Fat Cat

Chapter 4

4

Before I headed down to the basement, I stopped by the hospital cafeteria and picked us up a few things. Everyone likes a little afterschool treat.

My mother’s eyebrows lifted as I came in carrying my load. I told her the same thing I’d told Amanda: “You’ll understand in a minute.”

But just then the phone rang and my mother had to take it, and her co-worker Nancy was already on another call, so I just handed them each a bag of Doritos and a few Rolos, and settled down to my own snack and work.

My mom is one of the pharmacists who works for the Poison Control Center—the people you call when you find out the kid you’re babysitting just ate some dog food, or you’re wondering if that rash might be because you sprayed self-tanning lotion on top of your acne cream, that sort of thing. They’ll also tell you what to do if you’ve been bitten by a rattlesnake, stung by a scorpion, attacked by killer bees—apparently there are a lot of disasters out there. It’s good to know you can call someone and scream, “Help! My face looks like a beach ball!” and a voice will calmly tell you what to do.

Right then Nancy was calmly telling someone to immediately go to the hospital. My mom was calmly telling someone that no, despite what the caller had read on a website, rinsing her hair with grapefruit juice would not make it grow faster. Proving my mother’s point that I should never automatically believe what I read on the Internet.

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 asked, “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 some day,” Nancy said. “I keep picturing him with a 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 him 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 a***e,” 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 d**g. 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.