Fat Cat (12 page)

Then he lightened the mood with a few short poems, one involving a girl with yellow eyes and the other about a dog who scooted his butt along the rug every time the poet and his girlfriend tried to make out.

That's what I love about poetry--you just never know what you're going to get.

I kept glancing at Greg to see how he was taking it. He seemed pretty happy in his own little world, tearing his napkin into tiny strips and laying them out on his place mat like logs. Just a few more napkins and he could have built a fort.

There was a break after the second poet. Greg immediately jumped up. "Anyone want anything to drink?" Jordan asked him for a Coke.
As soon as Greg was gone, the three of us leaned forward again for a quick consultation.

"He's totally bored," Amanda said.

"Too bad," I said. "I'm not leaving."

"That first woman sucked," Jordan said.

"Shhh," Amanda answered. "She was fine."

"If he wants to leave, I'll go home with you guys," I offered.

"He's here to be with you," Jordan said. "He's not leaving till he gets some."

Jordan dodged Amanda's punch. "I'm kidding! He's totally cool. Don't worry, Cat."

"You swear?"

"I told him you're like a sister to me. Nothing's happening. Unless you make the move--"

"He's coming--" Amanda said.

We all jerked upright and tried to look casual.

Amanda let out a muffled laugh and leaned forward once more to whisper, "I can't believe we're on a date together. Finally."

I smiled. It actually was starting to feel a little fun. I wasn't expecting that.

We sat through two more sets of two poets each, and then it was Amanda's turn. And I have to admit I felt incredible pride showing her off to someone new.

I leaned toward Greg and whispered, "You're going to love her. She's really great."

Greg reached down and found my hand. He squeezed it and kept holding on. He brought his lips right up against my ear. "I think
you're
really great."

I know Amanda's poems were wonderful tonight. I just didn't hear a single one of them.

32

A
s we walked out of the cafe
, the four of us together, Greg was still holding my hand. Amanda widened her eyes at me and I couldn't even widen back. It was like I was sleepwalking.

That's exactly what it felt like. I was very, very tired. Like I'd run a marathon and was now relaxing in a tub. My limbs were buzzing and weak. I think I was in shock.

Amanda must have thought so, too, because she managed to pull me aside for a minute while the guys walked on ahead.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded.

"Cat, look at me. What's going on?"

"I think he likes me."

"Der. Do you like him?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you want to ride home with him?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said.

"Because if you're nervous at all--"

"I'm completely nervous!" I answered. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I told Jordan to put the fear of God into him. Right now he's telling Greg if he lays a hand on you--"

"He was holding my hand," I said. "Did you see that?"

"Is that okay?" Amanda asked.

"I have no idea." A sort of hysterical giggle was working its way up my throat.

Ahead of us Jordan gave Greg a stout punch to the arm. That must have been the end of their man talk.
"So if you kiss her I'll rip your face off, 'kay, bro?"
Whatever he said, Greg seemed to take it well. He punched Jordan back.

"Ready, Cat?" Greg asked, removing his keys from his pocket. We were already at his car. Jordan and Amanda had parked farther on.

Amanda tilted her head and looked at me. "Say the word--"

"It's okay," I whispered. "It's a short drive."

Greg opened the door for me again. I could see Amanda gave him points for that, too.

"I'll come by tomorrow," Amanda promised. I nodded and slipped into the car.

As soon as he started the ignition, Greg reached over and took my hand again. It was just like what I'd seen Jordan do with Amanda after the last Poetry Night. How weird. I never would have guessed that a month later that would be me.

We didn't talk at all on the way home. Greg stroked his thumb across the top of my hand, and that completely rendered me mute. I'm not sure I was even breathing. It felt like I was watching the whole thing from somewhere above my body.

When he pulled up in front of my house, Greg parked the car,
turned off the engine, and unclipped his seat belt. I kept mine on and stared straight ahead.

"Cat?"

I didn't want to look at him, because I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next. I've seen enough movies.

"Okay, so see ya," I said, trying to will myself to open the door.

"Cat." This time it was a statement, not a question, and for some reason that's what got me. I turned to him more slowly than I knew I could. Greg reached out and gently cupped my chin in his hand. Then he pulled me toward him and lowered his mouth and kissed me softly on the lips.

It was my first kiss ever.

And it felt exactly the way I was afraid it would feel.

33

A
manda usually sleeps until noon on Sundays
. Which is why I wasn't at all prepared to see her at my door at ten.

"Tell me everything."

I wasn't so sure about that. Being a romantic, Amanda probably didn't want to know I was sick to my stomach this morning. And that I made fabulous whole wheat and blueberry waffles for everyone else, but didn't have a bite myself. Or that my family was under strict instructions to tell anyone who called
--anyone
--that I wasn't available today. I didn't add that I would never be available again.

"Well?" Amanda prodded. I made her wait until we could get to my room and shut the door.

"I don't like him."

She looked so disappointed. "Oh." "He's just not ... right."

Amanda flopped onto my bed. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know."

"Well, let's go down the list. The way he looks?"

"No, that's okay."

"Too boring? Too jockish?"

"No."

"Slimy hands? Stinky breath?" "No."

"Then what?" Amanda asked. I shrugged.

"Did he try anything?" Amanda asked. "Yes."

"He did? Like what?"

I hesitated to tell her, but I knew there was no way I could avoid it. "We kissed a little." "WHAT?"

"Shhh! We kissed. It wasn't good."

Amanda slid off my bed and sat on the floor. She patted the carpet next to her. "You sit here and tell me absolutely everything, missy. From start to finish. Don't you dare leave anything out."

So I did. From the cupping of the chin to the soft first kiss to the deeper kisses that followed.

"So what was the problem?" Amanda asked. "Is he bad at it?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, was it too ... tonguey?"

"Ew," I said. "No."

"Then what?"

"I just didn't ... feel anything, you know? I mean, I felt something, but not ... you know, fireworks or anything."

Amanda squinted at me. Squinted and stared me down. "Oh, I see."

"What?" I asked.

"I understand."

"Understand what?"

She stood up and brushed off her pants. "Okay, well, that explains a lot."

"What?" I demanded. She can be so exasperating at times.

"I won't bother you again," Amanda said. She didn't seem angry, just ... resolved.

I followed her out to the kitchen, where she started snooping around all my latest creations. She cut herself a slice of banana bread (I figured out how to make it the hominin way) and slathered it with butter. "So," she said brightly, "what do you want to do today?"

Something was up with her, I just didn't know what. "Come on--out with it. What do you want to say?"

"Nothing," she answered innocently.

"You think I'm going to end up a dried-up old hag."

"No. Probably. It's fine."

I pinched her arm.

"Ow!"

"Say it," I demanded. "Now."

Amanda took a deep breath. "Fine. But you have to listen to me and not argue."

I knew this wasn't going to be good.

"I think a certain someone broke your heart," Amanda began. "And whether you admit it or not, now you feel like you can't ever let yourself like anyone again."

I started to protest, but she held up her hand. "I know what you're going to say, but you're wrong. The Cat and Matt show is still alive and well in your poor little heart, and no guy--even if he's the greatest guy in the world, which I'm not saying Greg is, but just for the sake of argument--no one is going to stand a chance with you until we finally do something about this."

My little brother came in just then, so we immediately changed the subject. Amanda made small talk with Peter for a few minutes--something she's always been so much better at with him than I have. He grabbed some food and went back to watching TV, and Amanda and I returned to my bedroom.

"You're wrong," I said as soon as I closed the door. "That's not it at all."

"It isn't? Then why haven't you liked a single guy
ever
since seventh grade?"

"There just hasn't been anyone."

"Anyone like him, you mean."

"No," I said. "Anyone period. I'm definitely open to the right guy. I just don't think Greg is it."

Amanda kicked off her shoes and sat back on the floor, leaning against my bed. "Are you telling me you have no feelings whatsoever for Matt anymore?"

"None. Except disgust--does that count?" I threw her a pillow off my bed and grabbed one for myself. I sat next to her and cushioned my back, even though hominins sat on the hard dirt. This wasn't a hominin moment.

"You know what they say," Amanda said. "Hatred isn't the opposite of love, it's just another variation of it. They both mean you still have passionate feelings for someone. If you didn't feel anything at all, then I'd say you were free of him."

"I don't feel anything," I said. "I hardly even notice him."

"So if Matt McKinney came here today, and fell on bended knee, and begged your forgiveness--"

"It wouldn't matter. I don't care anymore."

"Hmm," Amanda said, clearly not convinced. "You keep telling yourself that. Meantime, what are you going to do about Greg?"

"I don't know, hide."

34

Day 54, Monday, October 13

Lunch:
None. Brought some great leftovers from last night, but a certain someone had to stick his grubby fingers in there, and it wasn't very appetizing after that. Oh, well, I'm probably not going to starve to death just from missing one meal.

Although I couldn't help wondering what Hominin Woman would have done in my place. Probably speared the guy through the heart with a sharp stick. Just saying.

I know there's some science behind this. I know there must be some perfect biological explanation for why, even when you don't really like a guy, it's almost impossible to be mean to him once you've kissed him.

So I guess I have a boyfriend now.

The data:

He walks with me to all my classes. He drapes his big swimmer arm over my shoulders and leans into me as we walk through the halls, and it's a good thing I have such a sturdy build or I'm sure my legs would collapse from the weight of him.

He eats lunch with me every other day. He sits there like we're a couple, like we're still double-dating with Amanda and Jordan, and he picks food out of my containers with his bare fingers, even though the look on my face should tell him I'm entirely grossed out by that.

But I don't say anything because the whole thing feels like this bizarre experiment or joke or dream or something. I don't even know how to act.

Mostly I just want to put my head down on the table and take a nap. For some reason being around that guy is like a sleeping pill. Amanda says it's because my hormones are on overload. She thinks it's my body's defense mechanism to keep me from throwing myself at guys.

I say it's because I am so clearly not meant for a relationship, my brain is signaling that to me by shutting down whenever Greg is around. It's gotten so bad I'm afraid it's going to affect my test scores.

Today's a perfect example. Greg plopped down next to me at lunch, started picking the pine nuts and cranberries off my wild rice, and meanwhile handed me five sheets of scribbled algebra.

"Hey, babe, would you mind looking at this?"

Amanda and I both mouthed,
"Babe?"

It was so ridiculous--and he's so incredibly bad at math--I actually sat there and corrected his homework more as a mental exercise than anything else, just to make sure all my synapses were still firing.

If I'd lost my knowledge of algebra, then I'd know I was destined to be alone.

After lunch Greg walked me to Mr. Fizer's class. He's been doing that lately, and to tell the truth, it's the one time I don't mind him hanging on me the way he does. Because of course Matt sees us. He always has this look of utter disgust, like he can't believe some guy--some guy he actually knows--would even like me. Well, Matt, he does. Deal with it.

Greg deposited me at the door and went for the kiss. I turned my head to the side at the last minute so his lips landed on my cheek.

"See ya later, babe." And then Greg made the monumental mistake of slapping me on the behind.

Nobody touches the butt.

My whole body stiffened. My mouth got small and angry. And I saw Matt sitting inside the room, watching.

"Don't ever do that," I told Greg, my voice icier than I've ever heard it in my life.

He chuckled and slapped my butt again.

Big mistake. My arms are really strong.

35

Y
ou'd think after pushing a guy so hard
he lost his footing and had to stumble backward three or four feet before catching himself, he'd take the hint and go bother some other girl. But not Greg.