“I can’t wait to see Lewis,” said Logan.
“Thank goodness he’s finally here,” Mary Anne added. “The waiting was killing me.”
Killing her! What about me? I felt as if I’d been waiting forever. The last week had been the longest one in my life!
“Be careful,” said Mrs. Bruno to her husband. “Take it slow. We have lots of time.” It was eight o’clock. Lewis was coming in at 8:38, and we’d all be there to meet him.
“Please leave the driving to me,” said Mr. Bruno in a low voice. I didn’t blame him for being aggravated. Mrs. Bruno was a terrible backseat driver. I don’t think she was used to being in city traffic.
Talk about bright. The airport was a blaze of lights. And people were everywhere. Airports always amaze me. So many people (not to mention so many jets) are going in so many different directions at once. It looks like mass confusion. Yet, for the most part, everyone gets where they’re going.
“This is so exciting,” said Mary Anne, as we followed Mr. and Mrs. Bruno down a long (bright) hall to Gate 12. That was the gate Lewis would come through when he got off the plane. “Isn’t it exciting, Dawn?”
“Oh, yeah, it is,” I replied.
I really felt more sick than excited. I was so nervous, a knot had formed in the pit of my stomach. This was the big moment. Lewis would step off that plane and we’d finally meet.
They say first impressions last. That’s why I had done my best to make an unforgettable first impression. On Thursday afternoon I took all my baby-sitting money and went to Zingy’s. It’s this great store that sells very trendy clothes. I didn’t even take Mary Anne with me. I wanted to go by myself.
The salesperson at Zingy’s had short maroon hair and four holes pierced in each ear. At first I was intimidated by her hair, but she turned out to be very nice. She helped me put together a great outfit, which was what I was wearing as we waited for Lewis.
Here’s the outfit: black ballet slippers; black lace capri leggings; a short metallic silver skirt with all this crinoliny stuff underneath that made it poof out; a stretchy, tight, black-and-white-striped top with long sleeves. I’d bought six rubber bangle bracelets, and a new pair of feather earrings that reached down to my shoulder. (I wore both earrings in the two holes in my right ear. I put a pair of small black hoops in the two holes on the left.) This time I didn’t set my hair; I piled it on top of my head, then made six braids.
Mary Anne helped me put on my makeup. “Are you sure you want to wear that skirt?” she asked, as she gently lined my eyes.
“Yes! I bought it especially for tonight,” I insisted.
“Okay, I was just asking,” said Mary Anne.
When I came down the stairs, my mother was sitting on the couch. She kept opening her mouth, as though she wanted to say something to me, and then closing it. In the end, all she said was, “Don’t you need heavier socks? It’s cold out.”
“I’ll be in the car,” I told her.
So far, Mom was being very quiet about my new look. I knew she and Richard had talked about it. I passed their bedroom late one night. Their door was half open. They were speaking softly, but I heard Mom say, “It’s just a phase. Let’s be patient.” I knew who they were talking about.
I was glad Mom felt that way. I hated to tell her this was no phase, but if she wanted to think it was, let her. It made my life easier.
So, thanks to Mom’s phase theory, I got out of the house with my new look. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of myself. Part of me (the biggest part) thought I looked good that night. I mean, I would have looked good in a magazine. But I wasn’t in a magazine. So I felt a little strange. You know. Maybe a bit overdone.
I didn’t change anything, though. I knew the old Dawn was just rising up inside me. The old Dawn was still alive and well. She was telling me to wash my face and put on something comfortable.
I couldn’t listen to her.
Other boys hadn’t liked the old Dawn. Why should Lewis? If I wanted him to like me, I had to stick with my plan and let the new Dawn shine through.
“There he is!” Logan cried suddenly.
A boy with short, wavy, dark hair strode out the doorway along with the other arriving passengers. Lewis had told me in a letter that he was five feet, ten inches, but he looked taller. He was thin but not skinny. And a lot handsomer than he looked in his picture.
In a moment he spotted us. His face broke into this absolutely great smile — even better than the smile in his picture.
I’m not sure what love at first sight feels like. But I think that’s what I felt right then. Lewis was even better than I’d expected. Mary Anne had been right, too. He had a great voice.
“Hi! Hi,” he said as he hugged his aunt and uncle. He and Logan hugged, then they punched each other on the arms a little. “Man! I’m glad to see you!” Lewis told Logan.
“Me, too!” said Logan. “We are going to have a blast.” Logan stood there smiling, then he remembered Mary Anne and me. “This is Mary Anne. And this is Dawn.”
“Hi,” I said a little shyly.
“Dawn, hi,” said Lewis. He didn’t give me his big, gorgeous smile. His mouth kind of quivered up into a small shaky one. “We meet at last.”
“Yup,” I said. (Real brilliant of me.)
“How was your flight, dear?” Mrs. Bruno asked, putting her arm around Lewis.
“A little bumpy,” he said. “But not bad.”
Together, we headed back to the car. Lewis had only brought his carry-on suitcase so we didn’t have to go to the baggage terminal. Soon we were riding on the highway back to Connecticut, with the city lights dimly flickering behind us. Logan, Mary Anne, Lewis, and I were squinched together in the backseat. Lewis was by the window, and I was between him and Mary Anne.
“I have a question, Lewis,” said Mary Anne, happy and chirpy. “Is Dawn the way you pictured her?”
I wanted to die!
“Not really,” he answered. He turned to me and smiled that quivery smile again. “You do look more like the second picture you sent. But I guess I had a different idea of you. Do I seem the same to you?”
“Yeah,” I answered. I couldn’t say, “Oh, no, you’re much dreamier than I expected!” Could I? Maybe I should have. That’s the kind of thing guys like to hear. I think. It just sounded too dumb to say. Especially since he hadn’t said anything like that about me.
I had a feeling I wasn’t doing too well with Lewis.
Apparently Mary Anne had the same feeling.
No sooner had the Brunos dropped us off at our driveway than she turned on me. “What is the matter with you?” she exploded.
“What do you mean?” I asked, heading for the house.
“I’m supposed to be the shy one!” she said, as she walked beside me. “All you said was, ‘hi, yeah, no.’ How about showing him a little personality?”
“I didn’t know what to say,” I grumbled. “He didn’t like me, anyway. I could tell.”
“Hi,” said Richard, as we walked through the door. “How did it go?”
“Great!” said Mary Anne.
“Awful,” I said at the same time.
“I see,” said Richard, knitting his brow. I didn’t feel like talking to him or anyone else. Throwing off my coat, I stormed up the stairs.
“Don’t worry,” I heard Mary Anne tell her father. “She’ll be okay.”
I was in my room, tearing off my clothing, when Mary Anne came in. “I’m sorry I yelled,” she apologized. “You were just nervous. And I know you don’t have much experience with boys. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
“Forget it, Mary Anne,” I said, as I pulled off my lace leggings and threw them on the bed. “It was a dumb idea. He hates me. I told you he would. Boys hate me. That’s just how it is.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” said Mary Anne, picking up one of the fashion magazines from the desk. “How could he hate you? You didn’t say anything for him to hate. You didn’t say anything!
That was the problem.”
Mary Anne looked through the magazine until she found the article she wanted. Folding the pages back, she handed it to me. “I was looking at this last night,” she said. “This is what you need to read.”
I read the title. “‘You-Directed Conversation.’”
“It’s all about how to make people like you by talking about them,” said Mary Anne. “It’s great because you always have something to say. You ask the other person questions. You comment on stuff about them. Even personal stuff. The article says people love that. They wind up thinking you’re interesting because you’re interested in them. Read it.”
“Do you do that with Logan?” I asked.
“No,” admitted Mary Anne, stretching out on my bed.
“Then why should I?” I asked, tossing the magazine across the room onto the desk.
“Because Logan likes me the way I am,” she said, as she picked up my brush and ran it through her hair. “But you’re just getting to know Lewis. After awhile you can drop it.”
“Then isn’t it sort of phony?” I asked.
“Dawn!” cried Mary Anne. “I’m just trying to help you. Do you want Lewis to like you or don’t you?”
Before I could answer, Mom called up the stairs. “Mary Anne, phone! It’s Logan.”
Mary Anne practically flew out of the room. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I began ripping the braids out of my hair. I didn’t want to think about anything. I was in the worst mood ever.
In a few minutes, Mary Anne returned. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she told me excitedly. “Everything is fine. Logan wanted to plan a double date for tomorrow night. I said you’d love to go.”
“Did Lewis want to go?” I asked.
“He didn’t say no,” Mary Anne answered, as she picked up the magazine from the desk. “Here,” she said, handing it back to me. “Start reading.”
With a sigh, I looked at the article on “you-directed conversation.” I read the subtitle. “‘Ten great conversation builders.’” I went on. “‘One. Everyone loves a compliment …’” Setting back on my bed, I continued to read. I had to learn so much by the next night.
When Stacey reached their house, Mr. and Mrs. Hill practically pounced on her. They thought Claudia and I had let Norman snack too much. But that wasn’t all. They had decided that they, themselves, had been too easy on Norman. He was going to lose weight no matter what it took.
“Here’s his new exercise tape,” said Mrs. Hill, handing a video to Stacey.
“We can do this together,” Stacey said to Norman, who was standing beside her in the hall. Norman just looked at her and made a disgusted face.
“His meal plan is tacked to the bulletin board in the kitchen,” added Mr. Hill. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hill were stylishly dressed in expensive-looking sports outfits. Mr. Hill wore black nylon pants and a matching jacket. Mrs. Hill wore a soft peach sweat outfit. “We’ll be at the Fitness Faze health club,” said Mr. Hill.
“Do not let Norman snack on cakes or cookies,” Mrs. Hill told Stacey. “There are carrot and celery sticks in the refrigerator if he’s hungry.” Mrs. Hill planted a quick kiss on top of Norman’s wispy hair. “Remember, Normie. Lots of water. We want to keep that system flushed.”
“I’m not a toilet bowl,” Norman muttered.
“Oh, Norman.” Mrs. Hill sighed. “You know what the doctor said. Water fills you up and cleanses impurities from your system.”
Mr. Hill called his wife from the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, Michelle.”
Mrs. Hill turned and hurried to join her husband.
“It won’t be so bad,” said Stacey, when they’d left. “You know, I can’t eat sweets. You get used to it after awhile.”
“Why can’t you?” Norman asked. “You’re not fat.”
Stacey told him about her diabetes. “I don’t even have a choice,” she said. “I can get really sick if I cheat on my diet.”
“Gee,” said Norman sympathetically. “I’d go crazy if I were you.”
Stacey smiled. “No, you wouldn’t. You would do what you had to do. I’m not happy about it. But it’s what I have to do.”
At that moment, Sarah ran in from her bedroom. “I need food to bring to Elizabeth’s picnic.”
“Picnic?” asked Stacey. “It’s freezing out.”
“Elizabeth is having it in her glassed-in porch. It’s heated,” said Sarah.
“Can I come?” asked Norman.
Sarah’s dark eyes shifted back and forth guiltily. “You’re not invited. Besides, you have to stick to your diet. Mom and Dad said so.”
Norman looked up at Stacey pleadingly. “Can’t I go?”
Stacey was on the horns of a dilemma. (I read that phrase once in a book and I try to use it whenever possible. I think it’s funny.) Anyway, she didn’t want to hurt Norman’s feelings, but she figured the Hills would be mad if she let him go to a picnic. “Why don’t you stay here with me,” Stacey suggested. “I want to see that exercise tape. And I don’t want to do it alone.”
“You want to exercise?” Norman questioned.
“Sure!” said Stacey, trying to sound perky. “It’s fun. But it’s more fun if you do it with someone else. Let’s put on the tape right now.”
“Okay, I guess,” agreed Norman, not sounding too enthusiastic.
Stacey went to the living room and stuck the tape in the VCR.
“I’m taking this bunch of bananas,” Sarah yelled from the kitchen.
“What’s Elizabeth’s phone number?” Stacey called back to her.
“It’s on the bulletin board,” said Sarah, entering the living room, wearing her coat, the bananas in one hand. “Her name is Elizabeth Yates.”
“Don’t leave there without calling me,” Stacey warned.
“I won’t,” said Sarah.
The opening music of the exercise tape had come on. It was lively and fast-paced. Stacey slipped out of her loafers and began hopping around to the music. Sarah stood and watched for a minute. “Come on, Norman,” said Stacey. “We’re going to have a good time.”
From the look on Sarah’s face, Stacey could see she was convincing Sarah, but not Norman, that exercising could be fun. “Do you want to stay and exercise with us?” she asked Sarah.
“No,” Sarah decided, after considering for a moment.
Norman grabbed the opportunity to give his sister a dig. He smiled and began hopping to the music. “Hey, this is fun!” he cried.
With one last look over her shoulder, Sarah left. The minute the door slammed, Norman stopped hopping. And his smile faded. “I need a drink of water,” he told Stacey.
Stacey stopped the tape. “All right. Go ahead.”
“You don’t have to wait for me,” Norman told her. “I’ll be right back. You can keep exercising.”
“No problem,” Stacey countered. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Norman went into the kitchen. Stacey waited. The faucet was turned on — but it wasn’t turned off. As she listened to the running water, Stacey wondered: Just how much is this kid drinking? She remembered hearing that you’re supposed to sip water while exercising, not guzzle it. Norman could develop a cramp.
“Norman,” said Stacey, walking toward the kitchen. “Don’t drink too much —” She stopped short when she got into the kitchen. The water was running, all right. But Norman wasn’t drinking it. He was sitting at the table with a glass of soda in front of him, shoveling potato chips into his mouth.
Stacey shut off the water. Norman gulped down the last of his potato chips. “I was a little hungry,” he said meekly.
“And you figured running water would cover the sound of the crunching,” Stacey said bluntly.
Norman smiled guiltily. “I couldn’t help it. I had to eat.”
“Why did you have to?” Stacey challenged him. “Did you have breakfast this morning?”
Norman looked down and nodded.
“Then why can’t you wait until lunch?” Stacey pressed.
Suddenly Norman looked up at her. His face was red. “Because I don’t feel real happy right now. When I get sad I like to eat. Okay?”
“Do you feel sad because of the picnic?” Stacey asked gently.
“I just feel sad,” Norman pouted. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of the picnic.”
Stacey leaned back against the counter. “You know, there are other things you can do when you feel sad.”
“How would you know?” Norman said, sulking.
“Because sometimes I feel sad, too. Everyone feels sad once in awhile.”
“Not as much as I do,” Norman insisted.
“Okay, besides kids teasing you and Sarah bugging you, what makes you feel so sad?” Stacey asked. (She already knew about Sarah and the kids from reading the BSC notebook. It does come in handy.)
Norman thought a moment. “My mother and father. They don’t like me.”
Stacey felt her heart twist when Norman said that. How awful for a kid to feel that way. “Of course they like you, Norman,” said Stacey. “They love you.”
“No, they don’t,” Norman said, looking at his hands on the table. “They wish I was never born.”
“Norman, I’m sure that’s not true!” cried Stacey.
“It is. They’re never home. That’s because they don’t want to see me. One time I heard my father say, ‘Norman is so fat, I can’t believe he’s our son.’ He doesn’t want me to be his son.” Norman jammed the palms of his hands into his eyes and brushed away the tears.
“Gee, Norman, I don’t think he meant anything by that,” said Stacey. “You should talk to him and tell him how you feel.”
“I can’t,” Norman whined. “He’ll think I’m a sissy.”
“But if you talked to him he might tell you he loves you and he’s proud of you,” said Stacey.
“I don’t think so,” Norman disagreed. “I brought home four E’s on my report card this term and he didn’t even care. Four excellents!”
“Oh, come on, Norman, I’ll bet he was very proud. What did he say?” Stacey asked.
“How come a smart kid like you can’t lose some weight?” Norman told her.
Ow! thought Stacey. “What did your mom say?” she asked, hoping for a better response from Mrs. Hill.
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