Blob (5 page)

Grandma is right. Dieting is torture.

Mom is wrong. I haven't been good about my diet all week. I've cheated.

But I'm not any fatter. My new clothes fit. I glance in the hall mirror again. I don't look bad in my new jeans and red shirt. A little rounder in the middle, but I am not a blob.

I am going to eat some cake.

“If you don't run your life, someone else will.”

—John Atkinson

chapter twelve

On Sunday night I decide to abandon the You Can Do It in Seven Days diet. I can't live through another week of being snubbed by Sarah, sneered at by Zoe, learning impossible math, meeting the girl I'll mentor and dealing with this diet too. Instead I'll just eat less. I almost survived a whole day of bananas and milk, so eating less will be a piece of cake.

Carolyn and Denise are back at school on Monday. All through lunch we talk about teachers, homework and art. Even though they're best friends, they include me. It's great not having to hide in the bathroom.

After our last class, the three of us meet in front of the mentoring room. Inside, a bunch of middle-school girls are standing near the refreshments, drinking juice and eating cookies. They stare at us when we come in. One girl is hugely overweight. I wonder if that will be the girl I'll mentor.

Another girl has a strange red scar on her face. I've never seen anyone with a scar like that. I try not to stare at her. Beside her is a girl with a big nose. Denise's nose is a polka dot compared to this girl's nose. Another girl is in a wheelchair. The rest of the girls have nothing obviously different about them, although one girl is biting her nails so hard I think she's going to chew them right off.

The meeting is called to order after a short introduction. Joan and Linda announce the partners. Carolyn gets Helene, the girl with the big nose. Denise gets Nicole, the overweight girl, and I get the girl with the red scar. Her name is Stephanie.

I walk over to her. “Hi. I'm Eve.”

She folds her hands across her chest and scowls. “I didn't want to come here but my mom made me,” she blurts out. She glares at me as if she's challenging me to take her on.

Now what? How do I get her to talk? How do I get her to want to be here? How do I mentor her? Her problem is probably her scar, but how do I bring that up? The material Joan and Linda gave us said not to avoid the issues but to take our cue from the girl we're mentoring. Well, Stephanie's cue is “lay off me and don't ask me anything.”

“So how do you like school?” I ask.

“I hate it and it hates me,” she barks.

Now what?

“It's hard to start a new year. This is my first year in high school and I'm finding it difficult to get used to,” I say.

“Is that 'cause you're fat?”

My mouth hangs open. I can't believe Stephanie just called me fat. Neither can Joan, who's standing nearby.

I'm so stunned I can't speak. I want to run out of the room. Why did I say yes to mentoring? How can I help someone who's so mean and angry?

But I don't run. “I'm not fat,” I say. “I gained some weight over the summer, and I'm not happy about that. It makes me uncomfortable, especially when people say rotten things to me. Like you just did.”

I can see Joan from the corner of my eye. She is grinning. I'm glad I spoke up. I'm glad I called a spade a spade—or, as Zoe would say, a blob a blob.

Stephanie is silent for a minute. Then she mutters, “Sorry.”

“Let's start again,” I say.

Stephanie shrugs, but the look on her face softens. “I'm such a loser,” she mumbles.

“You're not a loser, and I'm not a loser either. How did you get the scar?”

I regret my words immediately. Stephanie hasn't volunteered anything and here I'm asking her about her scar.

Stephanie looks startled by my question. “It's not a scar. It's a birthmark. It's called a port-wine stain and I hate it.”

“It's not…,” I begin. Then I stop. I'm about to say it's not the worst thing in the world. I'm about to tell her that it would be worse if she was missing a leg or had cancer. It's true, those things are worse than being overweight or having a scar. But I just can't say it. I'd sound like I'm lecturing.

“It stinks feeling different,” I say.

Joan is beaming at me. I know I'm saying the right things.

“You're not kidding it stinks,” Stephanie suddenly yells. Her face hardens. “Being fat is nothing compared to my life. Everyone hates me. Even my dad. No one knows how I feel. No one.”

Then Stephanie runs out of the room.

“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.”

—Victor Borge

chapter thirteen

I feel like someone has socked me in the stomach. Everyone heard Stephanie scream. Everyone saw her charge out of the room. I don't know where to go or what to do.

Joan hurries over to me. “I'm a failure at mentoring,” I groan.

“You said all the right things,” says Joan. “Stephanie is angry, but not at you. Anything could have set her off.”

“She'll never come back now,” I say.

“You never know.” Joan pats me on the shoulder. “I'll be right back, and we'll talk more.”

By now everyone has turned back to their partners. They're talking and laughing like nothing weird just happened. All the other high-school girls are having nice friendly chats with the middle graders they're mentoring. I'm the only one who made my student so angry she flew out the door. I flop down on a chair near the refreshments. I stare at the cookies. I'm desperate for a cookie. Just one wouldn't hurt. I stretch my hand out toward the plate.

“Don't eat it,” someone barks at me. I spin around. It's Stephanie. “You don't want to get any fatter.”

“You came back!” I say.

“I had to come back. I left my bag on the chair.”

“I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing. And you're right. I'm not going to eat that cookie, even though I really, really, really want to.”

Stephanie looks at me. Then she begins to laugh. She laughs so hard she shakes.

“What's so funny?” I ask her.

“You're mentoring me and you need mentoring yourself. You should have seen the way you looked at the cookies. You were like a wolf eyeing a pig.”

“A wolf eyeing a pig!” I repeat. “That's so…” I start to laugh. I don't know why it strikes me funny to be compared to a wolf. Maybe it's better than being compared to a pig. I just know that I can't stop laughing.

Denise and Nicole stare at us. Carolyn and Helene stare at us. Everyone stares at us, but we can't stop laughing.

Joan walks to the front of the room. “I'm glad to see that everyone is getting along so well,” she says. Then she turns to us. “Some of you seem to be getting along especially well. Care to share the joke, girls?” Joan grins at us.

“I'd share it,” I say. “If I knew what it was.”

“Yeah,” says Stephanie. “I don't know why we're laughing.”

“Well, whatever the reason, laughing is a good thing,” says Joan. “Let's all meet back here on Wednesday for more laughs, talk and refreshments.”

“But no more cookies for you,” says Stephanie, wagging her finger in my face.

I make a fake annoyed face at her. I feel better than I have in days. I don't even want the cookie.

We walk out together and promise to meet back on Wednesday. We exchange phone numbers.

I feel amazing all the way home. I can't wait for Wednesday.

After supper I google
port-wine stain
. The first site I check out explains that it's a birthmark caused by swollen blood vessels. About three in a thousand people have one. If it's that common, how come Stephanie's the first person I've ever met who has one? Maybe if I'd seen more port-wine stains, I wouldn't have been so startled when I first saw hers.

The site also says that most of the time port-wine stains appear on people's faces. It mentions that some people have emotional problems because of the stigma attached to looking different. Who could blame them? The stain is right there where you can't miss it. Like my round stomach.

Some of the treatments for port-wine stains are freezing, surgery, radiation, laser treatment and tattooing. Tattooing?

I wonder how they do that. Tattoos are actually like a stain but in a shape you choose. Tattooing is cool these days, so why isn't a port-wine stain cool? Wouldn't it be amazing if it became cool? Wouldn't it be something if those of us who don't have a stain became the weird people?

I wonder if I should tell Stephanie what I'm thinking.

Probably not.

On Tuesday I eat cereal for breakfast, and it's wonderful not to eat bananas or drink vegetable juice. Sarah talks to me a little in homeroom, and I hardly care if she's not my friend anymore. At lunch Zoe isn't around and I'm relieved.

I hang out with Carolyn and Denise, and they tease me about how Stephanie and I stopped the mentoring meeting with our hysterical laughter.

On Tuesday night, I eat a small bowl of Mom's spaghetti with a large bowl of salad. I savor each spaghetti strand. I love the flavor of the Parmesan on top. I only have one cookie for dessert. It's a large cookie, but it's only one. Mom compliments me on my “intelligent” diet.

“I'm not on a diet,” I tell her. “I'm just trying not to eat too much.”

“Well, I'm proud of you. Diet or no diet. You're on your way.”

All through classes on Wednesday, I don't think about food. I think about my latest art project and seeing Stephanie again.

I hurry to the mentoring meeting right after class. All the girls are there. Everyone is talking and nibbling on refreshments. There's a friendly buzz in the room.

I look around for Stephanie, but I don't see her.

“Where's Stephanie?” I ask Joan.

Joan winces. “Her mom called and said Stephanie wasn't coming back.”

“What? Never?”

Joan shakes her head. She doesn't say the word
never
but I know that's what she is thinking.

“Someone's opinion of you doesn't have to become your reality.”

—Les Brown

chapter fourteen

“I don't get it.”

“Neither do I. You two seemed to be hitting it off so well,” said Joan.

“Did her mom say why she isn't coming back?”

“No. She just said Stephanie didn't want to come anymore.”

“I thought we were becoming friends. I thought we were able to talk. I thought…”

A donut-sized lump forms in my throat. I try to swallow it, but it's stuck there like a sticky piece of dough.

Joan gives me a hug. “You were wonderful. It's not your fault. You can't win everyone. Sometimes people's sadness goes too deep.”

I remember Stephanie's comment about her dad hating her. “You're probably right,” I say, “but I still wish I could have helped her. I might as well go home.”

“Don't go. We'll figure something out. Maybe we can pair you up with someone else.”

“No, thanks. I've had enough.”

I hurry toward the outside door. I don't understand it. Stephanie was beginning to feel comfortable with me. She gave me her phone number. I know she wanted us to meet again. So what happened between Monday and tonight? It was only two days. She has to be upset about something. Maybe something happened at school.

I open the front door and walk down the first step and then I stop. I can't let Stephanie quit. I can't let me quit.

I turn around and run back inside. I race down the hall and into the meeting room. I'm out of breath when I approach Joan.

“Can I borrow your cell phone?” I ask her.

“Sure.”

I fish Stephanie's phone number out of my wallet and tap in her number.

The phone rings five times. Then someone answers. I know it's Stephanie immediately.

“Hi, Stephanie.” I speak quickly so she won't hang up. “It's Eve.”

“I don't want to talk to you.”

“Then just listen. Please come back to the meeting. Without you, I'll eat every cookie in the room. I need your help. Desperately.”

I can hear Stephanie breathing, so I know she's still there.

“Eating cookies when you're fat is stupid,” she finally says.

“I know. I know. I have no willpower. I'm total mush when it comes to food, especially cookies, ice cream and chocolate.”

“I don't like cookies that much, but I feel that way about potato chips.”

“I like potato chips but I don't love them. Not passionately. Not the way I feel about chocolate. So will you come? Don't make me beg.”

Silence. Then finally, “Okay. I guess I can come. I had a bad day on Tuesday. I didn't go to school today.”

“Are you going to school tomorrow?”

“I don't know.”

“But you'll come to the meeting at the high school on Friday, right?”

“Okay,” she says.

“Promise?”

“I promise if you promise not to eat any cookies today.”

“I promise.”

“I'll ask Joan and Linda and all your friends if you kept your word, you know.”

“I'll keep my word. See ya.”

“See ya.”

I hand Joan back her phone.

“I'm impressed,” she says.

“Me too,” says Linda.

“I'll be more impressed if she shows up on Friday,” I tell them.

The mentoring meeting is over five minutes later. All the way home I wonder if Stephanie will come on Friday. I'm sure now that something awful happened to her at school. The next two days are busy with homework. I don't think about diets or food. I'm not eating too much or too little. I'm just eating the way I used to—before this summer. Something must be working because I've lost a pound. Okay, a pound isn't much. I have a lot more to go, but it's better than gaining a pound.