The Art of Adapting (18 page)

Of course, she got to see Gabe in chemistry, or the back of his head a few rows up, but she was never all there in chem anymore. That class had become a nightmare. Having Gabe in chem still made it her favorite class, but Mr. Franks and his watchful eyes, magnified by his glasses, were there, too, which made it Abby's least favorite class. The whole fifty minutes of chemistry was a blur of watching Gabe and being watched by Mr. Franks, feeling anxious and jittery the whole time. How was she supposed to learn anything? Before class Abby waited outside the door to come in just as the bell rang, and she packed up early to rush out as soon as
the next bell rang, anything to avoid talking to Mr. Franks. She'd asked Gabe to let Mr. Franks know they were doing the science fair project together, just so she wouldn't have to speak directly to him. But there were still several months of school left, and she knew she couldn't dodge Mr. Franks forever.

She'd also noticed Matt watching her at dinner the night before. Or it seemed like he was watching her. You never really knew what he was up to. She'd pushed her food around like usual, and he stared at the food as it moved around her plate like it was the best TV show he'd ever seen. He had a notebook with him, sitting in his lap under the table, and every once in a while he'd make little notes in it. When Abby gave up playing with her food to go finish her homework, he looked her over in a strange way. Not that Matt ever looked at anyone in a way that wasn't strange. But it was different. Like he was actually seeing her and not just looking in her general direction. Abby wondered what he saw.

Abby had waited while Lana made her a sandwich to take up to her room, a sandwich she wouldn't eat, and wondered if she'd ever find out what was going on in Matt's strange brain and in his little green notebook. It was on her to-do list to find out, but she never would, because Matt never left the house, not since his disappearing act that had been bad enough that Lana had roped in the help of some cop friend Abby had never even heard of before and hadn't seen since. Anyway, with Matt always home, his notebooks would never be left unattended for Abby to spy on their contents. Maybe Abby was becoming paranoid, but there was no harm in that. She needed to stay sharp.

Between Coach Zimmerman, Mr. Franks, Emily's mom, and now Matt, too many people were noticing her lately. Before the separation Lana would've been the first to see it, Abby's distraction and food issues, but not now. Now Lana would only see it if someone told her. Abby thought she had Coach, Mr. Franks, and Em's mom under control. But Matt was a wild card. You never knew what he might say. And he talked more to Lana than anyone else. But how seriously would Lana take Matt? Most of the time
when he was talking you had no idea what exactly he was trying to tell you.

On the one hand, it was none of her mom's or anyone else's business how much or how little food Abby put into her mouth. It was her body, after all. But she also had this feeling, buried deep down inside, that it wasn't right that all of these people had started watching her and worrying about her, while Lana didn't even care enough to notice. She pushed the thought from her mind. She didn't have time to worry about it. Gabe was due any minute.

She'd set a notebook, pencils, white poster board, glue, and colored construction paper on the dining room table, and she wondered if she should put some snacks out. Boys ate all the time. At least Byron did. Abby hated food and hated dealing with food. Washing and slicing and peeling and cooking and doing dishes and getting food on her hands. Every step of the process was her least favorite thing to do. Maybe she'd just send Gabe into the kitchen to help himself before they got started.

In the end it didn't matter. Gabe showed up, lavender-smelling and tan and beautiful, holding a Subway bag of sandwiches, two bags of chips, and two huge cups of soda.

“I didn't know what you liked, so I got three different kinds of sandwiches. We can share.” He smiled at her and Abby was too dumbfounded to speak. Gabe Connor. Here, in her house. It was as unlikely as having Prince Harry drop by for tea.

Abby loved her house, but she was suddenly embarrassed by it, by the lack of furniture in the front room, just a worn brown couch and Matt's chair by the window. The carpet was shabby and the curtains were old and her cozy home suddenly didn't seem grand enough for the likes of Gabe Connor. He laughed and pointed past Abby and she realized that she was standing in the doorway, blocking his entrance into the house. Perfect. She was already making a fool of herself. She stepped aside and he came in, handed one of the cups of soda to her, and once his hand was free he laid his arm around her shoulders and gave her the brief suggestion of a hug. She could smell all of him in that moment: not just
the lavender, but his deodorant, shampoo, soap, and a boy smell that was so distinctly Gabe it made her dizzy. He squeezed and released her in all of half a second, but the gesture lasted forever in her mind. By the time she'd processed what had just happened, he was already at the dining room table getting set up.

“So I told Mr. Franks. He said it's good we're doing the project together. He thinks they usually come out better when done in teams.”

“Oh. Good,” Abby said. She walked over and stood next to him. She wanted him to kiss her so bad that she couldn't stop staring at him. There was no way she could focus on chemistry now. What had she been thinking? Being this close to Gabe, boyfriend to the horrid Caitlin, was going to be an hour of sheer torture. Why would she agree to do this to herself?

Gabe pulled a stack of books and papers from his backpack. “He gave me some books to look over. He marked the projects that were done last year. We'll do better with the judges if we don't repeat something they just saw. Nice of him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Abby said. The sunlight coming in the window behind Gabe made him glow. He had a white shirt on that was so bright in the sun Abby had to blink every few seconds to keep her eyes from watering. He looked like a supernatural being. Some kind of spirit brought here to give her whole life meaning.

“Oh, and he wanted me to give this to you. Said it was from something you talked about earlier?” Gabe held out a sealed envelope with Abby's name on it, scrawled in Mr. Franks's notoriously messy handwriting. Gabe looked as curious as Abby. She ripped the envelope open to find a sloppy handwritten note from Mr. Franks:

Abby,

I know you want this to be a closed subject, and I'm trying to respect your need for privacy, but I'm still greatly concerned about your weight and overall health. If you
won't discuss the issue with me, your family, or Mrs. Geller, would you please consider contacting my daughter? As I said, she's struggled with anorexia and is doing quite well now. She told me she'd be happy to speak to you. I've told her she might hear from one of my students about an eating disorder, but nothing else. I leave it to you to reach out to her if/when you feel ready. She is an amazing, kind, smart, funny girl, and I think you two would get along well.

Best,

David Franks

He'd put a blue Post-it note on the page with his daughter's information: Celeste Franks, followed by her email address and phone number. Abby's hands turned to ice as she held the note.

“Good news?” Gabe asked. He was flipping through the book from Mr. Franks, but he was watching Abby, too.

“Weird news, but yeah. Good.” She forced a smile and put the note back in the envelope, then hid the envelope in her book bag. “I guess my grade's coming up with the extra credit and labs.”

“Awesome!” Gabe said, holding up his hand for a high five. It was a ridiculous gesture, so guy-centric and outdated. Abby hadn't high-fived someone since she was about six, but she held up her left hand and let him smack it. They both laughed and sat down.

Abby had just managed to clear her head enough to listen to Gabe's list of project choices when Byron blew in and started crashing around the house like he always did. He poked his head into the dining room, where it was obvious there was serious schoolwork going on, and zeroed in on the one thing Byron cared about.

“Hey, did Mom take you to Subway? Did she get me anything?”

“No and no,” Abby said. She flicked her fingers at Byron, shooing him from the room.

“I brought them. There's still one left,” Gabe said. “Unless Abby wants it?” He held the sandwich out to Abby, the one she'd already declined twice, and she was tempted to take it just to keep it from going to Byron, but she really didn't want it.

“He can have it,” she said. “We're working on our science fair project,” she told him. Nothing chased Byron from the room like studying.

“Cool,” he said, sitting down. “What are you going to do?” He wasn't talking to Abby. She sighed. Of course. Byron had been trying to ingratiate himself with the popular kids for a solid year. Why wouldn't he fawn all over Gabe?

Abby watched Byron wolf down the sandwich in about three bites, talking around the food like the ill-mannered dork he was, putting on his best cool-guy act to impress Gabe. It was annoying to watch. Pathetic, really. And the smell of the chicken club sandwich was making Abby hungry, which was the last thing she wanted. Her stomach growled and she squeezed her elbows into her gut, worried Gabe would hear. As if he could hear anything over Byron's brown-nosing praise for all things Gabe. She took a sip of the soda Gabe had brought: Sprite, all watery now with melted ice. It tasted like childhood comfort, because that's what Lana had given them when they were recovering from any illness as kids: stomach bug, cold, or flu. Flat Sprite, the wonder cure. But once it slid down her throat, leaving a sugary film on her teeth, it just felt like a thousand calories spreading into her stomach, headed for her thighs. She pushed the soda over to Byron, who blinked at her in surprise at her generosity. Then she ducked into the kitchen for a glass of ice water instead.

Abby had misjudged her food needs. That's why she'd fainted. She could see that now. She had skipped breakfast, and every other meal, that day and the day before and the day before, after promising herself she'd never do that. She knew she needed some food every day. She just got caught up in the challenge of not eating at all. She was only planning to do it for one day, just to see if she could. Then one day turned to three, and down she went, a fainting mess. So, if she was going to keep going with her exercise regimen, she needed a better balance, maybe a few bites of food every few hours no matter what. And always in front of people, so nobody could accuse her of never eating.

She would eat cereal every morning, an apple every day for
lunch, and corn or salad for dinner every night, maybe some baby carrots for snacks in between. She didn't know how many calories that was, but hoped it was low enough to get the stubborn cellulite on her thighs to finally disappear. She threw a bunch of baby carrots into a bowl and headed back to the Byron-loves-Gabe show.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Gymnasts are serious athletes,” Gabe was saying. “They're always these little guys, muscular but lean, no body fat. And crazy strong for their size. Not sure how that'd help you on the track, though.”

Byron shrugged. “Yeah, I dunno. Maybe I need to change it up. Lean off track for a bit and try something different. I just want to keep pushing myself, you know?”

“That's a great attitude. Mix it up. Keep challenging yourself. Never slack off.”

Byron drank it up. They passed the second bag of chips back and forth, bonding at Abby's expense. They hadn't even noticed she was back in the room. Abby cleared her throat and Byron ignored her, but Gabe got the hint.

“Cool. Well, we really need to get a project outlined for Mr. Franks to sign off on. But we should go running sometime.”

Byron beamed like he'd just been asked to the prom by the object of a crush. And in a way he had. Gabe hadn't suggested running with Abby. And hadn't he said she could be an even better runner than Byron? But as Byron left the room, hopping over chairs like a moronic jackrabbit on his way out, Gabe turned and smiled at Abby, and all of her worries disappeared. He was here. That was all that mattered. She held out the bowl of carrots and he took a handful, then patted the chair beside him.

“Time to get down to business,” he said. They couldn't decide between two projects: one about mold growth factors using bread and one about fermentation. Abby thought it was funny that Gabe was drawn to the food-related projects. Not her favorite topic, but since both were about rotting food, it was okay. They decided to pitch both to Mr. Franks and let him decide which was better. Then they cranked through their lab reports and in no time Lana came
home and Byron took off for Trent's, and then Gabe had to run, because he was going to his father's house for dinner.

“My dad has a new girlfriend,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “Tonight I meet her.”

“Maybe there's a new watch in it for you,” Abby joked. Gabe laughed hard and leaned in for a hug that Abby didn't see coming. Not a one-arm half hug like before, either, but a real, two-arm, body-to-body hug that left her unable to breathe as Gabe picked up his backpack and walked out the front door.

“See you tomorrow!” he called back to her. Abby touched her lips as she watched him go, imagining he'd kissed her good-bye. She adored him so much it hurt.

She turned and there was Matt, in the front window, also watching Gabe go. He settled on a chair with two notebooks. One was the same one from dinner last night.

“Sorry if we were keeping you from your window,” Abby said.

“It's not my window,” Matt said. He laughed, as if Abby had made a joke, and opened his blue notebook. “Birds,” he said, pointing to a blank page.

Abby shook her head. Typical Matt non sequitur.

“So you ate carrots?” Matt asked. “While you were studying?” He pointed at the dining room table, then out the window to the curb Gabe had just pulled away from. “Do you know how many?”