Fat Cat (19 page)

I think I was born an amphibian.

55

Day 99, Thursday, November 27

Thanksgiving!! Tofu turkey, stuffing (made from homemade bread), mashed potatoes (with vegetable stock instead of milk and butter), corn, green beans, and pumpkin pie!

Okay, so my dad wasn't thrilled with the tofu turkey. Maybe it's an acquired taste. And he said he won't be acquiring it. But the rest of the meal was awesome, if I do say so myself.

My family's being really good about my vegetarian meals. My dad still slaps a few steaks on the grill when he can't take it anymore, but other than that they're letting me cook whatever I want on the nights when I'm their chef. I've been testing out new recipes on them before I try them at the Karmic Cafe. I can always trust my little brother to make a face if I haven't gotten the taste just right.

Normally on Thanksgiving I love to eat my way into a food
coma, then spend the rest of the evening just digesting. Tonight I wish I could swim.

But the pool is closed. What's up with that? Like people don't need rehabilitation on holidays? What about that 500-pound guy who's recovering from a heart attack and does his jumping jacks in the shallow end? Or that old lady in the ugly flower suit who I found out is getting over a hip replacement? Or that guy who just started last weekend, who's recovering from a motorcycle accident? Doesn't the hospital care about them? And what about me?

Ever since I started again two weeks ago, it's like my whole body is this giant Rubik's Cube, and every time I swim, another row finds its right place. Blue, red, green--one by one I'm putting myself back together. I can't believe how whole I feel again.

On the downside, I'm a full-on swimming junkie again. If I don't get my nightly fix, I might have to start stealing cars or something.

Amanda finally busted me last night. Now I know how people feel when they're trying to hide the fact that they smoke. They brush their teeth right afterward, they wash their faces, they chew gum. But all it takes is someone with a good nose.

I wasn't expecting her to show up. Even though it was the night before a day off from school, we didn't exactly have plans to hang out. I thought she'd be with Jordan.

But there she was, sitting in my living room watching TV with Peter, when I came back home from the pool.

My swim cap keeps my hair dry, and I'd changed into dry clothes, so there wasn't any visual evidence of where I'd been. And Peter didn't know--I certainly haven't been sharing my whereabouts with him. But it still didn't matter. Amanda can smell fresh cookies baking a block away. So I really didn't stand a chance.

She followed me into the kitchen for a snack and leaned into me almost right away. She gave me a big sniff. Then she stepped back and pointed at me. "Ooooh ..."

Before I could say anything, she smiled. "Good for you. But shame on you for not telling me."

It was such a relief for her to find out. I hate keeping secrets from Amanda. It felt good to tell her at that Halloween party what I really thought about Matt, and now my secret life as a swimmer is finally out in the open. It's been a hard two weeks keeping that from her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "What did you think I was going to say?"

"I don't know, I was just kind of embarrassed."

"Why?"

I gave her the kind of answer Peter would and simply shrugged.

"Kit Cat, you should never be embarrassed to tell me something. I've told you some of the most embarrassing things on the planet. You have enough blackmail material on me to make you a billionaire."

She helped herself to a giant slice of pumpkin bread, and we retreated to my room.

"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."