Skinny (11 page)

Briella slides into the chair across from Rat, breaking my focus on the water glass in front of me.

“You’re back early,” Charlotte says. “I thought you were going to spend the night at your dad’s.”

“He had things to do,” Briella mumbles, stuffing a huge forkful of pasta into her mouth.

“How’s the baby?” my dad asks. Charlotte glances over at my father with a quick frown. The new baby is not a popular topic with Briella. Even I know that.

“Just like any other baby,” Briella says. “It poops and cries.”

The subject is closed. Everyone eats in silence for a while, until finally Charlotte can’t stand the awkwardness anymore.

“Lindsey got her roommate assignment today from the University of Kansas,” Charlotte announces in her fake perky voice. Lindsey doesn’t look up from her lap; her food sits untouched on her plate. I watch Briella drink half a glass of her water and then effortlessly go back to stuffing another forkful of spaghetti into her mouth. “She met her roommate at cheerleader camp and guess what?”

No one guesses. I’m really thirsty. My hand crawls a little closer to the water glass.

“They are both going to major in communications this fall!”

“Yay,” Briella says in a monotone.

Just one sip. Not enough to water down the food in my tiny little stomach and drain it out the hole in the bottom. Just a little tiny bit.

Lindsey finally looks up and across the table at her mom. “I need a new bedspread and curtains for the dorm room.”

“I don’t know, Lindsey.” Charlotte looks uncomfortable and glances at my father. “We already spent a lot on your new computer.”

“Whatever,” Lindsey says, and goes back to texting.

Charlotte’s eyes fill up with hurt, but she blinks it away quickly. I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

“Dad says he feels bad he missed the graduation ceremony. Says he’s going to call you and take you out for lunch,” Briella tells Lindsey, who finally picks up a whole meatball with her fork and takes a big bite off the side.

“Yeah, like we both know that’s going to happen,” Lindsey mumbles through the meatball.

Charlotte turns her attention to Rat. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Ever and I are going for a run,” Rat says, like this is completely possible.

I put down the water glass before it makes it to my lips. Gigi is probably dancing her way through the summer. Chance is definitely playing baseball. And Ever is running. Right.

“I could go with you,” Briella says, breaking my focus on the water glass. “I like to run.”

Really? Are you kidding me? Who
likes
to run?

“Sure,” Rat says. I kick him under the table, and he looks over at me with raised eyebrows.

I frown at him, but I can tell by his puzzled expression he has no clue why I’m annoyed. Briella pushes away from the table and heads up the stairs, calling back, “I’ll just get my tennis shoes.”

Rat and I go outside and wait for her on the front steps. I want to go upstairs and get my iPod. Music blaring in my ears is the only thing I can think of that would make this any better, but the idea of climbing up the stairs is too much trouble. If that’s too hard, how am I supposed to run around the block?

“The whole neighborhood’s going to love this. They’ll probably feel the vibrations in the ground and think it’s some kind of earthquake. Hope you don’t break the concrete,”
Skinny says.

“I don’t want to do this,” I say.

“The first day of school is only a few months away,” Rat says. “And then you can try out for the musical. And go to the Fall Ball.”

And Jackson will finally see me again, I think, but I don’t say anything to Rat about Jackson. I’m not sure why.

“That seems like a long way away,” I say. “Besides, what do you know about balls and musicals?”

“Nothing,” he says, “but I know a lot about you.” He gives me one of his rare Rat smiles, his straight white teeth flashing suddenly in his usually serious face.

I glare back at him. It’s already blazing hot. I can feel the sweat rolling down the side of my neck and I’m sitting still. Even Rat is sweating, his forehead beaded with moisture. He stands up suddenly, pulls up the hem of his T-shirt, and wipes his brow off, revealing a tight six-pack of muscles across his stomach. My breath catches in my throat.

He notices me staring. “What?” he asks.

“Have you been working out?” I ask, still staring at his ripped abs.

“Brazilian jujitsu. It’s a martial art based on ground fighting. Derived from the Japanese martial art of Kodokan judo in the early twentieth century, it favors leverage over brute strength.” He pats his still-exposed stomach with one hand, and I feel my throat go dry. “Great for your core muscles.”

Obviously.

“How?” I stammer.

“Over four centuries ago in northern India, Buddhist monks developed a form of fighting that allowed them to subdue opponents without killing them. Eventually it made its way to Japan, where it was improved upon and called jujitsu.”

“No, I mean . . .” How did you get to look like that without me knowing? I stop myself from saying that last part — just barely — and try to cover up my confusion. “How did it get to Brazil?”

“Oh that.” Rat drops his shirt back down over his stomach, and I let my breath out, not realizing I’d been holding it. He continues enthusiastically, “In the early nineteen hundreds, Japanese judo master Mitsuyo Maeda came to stay with Brazil’s Gastão Gracie. Gracie helped Maeda with business in Brazil and Maeda taught Gracie’s family judo.”

“Okay. Okay. Got it.” I hold my hands up, stopping him from continuing. This is the Rat I know. He will go on for hours if I let him. He stops the informative lecture, but adds one last thing.

“You should try it.”

“He’s seen your stomach. He knows you could never do anything like that,”
Skinny says.

I’m mortified at the comparison between my bare stomach and his. “I think this is plenty for me right now,” I say, pointing to my sneakers.

“All right, but if you change your mind, you can always go with me to my lessons.” He sits back down beside me on the step.

In a few minutes, Briella’s back, wearing some black Nike shorts and a sleeveless pink tank top. She bends her leg back and reaches down to grab an ankle, stretching it up behind her at an impossible angle.

Rat watches her with his mouth partly open. “You should stretch,” he mumbles in my direction.

Seriously? Give me a break.

“Hello,” I yell, waving my hand in front of his face. “Remember me? The patient?”

“What?” he asks, blinking back at me.

“Fat girls don’t run,”
Skinny says.

“Okay. Let’s go.” Briella takes a few prancing, effortless steps forward and backward. I want to hit her.

“We’ll start out slow,” Rat says. Like there’s any other way for me to start?

We all parade down the front sidewalk to the street. I stumble forward into a sort of a trot/walk, Rat and Briella on either side of me. My knees hurt with each jarring step. Every part of my body moves and shakes up and down. I’m out of breath in a few steps, but I try desperately to hide it.

“You are pitiful!”

“I’m thinking we’ll just jog to the end of the street and then walk the rest of the way,” Rat says.

I nod, but don’t speak. I can’t.

Briella jogs ahead and then glances back over her shoulder. Obviously surprised at the pace I’m keeping, she slows down nd jogs in place until I catch up.

“When do you think you’ll start to really notice a difference in your clothes?” Briella asks, but I can’t answer. I have to breathe.

“I’m . . .” Gasp, gasp. “. . . not . . .” Gasp, gasp. “. . . sure.”

The truth is I’ve already noticed my clothes are not tight anymore. At least I think they’re getting looser, but maybe it’s all in my imagination.

“I anticipate she will lose approximately one size in clothes per month for at least the first six to seven months,” Rat says.

He isn’t even breathing hard.

“Wow,” says Briella.

The end of the street looks so far away. I want to turn back or at least stop, but my legs keep moving. Step after shuddering step, crashing painfully back down to earth over and over again.

“Stop. You can’t do this. It’d be easier to quit now.”
Skinny sounds firm.

I jog forward a few more steps. The corner looks just as far away as when I started. I glance over at Rat. He looks like he’s lowed down to a crawl trying to keep pace with me. He’s not breathing hard. He’s strolling effortlessly.

“I’m thirsty,” I say.

“You’re right,” Rat says. “I should have brought a water bottle. You need to be drinking water every chance you get.”

I look at him, hoping that means we’ll stop.

“We’ll be sure and drink a glass or two when you get back.”

Great. I slog on, one bone-shaking step at a time.

“Why can’t she drink water when she eats?” Briella asks. I’m surprised Briella has even noticed. Still, she doesn’t have to talk about me like I’m not even here.

“I’m . . .” Gasp, gasp. “. . . right beside you.” Gasp, gasp. “I can hear you.”

Rat ignores me, too. “Sipping liquids with a meal will wash out the pouch, enabling her to eat two to three times as much, particularly with soft foods. It could cut the weight loss in half.”

“Interesting,” Briella says.

“Who’s she fooling? She’s never found you interesting in her life.”

I give up. Desperately sucking air into my lungs, I stop jogging and shudder to a walk. Briella and Rat slow to my pace. Mr. Johnson from across the street is trying to teach his daughter Katie how to ride her bike without training wheels. And next door, Mr. and Mrs. Burns are out in their immaculate yard doing some mysterious preparations for the coming summer that involve a wheelbarrow and several shovels. They all look up and watch the three of us slowly walk down the sidewalk. I feel a trickle of sweat on my forehead begin to roll down the side of my cheek; my shirt is a wet blanket against my back. We make a strange trio. Two tall, thin bookends with a huge, sweaty blob in between.

“So what’s up with your dad?” Rat asks my stepsister, and I stumble a few steps, then catch my balance again. No one asks Briella about her father. That’s a big no-no.

“He’s just totally focused on his new wife and new baby.”

I glance over quickly at Briella, shocked. She actually answered his question instead of storming off in a huff. “I used to be daddy’s little girl, but it looks like I’ve been replaced by daddy’s little boy.”

“That sucks.” Rat doesn’t try to argue with her, and I have to agree. It does suck. “His loss,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” says Briella, and she grins at him. I catch the look between them and glance down at my sneakers trudging down the sidewalk. I don’t want them looking at each other like that. I don’t know why, but I don’t.

We slowly pass a yellow house on the corner with overgrown dandelions and a for sale sign in the front yard. It belonged to the Cat Lady, Mrs. Rattenborg. They found her two weeks after she slipped in the bath and died from hitting her head on the Siamese-cat-shaped soap dish. The animal control people were taking crates of cats away for days. I think the moral of the story is, if you’re going to wind up in life with only cats for friends, you should teach them to dial 911.

“Today, let’s go around the block. We’ll jog as far as you can, then walk the rest of the way,” Rat says to me. “Maybe you can jog the whole way by week six”

“I’ve already jogged as far as I can,” I whine. “Besides I thought we were just going to the corner.”

“Surprise,” Rat says with a grin.

My neighbor Mrs. Decker drives by in a blue minivan. Her kids stare out the window at us. Rat waves, and they wave back.

“They’re laughing at you. Look at that fat girl out exercising. Hopeless.”
Skinny isn’t out of breath. Her voice is just as steady as always.

“We should stop at the corner. This is my first day out.” I get the sentence out and take a couple more gasps of air. I can’t even walk and talk at the same time, much less jog.

“You should exercise at least ten minutes everyday this week. By my calculations, ten minutes will take us around the block.” Rat is immensely stubborn, but now that I know he’s measuring by time, not distance, I slow down even more.

“I’m not sure your calculations are right. It’s taking me a pretty long time just to get to the corner.”

“You doubt my calculations?” He honestly sounds amazed.

“Five minutes to the corner. Tops. Plenty of time to walk the rest of the block.”

“What about Lindsey?” Rat asks Briella, and they go back to ignoring me dying beside them. “Are you going to miss her?”

“Maybe I will at first, but in my mind Lindsey’s been gone a long time,” Briella says. “We haven’t been close for” — she pretends to count on one hand — “years, I guess. We’re really different.”

That surprises me. I always sort of lumped Lindsey and Briella together. Yes, they look different, but they are both perfectly beautiful. And both perfectly oblivious to me. My hair is a wet mess of sweat stuck to my hot head. The sun is so hot that the air feels like it’s scalding the inside of my throat.

A group of boys rides by on their bikes. I can hear them coming. I glance back over my shoulder.

“Here it comes.”

One of them yells back over his shoulder, “Like that’s going to help, lardbutt!” Their laughter floats back to us.

Briella takes off, running after them. Rat and I stumble to a stop and watch in amazement. One of the laughing boys looks back over his shoulder then shouts an alarm to his friends. They start pedaling faster, all laughter gone. It’s too late. Briella reaches the one closest to her and kicks the back tire with a force that sends the bike wobbling off toward the curb.

“You big chicken,” she yells at him.

“You’re crazy!” the guy on the bike yells. He gets his balance back, and rushes to catch up with his friends, who are now laughing at him.

“Yeah, and you’re scared of me!” Briella shouts back. She stops in the middle of the street, with both hands on her hips, breathing hard for the first time since we started. When Rat and I catch up, she grins at us in triumph.