Blob (2 page)

Halfway down the hall, I hear Zoe behind me. I catch a few words. “Mia, did you see how she…,” she says. “She's so…” Then she laughs.

I know she's talking about me. I know she wants me to hear. I want to turn around and scream at her. I want to tell her to shut up. I want to call her a gerenuk, but I can't.

I hurry into the lunchroom. Sarah is sitting at a table alone. I walk over to her.

“Hi, Sarah.”

Sarah looks up from her yogurt. “Oh, hi.”

“So how was your morning?” I sit beside her on the bench.

“Fine.” Sarah's eyes dart around the room. I glance around and see that Zoe is heading toward us.

I clench my teeth. I will not move.

“Hi, Sarah,” she says. “Oh, hi, Eve.” She eyes my lunch bag. “What do you have in there? I hope it's not fattening.”

Sarcasm drips like grease from her mouth. I want to smack her.

I try to think of something clever to lob back at her, but nothing comes to me. I just sit there. I don't know what to do so I pull a cheese sandwich out of my lunch bag.

“Is that low-fat cheese, Eve? I hope it is— for your sake,” says Zoe.

“No. Regular cheese,” I blurt out. My words sound lame, but I can't think of anything else to say. I bite into my sandwich.

Zoe makes a
tsk-tsk
sound with her tongue and wags her finger in my face. “You should really be careful what you put into your mouth, Eve. Well, I'd better go. Mia is waiting for me. She knows everybody at South View.”

Zoe points to the blond girl who had been sitting beside her in homeroom. “Meet us later, Sarah,” she says.

Sarah nods.

I watch Zoe walk away. Then Sarah stands up.

“I have to go too,” she says. “I promised to help Libby Brown with homework.”

Sarah hurries out of the lunchroom.

I'm the only one in the lunchroom eating by myself. I take another bite of sandwich. The food sticks in my throat. I have to get out of here.

I pack up the rest of my food. I scoot out of the lunchroom and down the hall to the bathroom.

No one's there. It's quiet. It smells of bathroom cleaner but that's all.

I walk into a stall, sit down on the cold black and white tiles and eat my sandwich.

“You can't lose weight by talking about it. You have to keep your mouth shut.”

—Author Unknown

chapter four

A nasty smell fills the air. I have to get out of the bathroom or I'm going to gag. I dash out and wash my hands before the girl who made the smell comes out of her stall.

Eating lunch in the bathroom is gross. I can't do that again, but where else can I go? I don't want to eat alone in the lunchroom again. When the bell rings at the end of the day, I grab my backpack and fly out the door. A block from school, I slow down. My head is spinning. All I can think about is Zoe and Sarah.

When I walk into the kitchen at home, Mom is slicing onions. “How was school?” she asks.

I know she wants me to say terrific, but I can't. It was not terrific. It was miserable.

“Fine,” I mumble.

“Do you know any of the kids?”

“A few.”

“Terrific,” says Mom. Then she putters around the kitchen. I'm relieved she's too busy to drill me.

“I'm going to do my homework,” I tell her.

“I'll call you when supper is ready. Dad's working late.”

I head for my room and sprawl on my bed. I only have a little homework—a short essay on great scientific discoveries of the twentieth century.

I close my eyes. I read that if you need to clear your head you should close your eyes, take deep breaths and think of nothing. Thinking of nothing works for a minute and a half. Then Zoe's sneering face looms up. I can almost hear her cackle “Blob” at me like a witch. I try to blink her face away. I try to shake her voice out of my head.

I turn on my computer and google
scientific discoveries twentieth century
and hit the first entry. It's nothing useful. I hit the second and third. There's not much I can use there either. I glance at the top of the screen. There are two million entries for scientific discoveries! There are robots, comets, telescopes and cures for nasty diseases like scurvy.

I start to read entry number four on discoveries in astronomy, but my mind wanders back to Sarah and Zoe. “I will not let them get to me,” I say out loud. But I need a plan.

I type in the word
diet
. There are over forty-three million entries for diets! That's forty-one million more entries for diets than there are for scientific discoveries. There are millions of ways to lose weight. I start randomly clicking on links.

There's the lemonade diet and the chicken soup diet. I consider those, but lemonade makes my teeth hurt, and chicken soup is too hot for early September. I nix the lazybones diet, the cabbage soup diet and the blueberry diet. The One Good Meal diet sounds like something you do before you are executed.

I check out a page with diet tips. I like tip number one about chewing gum whenever you feel hungry. I can't do that in school, but maybe I can skip breakfast and chew gum instead. But tip number two says to never skip breakfast. Tip number three says to take one day at a time. I can do that. All I need is the right diet.

I spot the You Can Do It in Seven Days diet. On Monday you're allowed to eat all the fruit you want except bananas. A whole day of fruit? I like fruit but…

On day two you can eat all the vegetables you want. You can even add mustard, soy sauce or vinegar. I like most vegetables but a whole day of them? And adding mustard, soy sauce or vinegar to them doesn't sound any tastier.

Day three is much better. All the fruit and vegetables you want. But day four is weird—five bananas and five glasses of milk. I hate milk except chocolate milk. I would barf on day four. But maybe barfing is part of the diet. Maybe it helps you lose weight. I don't have to become bulimic or anything. I could just have one barfy day a week. Then again, maybe I'll grow to love bananas and milk.

I'll give the You Can Do It in Seven Days diet a try.

“Probably nothing in the world arouses more false hope than the first hours of a diet.”

—Dan Bennett

chapter five

When I wake up on day one of my diet, I'm almost excited. I shoot out of bed and head down for breakfast. I gobble down a pear and an apple. I pack another apple and a pear and some grapes into a baggie for lunch.

“All I want for supper is fruit,” I tell Mom, “so don't worry about cooking for me. I'm on a diet.”

“All you eat on this diet is fruit? That's crazy,” says Mom. “You'll get sick.”

“No the first day is just fruit. Tomorrow I can eat vegetables. But just vegetables.”

Before Mom has time to lecture me about my crazy diet, I'm out the door.

I decide to smile no matter what happens today. After all, today is a new beginning. Today is the first day of my diet. Today I will not let Zoe or Sarah get to me.

A block from school, I see Carolyn and Denise heading toward South View. I went to middle school with them. I know them well enough to say hi, so I catch up with them.

“Hi!” I say.

They both smile and return the greeting.

“I like your hair short,” I tell Carolyn.

Carolyn beams as she runs her hand through her red curls. “Thanks. I thought it would look horrible this short, but now I love it. How was your first day?”

“Fine,” I say, smiling. I'm relieved I know someone at South View besides Sarah and Zoe. “How about you?”

“I hate math already. I don't understand a word Ms. Murray says. She thinks everyone is a math genius. Well, I'm not. I love Ms. Holmes in art though.”

“Me too,” I say.

“Are you joining any clubs?” asks Denise.

“I haven't thought about it,” I say. “What are you joining?”

“Choir for sure. So are Zoe and Sarah from middle school,” says Denise.

“Oh,” I say. “I can't sing.”

“Well, there are lots of other clubs. Did you see the list?”

“Not yet. I think I stuffed it into my backpack. It must be in there somewhere.”

“If you have a twelve o'clock lunch, I'll show you my list in case you lost yours,” Denise offers.

“Thanks. That would be great.” I try to sound matter-of-fact. I don't want them to know how happy I am to have someone to eat lunch with.

In homeroom I smile at Sarah as I slide into my seat. She gives me another one of her half smiles. This one is actually more like a quarter of a smile. Her lips barely turn up. Sarah's smiles are getting skinnier by the day.

After roll call Ms. Roberts reminds us to sign up for clubs by Friday. I peek into my backpack. I see a wad of papers and, yes, there's the list of clubs. I pull it out. Photography? Maybe. Knitting? No. Running Club? No. Volleyball? Maybe.

The bell rings. Sarah mutters a “See ya” and scuttles off. I gather up my stuff and head for the next class, music appreciation.

The room is packed. There's only one seat left in the back. I hurry toward it. It's right beside Zoe.

“You're in this class too?” she says. She inches her chair away from me. I try to ignore her. I glue my eyes to the front of the room. Zoe keeps moving her chair farther and farther away from me as if I had bad breath. Mr. Munroe asks us to sing in rounds as an icebreaker. I can't sing in key, so I sing as low as I can.

“Don't sing,” hisses Zoe just loud enough that the kids in our row can hear. A couple of kids snicker when Zoe clutches her chest like she's been stabbed in the heart. “You should never sing. You have an awful voice. I thought fat people were good singers. So many opera singers are fat.”

I want to slap her. I want to call her names much worse than snake or gerenuk. I bite my tongue to stop the tears from welling up. I will not let Zoe or anyone see how I feel. I try so hard not to cry I cannot hear a sound in the room.

How dare Zoe make me feel like this? I take a deep breath. I force myself to listen to Mr. Munroe. He's talking about how to hit high and low notes. I just want to hit Zoe.

When the bell rings, I dash down the hall and into the bathroom. No one is there. I walk into a stall, yank off a handful of toilet paper and sob.

I hear someone coming in. I muffle my tears, wipe my eyes with more toilet paper and flush it down.

By lunch I'm calmer. I shove Zoe to the back of my mind. I laugh with Denise and Carolyn. I joke about my fruit lunch and my crazy diet. I tell them my diet plan for the week. They can't believe I can stick to it. I assure them I will. I look longingly at their sandwiches. I want cheese. I want bread. I want eggs, chicken and chocolate. I want real food, not seven-day-diet food.

How can I eat vegetables all day tomorrow? I'm already sick of fruit after only half a day.

“Bigger snacks mean bigger slacks.”

—Author Unknown

chapter six

“I bought lots of fruit and vegetables for you,” Mom says when I get home from school.

The fruit bowl is a pyramid of pears, peaches, bananas and plums. Two cantaloupes are ripening on the counter beside a basket of tomatoes.

I open the fridge. It's bursting with apples, grapes, carrots, broccoli, string beans, lettuce, cucumbers, radishes and zucchini. How can I eat all this stuff?

I know Mom is trying to be helpful. She didn't say anything about my weight all summer, but I caught her eyeing me up and down a few times. It was like she was mentally weighing me. I could almost hear her think,
How many pounds
has Eve gained today? How can I make
her stop eating? Should I hide the food?
Should I only buy sprouts?

I don't want to have to talk to my mom about my diet, so I head to my room. There's a magazine on my bed. It's open to an article about the increase in obesity and diabetes in teenagers. I walk into the bathroom. The magazine in the wicker basket is opened to an article on weight gain and self-image. Beside it is a book called
Just Do It
. I read the back cover of the book. The book is about changing habits. It says you can change a habit in six easy steps. And the first habit is food addiction.

I don't want to read articles about being fat! I'm not a food addict! At least I wasn't till I started dieting. Now all I can think about is food. And these articles just make me think about food more.

I charge out of my room and into the kitchen. “Mom, don't leave me any more articles about food!” I snap. “It makes me crazy. I'm trying to diet and it's hard enough. I hate being fat. I hate dieting, and your articles are making everything worse.”

“I'm sorry, Eve,” says Mom. “I was only trying to help. And you're not fat. You've gained a few pounds this summer. That's all. You'll lose them.”

“Well, the articles are not helping. And I'm not a food addict. I just hate that I can't fit into my clothes.”

“Why don't we go shopping before dinner? You could pick up a few things. I promise I won't say a word about dieting.”

I know I need new clothes. I can't keep wearing the same pair of jeans and Dad's shirts. I should have gone shopping before school started. Mom suggested it a few times, but I kept saying no.

I used to love shopping before a new school year, but this year the thought makes me sick. I'm terrified of trying on clothes. What if I bump into someone from school while I'm standing beside a rack of giantsized clothes? And how many sizes bigger am I anyway? One? Two? Three?

I wish someone could just whisk clothes over to me that make me look fabulous and skinny. I wish that I've only gone up one size. I wish I looked different. I can wish all I want, but I can't change anything right away. The seven-day diet will take time to work. In the meantime, I have to get new clothes. Not a lot. Just enough to keep me going till I lose weight.