The Melting of Maggie Bean

by Tricia Rayburn

  She threw her math book onto the top shelf and reached for her French book. As she rummaged through papers, she thought about how happy she was not having a small mirror hanging in her locker. She was probably the only girl in her class without one, but why would she ever want to be reminded of her shapeless brown hair, boring brown eyes, and puffy cheeks? Especially now, when she really needed to find her book and didn’t have time to feel bad about her reflection.

  Where was her French book? She hadn’t taken it home the night before because they’d watched French cartoons in class while Madame DuMonde read People magazine, and been given a night free of homework so long as they promised not to tell their parents about Madame’s afternoon off. Maggie sifted through her other books and notebooks, hurrying to beat the bell.

  Her face grew redder, her forehead damper from sticky bangs and a fresh wave of perspiration. The voices around her faded as students moved out of the hallway and into classrooms. Maggie unloaded her locker, stacking one book after another onto the floor, not noticing when the stack grew so tall it wobbled briefly before toppling around her feet. She looked in her backpack again, brushed her damp hair away from her face, and closed her eyes to remember exactly where she’d last seen it. She pictured the cover, red with a silver-gray Tour Eiffel and miniature French men and women, wearing berets and sitting at adjacent outdoor cafés, and in the background—

  “Maggie?”

  Her eyes snapped open and she looked straight ahead.

  Peter Applewood stood there, waiting for her to respond.

  She quickly picked up a couple of books from the floor and tossed them back into her locker, trying to hide her face behind the open door.

  “Peter, hi! How’s it going? Sorry about the mess. I’ll be right out of your way.”

  “Were you looking for something in particular?”

  She stood up, brushed her hair back, and straightened her sweatshirt.

  “Yes, a book. I have no idea—”

  She stopped talking as her eyes registered the bright red cover of the book he held.

  “Where did you, I mean, how did you—?”

  He raised his eyebrows, smiled, and shrugged. Maggie put one hand on her stomach, trying to reassure it enough so that it would stop turning.

  “I didn’t realize what it was when I grabbed it out of my locker this morning.”

  He handed her the book and Maggie opened it. There it was, Maggie Bean, on the front page.

  She looked up. “It was in your locker?” She scrunched her face.

  “I guess you threw it in there accidentally.”

  She smiled weakly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

  “Need help?” He motioned to the floor.

  “What?” She’d already forgotten about the remaining mess surrounding her. “Oh, that.” She waved her hand. “No, thanks. It won’t take long.”

  She knew he could hear her heart pounding; it must have been shaking the walls of the school. And even if he didn’t and it wasn’t, there was no missing the inferno face she was surely sporting. If he stood around her any longer, he might start sweating himself.

  “Thank you for this.” She patted the book and stuffed it into her backpack without meeting his eyes. She tugged at the back of her sweatshirt as she pretended to look for something else. She wasn’t about to bend over and draw attention to her least favorite physical feature for the sake of cleaning.

  “No problem.” He opened his locker, put a book away, and took one out. “Everything else going okay?”

  “Sure, yup, sweet as pie.” She closed her eyes and shook her head as soon as the words left her mouth. Leave it to her to include unnecessary baked goods in what could’ve easily been a normal response.

  He laughed. “Great.” He closed his locker and smiled. “Well, I’ll see you later, then.”

  She tried to smile and waved. She didn’t turn to watch him the way she might’ve under other, less mortifying circumstances, so she settled for picturing his short, black hair and khaki Nike hat, plaid button-down shirt, and jeans, and his easy walk retreating down the hallway. He was on the baseball team and had the unhurried stroll of an athlete.

  And here she stood, anything but an athlete, sweaty, red, embarrassed, and wondering how she could convince the administration to move her locker assignment to the other side of the building.

  When the bell rang, Maggie threw the rest of her books inside the locker and hurried to class, cutting through the girl’s bathroom to get there faster, and covering her face with her red French textbook as she passed in front of the mirrors.

  4.

  “So, how were our days?” Maggie’s mother asked brightly as she unfolded a paper napkin in her lap.

  “Fine.” Maggie reached for the mashed potatoes. “Are these real or from the box?”

  “Dudley’s Spuds were on sale this week.” Her mother cleared her throat and reached for the glass of water next to her plate.

  “Boxed potatoes are cheaper than actual potatoes?” Maggie frowned and handed the bowl to Summer without scooping any onto her plate. Ever since their father lost his job, their mother had taken to attacking the coupon flyer as soon as the Sunday paper hit their yard. For six months each meal had become more boring than the one before.

  “This week they are.” Her mother speared a drumstick with her fork. “Chicken?”

  Her father held out his plate.

  “I got a letter from my pen pal in Texas,” Summer offered.

  Maggie grabbed two rolls and passed around the bread basket. When everyone else took only one, she sheepishly put back the second.

  As it was, her waist spilled over the top of her jeans, her chest rested comfortably on a fat roll, and her cotton T-shirt sleeves clung to her arms like spandex. She was already the Pillsbury Doughgirl. There was no need to test the effects of an extra roll.

  “I told Aunt Violetta that you’re going with her to the next Pound Patrollers meeting.” Her father spoke like it was just another after-school activity.

  Maggie’s mouth fell open as her head snapped up. Two rolls were riskier than she’d thought. “What?”

  “Pen pal?” Summer suggested weakly. “Texas? Far, far away?”

  When his mouth continued to fill with food instead of explanation, Maggie looked to her mom.

  “Chicken?” she asked brightly, raising the platter for distraction.

  “Next Wednesday,” he continued, shoving a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and talking around it. “Seven o’clock.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Maggie shook her head. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Aunt Violetta, her father’s sister, had had weight issues her entire life and really needed to attend those meetings. According to him, she’d married the first guy who kissed her because she’d been afraid no one else would ever want to kiss her again, and Maggie just didn’t feel they were playing in the same ballpark. She’d heard her aunt’s stories, knew the embarrassment involved. The weigh-ins, the oversize doctor’s scale, the circle of unhappy, middle-aged women whining about their reasons for eating three too many slices of birthday cake (which, Maggie reasoned, was way different from eating two barely-there dinner rolls).

  “Maggie, we know you’ve put on a bit of weight recently. What is it up to now? Thirty pounds?” He raised his eyebrows, then continued when she slumped in her chair without answering. “We just want you to be healthy.” He looked at her pointedly, as though he was doing her the favor she wouldn’t do for herself.

  “But I can’t go!” She bit her lip, surprised at the outburst.

  There was no denying her recent weight gain. Just one month before, the nurse had clucked her tongue so loudly during her annual school physical that Maggie couldn’t help but look at the scale. Her mouth had dropped at the 181, which was 32 pounds higher than the year before. But she’d still run one thousand track laps before she’d go to a single Pound Patrollers meeting.

  He lowered his fork
and looked at her. “And why not?”

  She cleared her throat and brushed her hair away from her face. “Wednesdays aren’t good for me.” She tried to sound casual, as though the reason was anything other than the fact that attending those meetings would be social devastation. “It’s a really big homework night. Huge, actually.” She directed this to her mother, who proudly displayed every report card, certificate, and trophy. “I mean, papers, presentations, tests, pop quizzes. Always on Thursdays.” She shrugged as though there was simply nothing she could do.

  “Maggie.” He tilted his head. “It’s for your own good.”

  “She’s from Amarillo!” Summer exclaimed. “Like armadillo!”

  Maggie’s mother patted Summer’s hand.

  Maggie felt the familiar heat spring to her cheeks. She pushed her plate away and shoved her chair back.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Mondays are really big homework nights too,” she said quickly, cringing when she heard her voice quiver. It didn’t matter that she’d finished her assignments before dinner. It was the only reason she could think of to escape from the table as fast as possible.

  “Maggie, honey,” her mother gently protested. “Please sit down.”

  “Dinner was delicious, Mom.” She smiled without looking up as she cleared her place.

  “But I didn’t tell you what my pen pal said!”

  Maggie paused, plate in one hand, silverware in the other. She was only ten years old, but Summer had become Maggie’s biggest ally over the past six months.

  “Sorry, Summer.” She frowned. “Later, I promise.”

  Underneath her comforter and with her headphones on, Maggie unwrapped and swallowed more mini Snickers and Milky Ways than a trick-or-treater could fit into a plastic orange pumpkin. Even her favorite iTunes playlist, “Diva-licious,” with Kelly Clarkson, Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera, Shakira, and the Dixie Chicks, couldn’t lift her mood.

  Her laptop glowed in front of her, its keyboard blanketed by wrappers. She stared at the Excel spreadsheet as she chewed and swallowed without tasting, clicking on the labeled tabs that lined the bottom of the screen: Daily Assignments, Weekly Assignments, Upcoming Tests, Grades, Long-Term Academic Goals, After-School Activities. Maintaining straight As was hard work, and she’d started Maggie’s Master Multitasker spreadsheet the year before. She updated it every night, ranking assignments in order of importance, checking them off as they were completed, recording every grade as it was received, and outlining future aspirations. It gave her goosebumps to see an entire page of A plusses or column of checkmarks.

  But Maggie’s Master Multitasker also reminded her of areas needing improvement. And those were noted by the very last tab on the bottom of the spreadsheet.

  She reached without looking into the plastic bag next to her, grabbed a handful of M&M’s, and clicked on “Miscellaneous.”

  She sighed around a gob of chocolate as the page loaded. The same two tasks had been listed for months:

  #1: Win over Peter Applewood with charm, intellect, and wit.

  #2: Lose weight (in case charm, intellect, and wit backfire).

  They were the only two items she could never check off. And it drove her crazy.

  She swallowed, licked her lips and fingertips, and brushed off the keyboard. She thought carefully, and then added another, potentially uncheckable item.

  #3: DISAPPEAR ON WEDNESDAYS.

  She highlighted the new entry, saved the changes, closed the laptop, and pushed it toward the foot of her bed. She grabbed the phone from her nightstand and dialed without having to look at the number pad. The phone rang and rang till the familiar answering machine picked up.

  “Aim, I hope your night was better than mine! Give me a call.”

  Maggie hung up the phone and quickly unwrapped and swallowed two more Twix bars without thinking. She shoved the wrappers and half-empty candy bags off her bed and to the floor and curled on her side.

  As the last bit of chocolate slid down her throat, Maggie thought about the mile run and the Peter Applewood locker incident. She thought about not having a date to the prom and not fitting into the black formal wrap all senior girls wear for their senior portraits. She thought about these things, even though they were five years away, because she just assumed the planets and the stars had all gotten together and decided that this was her fate. She would just be this miserable forever, and she might as well enjoy the chocolate and caramel, because that was all she was going to get.

  5.

  “Oh my gosh, did you see?” Aimee’s long blond hair flew behind her as she ran to where Maggie sat in the cafeteria.

  “Did I see what?” Maggie closed her earth science book and swallowed the last of her pizza.

  “The notice!”

  “About the chess championships? Even I’m managing to keep my cool about that one.”

  “Right above that one. The purple paper, about Water Wings!”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Yes, whoop-de-do, two spots have opened for the season. Big deal.”

  “Not just any spots,” Aimee said, dropping her backpack to the floor, resting her lunch tray on the table, and sitting across from Maggie. “Two seventh-grade spots.” She smiled wide, her blue eyes brighter than the sapphires in Maggie’s mom’s favorite section of the JCPenney catalog.

  Maggie raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, still unsure as to Aimee’s obvious excitement. A very limited number of Water Wings slots were allotted to seventh graders, leaving the team primarily comprised of eighth graders, but she still didn’t understand why she should care.

  Aimee grabbed Maggie’s hands across the table and squeezed them. “I think we should try out.”

  Maggie snorted so hard that her nose burned with the iced tea she’d just sipped. “We?” They’d been over this. Maggie was not Water Wings material.

  “Yes, we,” Aimee repeated firmly, as though Maggie should know better than to think her friend would do it without her.

  “Um, have you looked at me recently?”

  “Of course! I’ve looked at you, and I’ve been in a pool with you. You can swim, Maggie. You’re a natural in the water!”

  It was true. If there was any physical activity Maggie was any good at, swimming was it. Over the years, her mother had made sure of that by requesting summer afternoons off from her bookkeeping job to bring Maggie and Summer to the beach, where they took swimming lessons and spent more time in the water than onshore. Maggie knew all the strokes, from the crawl to the butterfly. To make present matters worse, after swimming lessons her mother joined Maggie and Summer in the water and, at their excited requests, taught them basic synchronized swimming moves. Maggie loved floating in that little circle, her toes just inches from her mother’s and sister’s. But she hadn’t touched the water in two years, and this was most definitely not the time to jump back in.

  “It could be so good for us, don’t you think? An instant circle of friends, cute uniforms, lots of attention and exercise …”

  “All fabulous reasons to try out.” Maggie smiled. She really did think it was a great opportunity, for the right candidate.

  Aimee leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “I know you probably think it’s impossible, but really it’s not. Tryouts are in a month. We have plenty of time to learn some choreography and practice in the water together. We don’t even have to tell your mom until we’ve made the team.”

  Maggie looked across the cafeteria to where five members of the Water Wings sat by the windows, the streaming afternoon sunlight casting a warm, hazy glow around them, their makeup bags and their picked-at salads. Every now and then one or two of the members would toss their long hair back at something funny another member said, their movements slow and graceful, as though the stale cafeteria air were the pool water to which they were accustomed.

  Maggie shook her head. “It’s just not me. Solving logic proofs, conjugating French verbs, memorizing every state capital in the U.S.—that
’s me. That’s what I do.”

  “But think about those college applications! The admissions people love an extracurricularly well-rounded person, don’t they?”

  “No fair!” Aimee knew how important getting accepted to college and receiving scholarships was to Maggie. Good grades and a full schedule of after-school activities were essential if she was going to have in the future all that she’d missed out on so far. “How do you have time for another team, anyway? Between volleyball, intramural soccer, and coaching girls’ little league, your dance card should be full.”

  “The schedules work.” Aimee shrugged and picked at her fruit salad. The glimmer faded from her eyes as she tried to spear an uncooperative grape.

  “Aim?” Maggie asked when Aimee’s lips set in a thin line.

  “My parents told me last night that I can’t waste time on another activity until my grades improve.” When the pesky grape shot across the table, Aimee dropped her fork in defeat.

  “Are they that bad? I thought you were coming in early for extra help.”

  When she shrugged again, Maggie sighed. Aimee had big plans for college too, but not via the academic route. They had the same classes and Maggie tried to help her study, but whenever they got together, Aimee always managed to change the subject.

  Still, she knew better than anyone that parents didn’t always know best. And she hated to see her friend down about anything. “I’ll go to the pool with you,” she finally offered. “I’ll time you during laps to help you build up your endurance, I’ll kneel on your feet if you want to do sit ups, but that’s all I can do. I can help you do this, but not me.” She poked at the dried cheese stuck to the corner of her plate and looked down. “I’m beyond help.”

  Before Aimee could deny the claim, Maggie spotted Peter Applewood and two other baseball players walking across the cafeteria toward the windows. Apparently she wasn’t his only fan; both Anabel Richards and Julia Swanson snapped their compacts closed and pouted their lips at him instead of the minimirrors. Maggie watched Peter and his friends sit down with the Water Wings.