Fat Cat (3 page)

As soon as they both hung up, we all relaxed. I went over and gave my mom a hug.

"Hi, sweetie. How was school?"

"Good." The phone rang again and my mother took it.

"Cute outfit," Nancy said. "Is that new?"

"Yeah."

"Very slimming."

"Thanks." Nancy and I both know there's no amount of black in the world to make me look slim, but it was nice of her to say.

The phone rang nonstop for about the next half hour. I spent the time opening and sorting the mail and taking care of some of the filing.

Finally there was a little lull in the phone calls. It's funny how disasters seem to come in waves.

"So," Nancy said, "any first-day gossip to report?" "Nah, not really."

"No stabbings or breakups or fashion crimes?" "Nope."

"Who's in your classes?" my mom asked. "The usual."

"Matt?" Nancy wanted to know.

"Of course." It's one of the features of being on the AP/Honors track that you always end up taking classes with the same people.
There are almost two thousand kids at my school, but I probably only know about thirty of them. And still hang out with only two.

I helped myself to the last of my mother's chips.

"I need to meet that boy someday," Nancy said. "I keep picturing him with horns and a hunchback."

"Close," I said.

"Cat, stop it," my mom said. "I don't know why you're so mean to him--you used to be such good friends." "Yeah, I'm the one who's mean." "He always seemed perfectly nice to me." "I'm sure he did."

And then both phones rang, and we were all back to work.

It's not the first time my mother's taken me to task for dissing Matt. I never told her what he did--Amanda's the only one who knows, and that's just because she was there. So it's hard for my mom to understand what changed. All she knows is suddenly Matt was out and Amanda was in, and it's been that way ever since. And believe me, I'm grateful--Amanda is a far better friend than Matt could ever be.

I couldn't wait any longer. As soon as there was a break, I took out my picture and showed them. And I told them my idea.

My mother and Nancy exchanged a glance.

"What?" I said.

"Are you sure?" my mother asked. "Maybe you should pick something easier."

"What are you talking about?" I said. "It's a great project! I thought you'd be excited. And besides, it's too late--I already told Mr. Fizer this is what I'm doing. I'll start just as soon as he approves my proposal."

"Well, we'll have to talk about it some more," she said.

"No offense," Nancy said, "but I doubt you'll last a week."

"Why?" I asked.

"The body isn't meant to take that kind of abuse."

"It's not abuse," I said. "It's the opposite. I'm going back to the way we're supposed to live."

She pointed to my can of Diet Coke. "How many of those do you drink a day?"

"I don't know, four or five."

Nancy whistled.

My mother shook her head. "That's going to be awfully hard, honey."

"Why?"

"I tried to give up coffee a few years ago," Nancy said. She lifted her mug in salute. "You see how well that stuck."

"The withdrawal symptoms can be a little rough," my mom agreed.

"Rough?" Nancy scoffed. "My husband finally threatened to move into a hotel if I didn't get in the car with him immediately and go to Starbucks. And I hate to say it, Cat, but it's going to be even worse for you."

"How come?"

"Those things are full of artificial sweeteners--that's a whole separate drug. People really have a hard time getting off it. Are you sure you're ready?"

Yeah, now that they'd boosted my confidence like that?

"I have to," I said, my mouth suddenly dry. "That's my project."

"Well," Nancy said with a shrug, "guess all I can say is good luck."

"We'll talk about it," my mother said. Then both phones rang at once. Thank goodness for other people's crises.

And sure enough, when we got off work, my mother spent the
whole ride home peppering me with questions just like Amanda had--what about this? What about that? And even though I didn't have all the answers yet, I knew once I finally sat down and started doing the research tonight, it would all fall into place.

That was the plan, at least.

Except instead it all fell apart.

5

I
t's funny how you can be so stupid
and not realize it until you've already gone too far.

Actually, not funny at all.

I've now spent the last several hours researching this, and there's just no way around it: I have made a monumental mistake.

Because what did
Homo erectus
eat? Was it tasty fruits and vegetables and nuts and berries?

Um, no.

They ate carrion. Also known as dead and putrefying flesh.

That picture? It doesn't show the hominins defending their food from the hyenas, it shows them trying to
steal
it. Because apparently
Homo erectus
didn't quite have the whole hunting thing worked out. They mostly lived off of roots and tubers and other plants, and whatever leftover meat they could steal after the predators were done with it. Which usually meant by the time they got to it the meat was nice and ripe and maggoty.

Oh, they ate fresh stuff, too--insects, baby birds they stole out of nests, the occasional rabbit they managed to trap and beat to death with a stick--but mostly they were just skulking around, trying to steal food from other, more successful creatures.

And--AND!--they didn't have fire yet. No fire! Raw meat! Sweet! I'm going to die!

"Well, you just have to quit," Amanda said when I called her.

"I can't quit!"

"So what are you going to do--start Dumpster-diving for leftover scraps? Come on, Cat--sometimes you just have to walk away."

It wasn't the thought of rancid meat that was making me feel so sick to my stomach. I've never ever dropped a class, and I'm certainly not backing away from this one.

"There has to be a way," I said.

"Yeah, if you're willing to end up in the emergency room," Amanda said. "Face it--this isn't going to happen."

"I have to do more research," I told her. "Bye."

There has to be a way.

Matt does not get to win by default.

6

"W
hoa, haven't seen that in a while."
Amanda pointed to the mass of hair I'd jumbled into a ponytail. Thanks to getting only four hours of sleep last night, I woke up too late to do the full blow-dry and straightening this morning.

"Get used to it," I said. My voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. "Hominins didn't have product."

"So you're still going through with it?"

"I don't know," I said. "I still have to figure it out. Right now I don't even have a brain."

"Here." Amanda handed me one of the two Diet Cokes she was holding. "Thought you might need it."

"Bless you." I took a long, deep gulp of it. I needed all the caffeine I could get. My first class on Tuesdays is AP American History with Mr. Allen, the world's only living zombie teacher. Amanda managed to avoid him this year because he didn't fit into her schedule. Lucky.

"So what are you going to do?" Amanda asked. "If you can't figure it out?"

"I don't know. Beg. Cry. Fail."

The bell rang and we downed the last of our caffeine.

"See you in English," Amanda said, then she gently took me by the shoulders, turned me around, and pushed me in the direction of Mr. Zombie's room. I sat in his class for over an hour, and I have no memory of a single thing he said. I think he was talking about toast.

At least the class after that is always going to be good--Amanda and Jordan are in there. So is Matt, unfortunately, but there's nothing I can do about that.

Amanda and Jordan were definitely the superstars in English today. Both of them have already been published--Amanda in some poetry journals and a contest in
Seventeen
, Jordan in a few snowboarding and swimming magazines--so our teacher, Ms. Sweeney, asked them to make short presentations about how they got published and what it's like.

The thing I appreciate about both of them--actually, there are tons of things I appreciate about both of them, but we'll start with this one--is that neither Jordan nor Amanda is the least bit conceited about their accomplishments. I'm sure if Matt McKinney had been published in a national magazine, we'd never hear the end of it. But it took Ms. Sweeney more than a little coaxing to get the two of them to talk about their experiences, and then they were both incredibly humble about what had happened.

Matt made this big show of going up to Jordan after class and giving him one of those fist-bumping handshakes guys use and telling him congratulations. He looked like he wanted to say something to Amanda, too, but she just froze him out. My girl always has my back.

As we left class, Amanda signed to me,
"See you in Sign Language."

I nodded my fist,
"Yes,"
and headed for Homeroom.

I was halfway down the hall before I realized Matt was following me.

"So," he said, "you ready with your proposal?"

"No." Of course he had to rub it in. Knowing him, he probably finished his last night and still had time to read a book and watch TV. I tried to ignore him as I kept on weaving through the crowd.

He stayed right with me. "Do you like the picture you chose?"

"No." As if it were any of his business. And I could tell he wanted me to ask if he liked his picture, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Okay," he said, "see ya," and I didn't say anything back. I swear, it's been like that since junior high. He knows I don't want to talk to him, but he keeps on bothering me. I think it gives him some kind of sick pleasure just to get on my nerves.

But then for some reason it clicked: Jordan and Matt talking after class, Matt pretending to be all friendly just now, Amanda saying Jordan wanted to fix me up with someone from the swim team.

I would have texted Amanda right that second if I could, but our cells are off-limits on campus. So I had to sit through Homeroom, Lunch, and Piano before I could finally get to the bottom of it. Who cares about arpeggios when your best friend's boyfriend has just betrayed you to the enemy?

The rule in Sign Language is that the minute you cross the threshold of the classroom, you have to sign everything you say--even if you're just talking to your friend. Amanda was already in there. My hands started flying right away.

"Jordan try make me go Matt?"
That's what my hands said while my lips formed the full sentence, "Is Jordan trying to make me go out with Matt?"

Amanda wrinkled her brows and scratched her index finger down the palm of her other hand.
"What?"

"You said,"
I began, then paused. I had to think about how to phrase it, based on the words I know how to sign. The two of us only started taking American Sign Language last year, so my vocabulary isn't terribly huge. Amanda, on the other hand, was obviously born with some kind of language chip in her brain, because she picks this stuff up so easily it's shocking. After just a semester of freshman Spanish, they booted her up to advanced. This year she's taking AP Spanish with the seniors in addition to our second-year Sign Language class.

I went with,
"Jordan ask Matt eat tonight?"

"No,"
she answered.
"Why?"
She keeps her sentences easy for me so I can understand them. It's only when I see her signing with our teacher that I get a true flavor for how exceptional Amanda's skills really are.

"Not friend you said?"
I finger-spelled,
"Date?"

Amanda's eyes widened. Then she laughed. Her hand gave an emphatic,
"No!"

"Okay."
I wiped imaginary sweat off my brow. Ms. Wilch likes us to be a little dramatic to help get our meaning across.

"You're crazy,"
Amanda signed, dancing two crooked fingers across her face.

I nodded my fist once, then made a small circle with it on my chest.
"Yes. Sorry."

Once class started, Ms. Wilch had us break into groups of three to practice telling each other what we did over the summer. The combination of trying to figure out how to express yourself while having to move your hands and remember to mouth the words at the same time can be really exhausting. Almost as mentally challenging as calculus, in its way.

After class Amanda handed me a Tootsie Pop and unwrapped one for herself. I ate like it was the last morsel on earth.

"You sure you want to give these up?" Amanda looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Cave Girl?"

"Right now a cave sounds great," I said. "I just want to crawl into a dark hole and sleep."

"Now you know why I always have to nap after school."

It's true--Amanda is fiercely devoted to her naps.

I actually dozed for a few minutes while she drove me to work. But then that nagging issue woke me up. I didn't really want to ask, but I was too curious to let it pass.

"So who was the guy supposed to be tonight?" I asked. "I mean, if it wasn't Matt?"

"Oh. Greg something-or-other. I've never met him."

"Excuse me? You're not pre-screening these people?"

"Kit Cat, if I thought there was even the slightest chance you'd go on a date, I would have run a full FBI check on the guy--you know that. All you have to do is say the word."

"Some other time," I said.

"You swear?"

"No."

I almost left it at that, but I needed to make absolutely sure that we understood each other. "You ... never told Jordan anything, right? About Matt?"

"Of course not. It's in the vault."

"And if he ever even suggested that Matt and I--"

"Not to worry," she said. "Matt McKinney will never get within twenty paces of you if I have anything to do with it. I'll defend you to the death, even against my boyfriend, no matter how irresistible he is."