The Real Me (4 page)

I fingered the lavender bedspread, which I had crocheted. I pushed a finger through one of the loops. Swish. Another basket for Kevin.

My phone rang. Walt had said he would call to set up a day for the committee meeting.

"Hi, Mattie. I checked my schedule and I think a couple of weeks from now would be good. Is the afternoon of the fifteenth okay with you?"

I checked my calendar. "Sure."

"Let's have the meeting at my house." Walt lowered his voice. "You know, since you'll want to walk that far anyway."

I was beginning to wonder if it had been such a good idea to confide in Walt. He was starting to act like a parole officer. I sighed. "Your house is fine."

"See you here tomorrow morning?"

"Right. Bye." I called Erwina. "Hi, it's me. Is the afternoon of the fifteenth okay for you for a prom committee meeting?"

"Sure. Do you have a committee already?"

"No. In fact, I was going to ask you for suggestions. I was thinking of Selena
Leon
. She likes to bake and we need lots of cookies."

"She'd be good--hold on a second." There was a muffled shout in the background.

I thought I heard Erwina ordering someone to get lost.

"That was Freddie. You don't know how aggravating life can be with a twelve year old brother. Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh. Yes. The prom. Ask Ross Wilcox to be on the committee."

"Ross?"

"Yes. He likes to bake, too."

"How would you know?"

"After you left our lunch table today he sat down and shared some of his home made chocolate chip cookies with me. They were great!"

"Oh?" I twisted a lock of my hair around my little finger. "What about George?"

"What about George?"

"Wouldn't he get ticked or something?"

"Hardly. He wolfed down those cookies faster than I did."

"Oh."

"Mattie, George and I are just dating. D-a-t-i-n-g. We have fun together. But we're free to see other people. You know I don't want to be tied down."

"Yeah …." I knew. How many times had Erwina said she didn't want to be like her sister, married at nineteen and "saddled," as Erwina put it, with three kids by the time she was twenty-four? She had vowed not to get serious with anyone until she was at least halfway through law school.

I didn't even know what I wanted to do in college, and Erwina already had her life planned through law school. "Never having dated, I guess it's hard for me to imagine being involved with one guy, much less two."

"Mattie Mason, if you'd open up around guys a bit--Frederick, beat it! Honestly, I'd like to sell that kid. Where was I? Oh. If you'd let your hair down a little …."

"I'm not going to cut my hair."

"You don't have to shave your head. Just get it trimmed and layered. Set it free from all those barrettes. You'd look great."

"I'd look like the Bride of Frankenstein." I did not want to discuss my hair. "Will you ask Ross to be on the committee and tell him about the meeting?"

"Sure!"

"Thanks. See you." I hung up with relief. At least I hadn't gotten Erwina's full you're-hiding-behind-what-you-think-is-fat lecture. I wasn't hiding--and I was fat. But not for long.

My stomach growled. I patted it, reassuring myself that an orange would be all I'd need to keep me from starving before dinner.

Dinner! I was supposed to check on the pot roast before my folks got back from jogging.

I rushed to the kitchen and peeked inside the oven. I sniffed. Everything seemed to be all right. In fact, it smelled great.

I got an orange from the refrigerator. I peeled it and divided it into sections. I discovered that if I took my time with food, I was satisfied with less. So I chewed slowly, relishing each bite. Still, the aroma of pot roast was getting to me.

I went into the living room and searched through Dad's music collection. The stuff he liked was ancient, but it was the kind of music that made you want to move. Maybe that would inspire me to do some of the exercises Dr. Adam had recommended.

With music blaring, I stood with my legs comfortably apart. I raised my arms over my head. I stretched to the left. I stretched to the right. I touched my toes. I stood up, bent my knees slightly, leaned back and bounced to the music.

I found I liked moving to music. I did sit-ups. I alternated leg lifts and arm circles. By the time the music ended, I had exercised for sixteen minutes and fifty seconds.

During dinner I ate slowly, putting my fork down between bites.

"This is a heavy meal, isn't it?" Dad said. "For someone who's dieting, that is."

Mom smiled and patted my hand. "Not if the dieter is careful about how much she eats." She winked at me.

I picked up on Mom's cue. "That's right. It's calories that count. As long as I'm eating nutritional food and avoiding empty calories--like candy or soda--I don't need to eat any special foods. I just need to eat less." The memory of Frozen Fluff was still vivid.

"I can take a hint." Dad pretended to be wounded. "No more crazy concoctions from me."

"Don't think I don't appreciate your concern." I grinned. "It's the original recipes I can do without."

Later in the evening I called Selena and asked her to be on the refreshment committee. She said she would. That accomplished, I settled on my bed, my feet resting on the headboard. I stared at the ceiling and concentrated on the upcoming tournament game, and planned exactly how I would congratulate Kevin after Waterside had won.

I woke up the next morning still dressed, my head at the foot of the bed, my feet on my pillow. I smiled drowsily. I embraced the mattress and relived my dream of how Kevin and I kissed, with Nicole stranded on the bleachers, unable to pierce the circle of fans surrounding us.

The alarm clock rang. I almost fell off the bed trying to reach it. I accidentally knocked it off my nightstand, grabbed it with both hands, and practically strangled it trying to shut it off.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hair and barrettes stuck out all over the place. I'd have to wash my hair in order to tame it.

After showering, I arrived at the kitchen with damp hair restrained by an assortment of clips and combs. I poured myself a small bowl of cereal, added skim milk and a sliced banana, and sat down.

"Would you like some?" Mom held up a pitcher of orange juice.

"Please." I eyed Mom's satiny hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Life must be simple with smooth, straight hair instead of the bushy mess I had.

Dad cleared his throat.

"Morning, Dad. I guess I'm not quite awake yet."

"Good morning, Mattie." Dad cleared his throat again.

I looked up from my cereal to see a copy of the Waterside Reporter propped against the salt and pepper shakers. A two inch headline declared, WATERSIDE WINS! A sub headline elaborated, Goes to Tourney.

"I brought this home last night and forgot to show it to you," Dad said. "It comes out on the stands today, but I figured you'd like to see it right away."

"The write¬ up of the Denham game!" I snatched the paper. "Are there any pictures?"

"Inside. Page four."

I flipped to page four. There was a picture of George getting a rebound, a picture of George passing the ball, and a picture of Brian Drake, a senior, shooting the ball over the head of a Denham player. I examined the pictures closely. In one I thought I saw Kevin in the background, but someone's arm covered his face and I couldn't quite make out the number on his jersey.

"Is something wrong?" Dad asked.

"I was just looking for a picture of, um, the winning basket."

"Oh, yes." Dad sipped his coffee. "The photographer was bumped just as he took that one. It turned out blurry." He nibbled a piece of toast. "Those are great shots of George Turner, though, aren't they? The coach said he played a terrific game."

"Mmm." I turned back to the front page and glanced through the story. George Turner … Turner …. Ah, finally. Game winning basket by Kevin Laconia. Not exactly what I'd hoped for, but his name in print, nevertheless. The entire article, including the one photograph that possibly included Kevin, was something to save and re-read and dream of Kevin.

All day at school conversations centered on the upcoming tournament game. Students lined up to buy tickets and reserve seats on the buses to
Middletown
. By afternoon, copies of the Waterside Reporter were circulating everywhere. The
New Haven
paper's article had consisted of a box score and one sentence declaring a Denham player top scorer in a losing effort. So everyone was eager to relive the game through the Reporter. There was something about a newspaper you could actually hold in your hands that somehow made it special. At least in my mind.

I wished Coach Bartlett had said more about Kevin. I hoped Kevin realized that it was the coach who provided all the details. I had wanted to approach him and comment on the write up of the game, but since it was mostly about George I didn't know what to say.

After school I stared into my locker, trying to decide what books I needed to take home. Walt wasn't around. I wondered if I should wait for him. He hadn't said anything about being late, and he had made a big production of being my diet and exercise guardian. I'd feel silly walking all the way to his house without him. Of course, I could always take a longer route home. I hated the thought of giving up my extra walking. Already it had become a habit I didn't want to break.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, expecting to see Walt.

"Hi." It was Kevin. He set his gym bag on the floor and rested his hands against the lockers, with me between his arms.

"Hi, Kevin." I peeked up at him, trying to stand completely still. I couldn't move without touching him.

"I really like the front page of the Reporter this week."

"Oh?" I stared at the second button on Kevin's shirt. Three dark hairs curled above it.

"At least one newspaper gave our game some coverage."

I glanced up briefly to see Kevin's gray eyes focused intently on me. I felt his warm breath on my face. "I'm glad you liked the article." I stared at the shirt button again. "I wish there had been more pictures." More pictures of you!

"Are you going to the tournament game?"

"I bought my ticket today."

"Great. I expect to hear you cheering for Waterside." Kevin put his hand under my chin and tilted my head up.

I closed my eyes and held my breath.

"Kevin. There you are." Nicole beamed down out of nowhere.

My eyes flew open.

Nicole flashed her dazzling smile. "Hi, Mattie," she said without looking at me. "Kevin, you don't want to be late for practice, do you?"

"I was just on my way." Kevin leaned down and picked up his gym bag. "See you, Mattie."

As Kevin and Nicole walked away, she turned around and gave me a condescending half smile.

I slumped against my locker, waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal. I took a deep breath.

"Oh, good. You waited for me." Walt trotted up to his locker. "I was helping Laura finish her chemistry experiment." Laura Arsenault was Walt's lab partner.

I stepped away from Walt's locker as he jumped to find a book.

"You didn't mind waiting, did you?" Walt asked as he landed, book in hand. "I tried to hurry."

"No, I didn't mind waiting," I said. "I didn't mind at all."

 

Chapter
Five

 

I stepped off the bus in front of the gym at
Wesleyan
University
. "Fresh air at last."

"And not one chorus of 'Ninety nine Bottles of Beer on the Shelf' too soon," said Erwina with a sigh of relief.

Four buses from Waterside made the dark, winding, twenty five mile trip to
Middletown
. One for the team and cheerleaders, one for the Pep Band, and two packed to capacity with restless, enthusiastic students.

Erwina and I followed the crowd snaking its way through the row of doors leading into the gymnasium. We were funneled through gates, had our tickets taken and hands stamped, and were herded into the gym. I felt so much like a steer in a corral that I had to suppress an urge to bellow.

The gym looked humungous compared to the one at Waterside. A low wall with signs proclaiming "Official Personnel Only" surrounded the floor. Uniformed guards patrolled the gates. That meant no fans would be able to congratulate the team after the game. We'd have wait until everybody got back to Waterside.

The seats seemed to rise several stories high. I checked my ticket stub, hoping my seat would not be too far up. Heights made me dizzy. The openings between rows of seats looked big enough for a person to slip through and fall to the floor. I followed Erwina up the steps.

"Here's our row," Erwina said.

We were ten rows up. I looked down. I decided I could probably survive a fall from there. I clutched the back of Erwina's jacket with one hand and my tote bag with another as we stumbled over dozens of feet on our way to our seats.