "Thanks. I was so nervous."

  "You? I can't even imagine it." She hugged her.

  "Did you see Brett? What was his reaction?" Chloe peered over Muriel's shoulder to search the auditorium.

  "Who knows?" She shrugged. "You touched the people who care. The ones who really matter."

  Chloe spotted him, racin
g up the aisle toward the exit as fast as his legs could carry him. "Brett!" she called, but he didn't acknowledge before disappearing out the open double doors.

  She was disappointed at first. By third period she was worried, and by lunchtime livid.

  "Why didn't he come on stage and tell me I was good? I was good, wasn't I, Muriel? I mean, I didn't embarrass him or anything? Why would he leave without even saying 'way to go' or 'heck of a speech'? Whatever it is jocks say."

  "You were fantastic," Muriel replied. "Forget about him. If it bothers him that you're outspoken about your beliefs, then he's just what we always suspected—a beef-for-brains."

  "Don't, Muriel." Chloe turned on her friend. "I don't know what to think. I'm so—"

  "Good speech, Chloe," a group of Brett's friends passed by congratulating her. She smiled halfheartedly, waving her thanks.

  "I didn't think it was good," Brett's familiar voice rang in her ears.

  Chloe's chin hit the table. "What did you say?"

  He stood before her, impassive. Suddenly his face broke into a smile and he sauntered around behind the table. "I thought it was awesome."

  Before Chloe could utter a word, Brett thrust a red rose at her. "Here, I got you this. It isn't much, but it's all the money I had." He leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Don't tell the coach where I went during practice. It took me, like, an hour to find a flower shop, then I had to sneak back in so I wouldn't get caught. I wanted to run up after your speech and kiss you right there." Then he kissed her, right there in the cafeteria with everyone watching, and trying to eat.

  "Have lunch with me," he said, his hands locked around her waist.

  Even though Chloe was dazzled, she wasn't blinded to her responsibility. "I can't, Brett. The ARC table. I can't just leave."

  "Muriel can handle it, can't you?" He cocked his head over Chloe's shoulder at Muriel.

  Muriel scowled.

  "Come on. It's Chloe's big day. She should be among her fans. Her admiring fans, like me."

  Chloe looked at Muriel, and felt her friend's contempt. Chloe was torn. Behind the glower, she recognized in Muriel's eyes the plea to stay and share the glory with her. Then Brett pulled Chloe closer and smiled down on her.

  That mesmerizing smile. Chloe turned to her friend. "Just for today, Mur. It's only an anti-vivisection pamphlet and most people are just taking them on their way in. All you have to do is answer their questions." She whiffed at her rose, averting her eyes from Muriel's laser-like glare.

  "No problem," Muriel said in a voice that splintered Chloe's spine. "It's only anti-vivisection. Go ahead. Your public awaits."

  "Muriel—"

  "You're going to have to buy my lunch, Chloe," Brett said, pulling her away. "Unless you're willing to share this with me." He brushed the rose petals and smacked his lips.

  Chloe pressed the flower to her chest. "Get back, Jack. Not even a starving vegetarian would eat her first rose."

  CHAPTER 10

  "You mean you don't even own a pair of jeans?" Brett bit into his cheeseburger and chewed. They were on their way to see Dirty Double Cross for the third time.

  "They're so conformist. And I'm an individualist," Chloe said.

  "And I love that about you," Brett replied. "But my parents are, like, ultra conservative. They might not get you."

  What's to get? Chloe wondered. I'm just me. "What about my pin-striped suit?" she said. "I have the whole getup—tailored pants, vest, suit coat. I think I even have a top hat."

  "Chloe." Brett made a face at her. "This is important to me. I'll even give you my fifteen dollar gift card for The Gap."

  She sighed and gazed over his shoulder to the mall corridor. The blur of bustling shoppers made her dizzy. She swore she'd never shop at Westside Mall. Draper's Furs had an outlet there and inside were two pet stores that sold live animals. The food court, she was noticing, served all the worst products of factory farming: hamburgers, chicken, hot dogs, you name it.

  Jeans. Chloe cringed inwardly. She swore she'd never try to blend in.

  She telephoned Muriel as soon as she got home. "I'd never ask a favor like this, Mur, but I'm a desperate person in a desperate situation."

  "You sound desperate," Muriel said.

  "I need you to come shopping with me at the mall for jeans."

  "You don't wear jeans."

  "I know I never have," Chloe said. "But what's to say they're not comfortable?"

  There was silence on the other end. Finally Muriel spoke. "He's changing you."

  Chloe clucked. "No, he's not. It's just that he wants me to make a good impression on his parents. I'm going over there for dinner."

  "What's wrong with the impression you already make?"

  Chloe exhaled exasperation. "You have to admit the sight of me could create a major planetary disturbance in the yuppie cosmos."

  "I don't know. I like your weirdness."

  "Thanks." Chloe frowned. "I think. Anyway, will you go? I promise we won't even pass a pet store."

  "Ignoring the problem won't make it go away. I'm quoting the quotable, Chloe Mankewicz."

  "Mur—"

  "All right. But I'm wearing a disguise."

  Half an hour later Muriel showed up wearing a cape and her little brother's Batman sunglasses. Chloe moaned, watching her pedal down the street on her bike. Before she could change her mind, Chloe hopped on her bike and pedaled after the dark knight.

  "How do you like your steak, Chloe?" Brett's father slapped a sirloin on the Jenn-Air, while Chloe stifled a gag.

  "On the cow," she answered, pleading salvation with her eyes at Brett.

  He took Chloe's hand and led her out of the kitchen. Over his shoulder he said, "Just make it medium, Dad."

  When they were in the hall, Chloe whispered, "Why is your father making me a steak? Didn't you tell him?"

  Brett shrugged. "If I told him you were a vegetarian, he wouldn't have bought the steak. And I wouldn't have gotten two." He grinned at her.

  "Is that supposed to be funny?"

  Brett sobered.

  Chloe couldn't believe it. Already she felt like the major freak at a sideshow with his perfectly preppie family. Now dinner was going to be "serve Chloe up on a platter." If only Brett had let her wear the bullet-proof vest with her jeans, she might've felt a little more protected.

  When everyone sat down for dinner, Brett said, "I'll take that, Dad." He leaned over and stabbed the steak off the platter near Chloe's head. "Chloe doesn't eat meat."

  The table grew so silent Chloe could hear her own cells splitting. Or was that a headache?

  "No meat at all?" Mrs. Ryan asked from the far end of the table.

  Chloe shook her head. She felt the heat searing her cheeks.

  "I knew about ham, but I didn't realize your people couldn't eat sirloin," she remarked.

  Chloe hesitated. "My people?"

  "Herb Cohen eats steak," Mr. Ryan said, looking puzzled. "Just last week we had lunch at the The Ox Bow and he ordered a T-bone. He did complain about the quality of the beef afterwards, but that's Herb for you. He thinks he's a connoisseur, since he sits on the Beef Council."

  Mrs. Ryan said to Chloe, with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice, "It's Grade A choice. I picked it out myself, eight dollars a pound."

  Chloe understood then. She met Mrs. Ryan's eyes. "I'm not Jewish," she said. "And I'm sure the steak is top grade. What self-respecting cow would have it any other way?"

  Brett slapped her leg under the table. His father squawked, "Eight bucks a pound? For chrissakes, Doreen, who are we trying to impress here, the Queen of Sheba?"

  Everyone looked at Chloe. That'd be a stretch, she thought, silently voicing their opinions. Swallowing hard, fighting to force back tears, Chloe mumbled, "Please pass the broccoli."

  CHAPTER 11

  "What do the two of you have in common, anyway?" Muriel asked.

  "A lot," Chloe lied. Okay, she couldn't think of anything specific. But she knew by the blis
s she felt whenever she and Brett were together that she was in love. "You know what they say: Opposites attract."

  Muriel finished resetting her watch to Greenwich time, which she did every Monday morning. "Is that what they mean by animal magnetism?"

  Chloe narrowed her eyes. Muriel was starting to get on her nerves.

  Muriel hurried off to class leaving Chloe muttering to herself about informing her intellectual-mightiness, Muriel Blevins, that one cannot live on lust for married men alone, when Brett appeared at her locker. Tingling the back of her neck with his breath, he whispered, "I've missed you." Chloe dropped her Western Civ book on her foot.

  He rested his forearm across the rim of the locker door and fingered her fedora. "Tell your dad you'll be spending the night at Muriel's," he said.

  Chloe looked up at him. "I don't want to lie to my father. I've never lied to him. Why does the party have to last all night?" She picked up her Civ book and shoved it onto the top shelf, then scanned the lower shelf for last week's Time and her current affairs folder.

  Brett caught the two-ton Civ book as it slid off the shelf. "Like I said, Jensen's parents are out of town for the weekend so he's having this all-night Halloween party." Jensen was Kenny's best friend in high school. Brett jiggled the book back into place and added, "He's not inviting that many middle school guys. Only the ones he respects; about ten of us from the football team. We should feel honored, Chloe. Plus, you won't believe the house he lives in. His dad's a pro golfer, you know."

  She almost said, Big Whoop, but bit her tongue. "I'm not going to lie to my father. We'll just have to be back by ten-thirty."

  "Oh, Chloe." He rapped on the neighboring locker a few times with his fist.

  Chloe felt his disappointment, in tremors, as he stared off down the hall over her head. She slammed her locker door closed and ducked under his arm. Then, gazing up at him, she added, "Maybe I could persuade him to let me stay out until eleven."