Fat Cat (15 page)

"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have gone out with you. It was a bad idea--I knew I shouldn't have--"

And then he really blew it. Without any warning he put his hands on either side of my face and pulled me to him and kissed me--hard, rough--not at all like the other times. It actually hurt.

I pushed him away. "Stop it!" I wiped my mouth off with my sleeve. "Don't do that!"

"Cat--"

"Just leave me alone! I don't want to go out with you anymore."

I turned and fled back into the house. It only took me a few seconds to find Amanda. "Let's go. I really need to leave."

"I'll go grab Jordan."

While she went to retrieve him, I watched the door to the
kitchen, afraid that Greg was going to come back through. I wasn't sure what he would do.

I was so distracted I didn't notice Matt had come up behind me.

"Why are you with that jackass?" he asked.

I whirled around. It was exactly the wrong time to get on my last nerve. "You should talk," I snapped. "You're a bigger jackass than anyone."

"Me? What did I ever do?"

"Right," I said, turning away from him.

"I mean it, Cat, what do you think I did?"

I faced him again. "I
know
what you did. I was there."

Matt ran a hand through his hair. "You're insane. You're the one who's hardly talked to me since junior high--"

"As if I didn't have a reason!"

"Why? Just because you won the science fair?"

"What?" It was so crazy I didn't even know what to say. "You're the one who ruined everything--it had nothing to do with me."

"How?" he said. "How did I ruin everything?"

I couldn't believe we were having this conversation--or that he was going to act so innocent. Luckily, Amanda returned with Jordan. The three of us headed for the door.

Matt followed. "Come on, Cat, tell me--what's this horrible thing I'm supposed to have done? Because I honestly have no idea. If you think you're holding some grudge against me--"

"If I
think--
?"

A new, louder song started up. The bass thudded through the walls.

Matt shouted over the music. "I have been nothing but nice to you all this time. You're the one who completely dropped me. One day we're friends, the next day you decide we're not--"

"You think that's what happened?" I shouted. "You think
I
decided?" The bass line was giving me a headache. Or maybe it was the whole night.

"All I know is I'm the one who keeps making all the effort," Matt said, "and I'm tired of it. I keep thinking if I hold on a little longer, you'll snap out of it one day and go back to being you. But I don't think that's going to happen anymore. I think this is the real you now. I think you're just a bitch."

I was too stunned to say anything.

Amanda didn't have that problem. She called him a pretty colorful name.

"Let's go," Jordan told her.

But Amanda wasn't through. "How could you say that to her? You're the one who betrayed her!"

"How?" Matt shouted back. "How did I betray her?"

It felt like my blood was going to boil right out of my skull. "Please, can we just go?" I grabbed Amanda's arm and pulled her toward the door.

"How?" Matt repeated. "Cat--"

"Let it go, bro," Jordan said.

"Why won't she tell me?"

"Just leave me alone!" I shouted for the second time tonight. Only this time my voice broke as I escaped through the door.

42

A
manda showed up around noon
.

"Seriously," she said, doing a belly flop onto my bed. "What was all that?"

We'd already talked about it some on the ride home, but with Jordan in the car we couldn't really cover everything to our satisfaction. There's a lot of history he knows nothing about. And I'm happy to keep it that way.

Amanda lifted her head and looked at me. "You shouldn't sleep in your makeup--it's bad for your skin."

As if I cared about my skin. I felt like I'd been crushed in a trash compactor. My head hurt worse than in the early days of caffeine and sweetener withdrawal. My body felt exhausted and diseased. I don't really do well with confrontation.

We spent some time cataloging the night: my bathroom revelation about Matt, my breakup with Greg, my fight with Matt. It was
an awful lot to digest. And even after an hour of analyzing everything, I still didn't feel any better.

"Can I just tell you something?" Amanda said. She looked at me so solemnly, I thought it was going to be really profound. Like something about Matt's and my relationship, or about true friendship, or about love or hope--

"You looked totally hot last night," she said. "That outfit was
ridiculous."

What else could I do but crack up? I think I was slaphappy by that point. And starving.

We moved our meeting into the kitchen, where I could put together some sandwiches--turkey and avocado on grilled homemade rye. Yum.

Amanda also helped herself to some Oreos my dad insists on keeping around. So much for him giving up junk food.

"So what do we think about Matt?" Amanda asked. "Do we believe him? Is he really clueless?"

I let out a big sigh. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You think it's possible someone can just forget something so evil?"

"I suppose."

"Wow, that guy is totally without a conscience."

"Yep," I said.

Amanda unscrewed another Oreo and scraped off the frosting with her teeth. I had to satisfy myself with a carrot.

"Not to change the subject," Amanda said, "but I still say you looked totally hot. We'll just have to find you another boyfriend."

"I'd rather have dental surgery."

"We can probably arrange that, too."

43

Day 68, Monday, October 27

Time to rethink everything about this project.

I was eating in the cafeteria today with Amanda and Jordan, and had the brief fear that Greg would show up despite what happened at the party. But when ten minutes went by and he still wasn't there, I felt like I could relax. Hopefully he's gone back to his off-campus lunches. Hopefully he's gone back to his pre-me life. I'm certainly ready to get back to a life without dating. What a disaster that was.

I said something to Amanda about how at least now I could stay awake during lunch again, and Jordan asked me what that was about.

"It was weird," I said. "Every time I was around Greg, it's like someone hit me with the doze stick. I had this wave of sleep come over me."

"Hmm." Jordan took another bite of his sub, then told me to hold out my arm.

"My arm? Why?"

"I want to test something."

So I stuck my arm straight out in front of me, and Jordan laid two fingers gently on my wrist. "When I tell you to resist, I want you to try not to let me push your arm down, okay?"

"Okay ..."

"Adolf Hitler," he said. "Resist."

He lightly pushed down on my wrist and my arm went with it.

"Okay, try again," he said. I straightened my arm and Jordan reset his fingers on my wrist.

"Mahatma Gandhi. Resist." He pushed down and this time my arm stayed strong.

"One more time," Jordan said, resetting my arm. "Greg Beecher." Once again my arm drooped all the way to the table.

"Hmm," Jordan said. "Interesting." Then he picked up his sandwich and resumed eating.

Amanda and I looked at each other. "Sweetie," she said, "want to tell us what that was about?"

"Applied kinesiology," Jordan answered with his mouth full. "Cat probably knows all about that."

"Um, no."

Jordan scarfed a pickle. "It's the theory that your body automatically goes weak in response to negative stimuli. It's not something you can control--your body just takes over."

"How do you know about that?" Amanda asked.

"Read about it in a skateboarding magazine," he said. "One of the guys who won the X Games last year has been using it to improve his
ride. He stopped playing violent video games and watching violent movies and listening to gangsta rap. Now he's into meditation and harp music. Seems to work--he's completely dominated lately. I've started experimenting with it myself. See if I can improve my swim times by next year."

Amanda and I exchanged another glance.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't even know you," she told Jordan.

He flashed her a grin. "Keeps it interesting."

I tried to absorb what he'd just said. "So you mean my body had some automatic reaction to Greg? Without me even knowing about it?"

Jordan shrugged. "Just a theory. Maybe it picked up on something none of the rest of us did. I can tell you for sure the guy isn't what I thought he was. I'm glad you ditched him."

Amanda looked as surprised as I was. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

Jordan shrugged again. "Let's just say I misjudged him, okay? He's not as solid as I thought."

The bell rang, and Jordan got up to throw away his trash. Amanda watched him walk away. "Is it just me, or is that guy the coolest boyfriend ever invented?"

"It's not just you." And there was that same dull pain--the one I get sometimes when I see the two of them together and realize I'll never have that.

I gave Amanda a smile. "He's great. I'm really happy for you."

And that was a hundred percent true.

But it didn't make it hurt any less.

44

B
y the time the bell rang in Mr. Fizer's
, Matt wasn't there. So far both of the guys I wanted to avoid today were helping me do it. I let myself relax.

But that lasted about five minutes.

"Miss Locke, may I speak to you?"

Mr. Fizer was holding the notebook I'd just turned in. I did not have a good feeling.

I went up to the front.

"Out in the hall," Mr. Fizer said.

Even worse.

I had no idea what I'd done wrong. As far as I knew I was meeting all the criteria--doing my research, keeping accurate records, turning in my notebook every Monday.

"I'm concerned, Miss Locke. Your project seems to have stalled."

"Sir?"

"While it's fascinating to learn that you have perfected a recipe for lentil and barley loaf, I fail to see the science in this anymore."

I swallowed hard. I seemed to be out of saliva.

"Miss Locke, what is your project really about?"

The truth? As if I could tell him that.
It's about me trying to be pretty, sir, and maybe someday fit into a size 8. And hopefully kick Matt McKinney's butt in science while I'm at it and finally get my revenge
.

"It's about ... trying to conform our habits to the healthier lifestyle of our ancestors."

That didn't sound bad. I kept going.

"And you can see from my notes that I've been doing a lot of research into other native and primitive cultures, just like you suggested, and comparing how much healthier they were without all the processed foods and modern luxuries we have today."

Mr. Fizer studied me over the top of his half-glasses. I hate it when he does that. It's worse than when Amanda stares me down.

"Let me ask a different question," he said. "Do you feel that your project, as it stands right now, rises to the level of a superior science fair entry? One that might qualify to compete internationally?"

Well, if he was going to put it that way ...

"I guess not," I admitted. "Not right now."

"Are you bored with your project, Miss Locke?"

"No! Not at all."

"It's not a crime," he said. "Some of your classmates have found it necessary to shift directions. As scientists we can't afford to become entrenched in our ideas. We always need to be able to approach our work with fresh and open minds. If you feel you've done all you can with your original premise, then it's time to step back and re-evaluate. There's no shame in that. In fact, it's the mark of a great scientist that
he or she constantly asks new questions and pushes ahead toward new horizons. Do you understand?"

I slumped against the wall. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Fizer handed me back my notebook.

"Don't be discouraged, Miss Locke. We all have moments when even our finest ideas seem to have run their course. Remember what Einstein said: 'The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.'"

I attempted a smile. "Yes, sir."

"You're a bright young woman," Mr. Fizer said. "I was impressed by your analysis of whether early hominins used fire. If you bring that sort of curiosity to your project in its present form, I know you'll find your way."

He opened the classroom door. Apparently we were done.

I sat at my lab table the rest of class, flipping through my notebook, feeling totally depressed over the fact that I might have to start over. But I knew Mr. Fizer was right: it's not good enough. It might be good for me personally, but it's not going to blow the judges' minds. Not the way Matt's projects always do.

The problem was, I didn't have any new ideas. None at all. I've been so absorbed by what I've been cooking and what I've been eating and all the research I've done over these past few months, it never occurred to me it might not be enough.

But then I realized something: maybe what Jordan showed me at lunch would apply here, too. Maybe when I got a great idea, I'd know it. My body would automatically tell me.

And that's exactly what it did.

45

E
ureka
.

Sometimes your best ideas come to you when you're standing at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in soapy water while you wash out the pots and pans.

It's when your brain isn't fully occupied that it can sort through all the random mishmash of facts and pieces of information you've crammed in there.

So I stood at the sink tonight replaying my conversation with Jordan--that whole cool thing about kinesiology and how our bodies automatically go weak if they're exposed to negative stimuli. That's such an amazing idea. I've never heard of it before.