How Not To Be Popular (4 page)

I noticed it yesterday, and today decided to treat myself to a nice stress release. So after racing home for a snack and a quick change into workout wear, I pack up a bag with a towel and a bottle of water and jog out to the place.

Over the past five years, I’ve gotten really good at yoga. I like the way it steadies me and shushes up my mind. I’m still a little wobbly in the pretzel poses, but my strength and balance have improved, and Rosie says it’s turned my aura a deeper shade of indigo.

At the front counter I’m greeted by a lady with a ponytail gathered at the exact top of her head. She hands me a couple of forms to fill out, along with a list of classes and a temporary membership card.

“Your-first-week-is-free-and-after-that-there’s-a-monthly-fee-but-you-get-unlimited-classes-and-time-o
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n-the-equipment,” she says, her mouth moving like hummingbird wings.

“My-name’s-Gayla-come-get-meif-you-need-me.” She gives a little twinkle of a smile and flounces off in the direction of the treadmills.

I wonder what her hurry is if they’re so big on unlimited time.

I finish filling out the forms and glance over the class schedule. Luckily I’ve brought along my faded tankini, so I can at least do a few laps in the pool if there’s nothing going on today that I like.

Let’s see…. Step class? No. Too spastic. Kickboxing? Nope. Getting my ass kicked is not my preferred way of working out. There’s no yoga anywhere on the schedule, but there is a Pilates class that starts in ten minutes.

That will do. Pilates is sort of like yoga, only with less focus on meditation and breathing and more on body shaping. I’m pretty sure it was invented by yoga fanatics who said, “Screw inner peace. I just want killer glutes.”

I hear a rush of sounds as the front door opens behind me.

“Oh god. Look,” mutters someone in a snippy female voice.

I turn around and find Caitlyn, Shanna, and Sharla standing on the pink hourglass welcome rug.

“Hi, there,” Caitlyn says in a phony, sticky-sweet voice. “What are you doing here?” I want to say “Getting an oill change,” but I don’t. “I just joined.” Sharla gives me one of those up-and-down looks that popular girls have a patent on, taking in my yoga pants, baby tee, and worn-out walking shoes. I can almost hear her thoughts, all slow and snide-sounding. So it’s no surprise when she asks, “Are you taking the Pilates class?” I feel rattly inside. Obviously if they’re just showing up, they’re here for the same class.
Damn!
I need exercise more than air right now, but spending an hour with them could very well make me explode in a shower of half-absorbed strawberries and kinky brown hair. They’ll probably make fun of my every move. And if not, what if I forget again and start acting like one of them?

“Nuh-uh,” I say, shaking my head.

Surprise smooths out Sharla’s frowny features for a second. “So what are you taking?” My eyes quickly flit around the gym as if searching for a Bright Idea sign…and then I see it: an actual sign. There’s a paper taped to the wall reading Water Aerobics This Way.

“That one,” I say, motioning toward the notice. Already a couple of elderly women in skirted swimsuits are heading down the hallway in the direction of the arrow.

“Water aerobics?” Caitlyn exclaims, not even attempting to disguise her revulsion. Sharla breaks out in high-pitched bleating. Shanna, of course, just stares.

“That’s right,” I say. Hoisting my gym bag, I race into the nearby locker room.

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Once inside I sit down on a wooden bench and close my eyes. The heavy air is spiked with the competing scents of hair spray and BO, but I go ahead and fill my lungs in some cleansing yoga breaths.

So it’s come to this. I am now supposed to hang out with the support-hose-and-hip-replacement crowd.

If I didn’t want to like Austin, I’m certainly succeeding.

“Hi.”

A familiar throaty voice yanks me out of my thoughts. I open my eyes and see my self-appointed lunch mate, Penny, standing in front of me. She’s wearing an orange swimsuit with yellow polka dots, piping, and a peplum skirt. On her head is a plastic swim cap with flappy butterflies all over. Her body is pale and freckled, with a major case of knock-knees. And even though her thighs and upper arms are rather widish, and her long curved belly sticks out farther than her breasts, she really isn’t as heavy as her chubby face would have you believe. In fact, she looks sort of…strong.

I suddenly realize I’m giving her the once-over, just like the Bippies did me. “Hi,” I reply, snapping my gaze to her eyes.

“Are you here for the water workout?” she asks, pointing in the direction the sign indicated. Funny how she doesn’t seem at all surprised to see me here. For that matter, I’m really not that shocked either.

Guess I’m getting used to her popping up all the time.

“Yeah,” I answer, unzipping my bag and pulling out my swimsuit.
I guess I am.

“Here. You’ll need to wear this. It’s required.”

I glance back up and see that she’s holding out another rubbery swim cap. Light pink with little flappy flower thingies stuck all over it.

“We need to hurry,” Penny says, pointing to a clock hanging from the ceiling. “The class starts in one minute and forty-five seconds.”

I follow her as she heads down the gym corridor, her orange flip-flops making loud
swack
ing sounds.

She has a strange, lumbering walk, as much sideways motion as forward momentum. And as she rocks from side to side, her arms swing far back, hands open and flailing—sort of like a toddler.

Her face is all crumpled up in worry, just like earlier in the cafeteria when she was late for her medicine.

It’s obvious she’s really into being on time, and I feel a little guilty that she waited for me.

As we pass a room to our left, I catch sight of Caitlyn, Shanna, and Sharla all folded over in a spine stretch. Shanna, who seems to be struggling a little, doesn’t see us, but Caitlyn and Sharla both erupt into twittery giggles. I quicken my step. Penny doesn’t even notice.

Finally we push through a squeaky glass door and head into a large natatorium with gray-green tiles, gray-green walls, and gray-green water. The only contrasting colors come from the bathing suits and swim caps worn by the four elderly women standing waist-deep in the pool.

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“Oh, look! There she is,” says a lady in a purple one-piece.

“Penelope, dear!” calls out a very tall, angular woman in hot pink, her voice echoing slightly. “We were worried you wouldn’t make it.”

Penny takes off her shoes, sets her towel on a metal bench, and wades down the steps into the water. “I was helping Maggie,” she explains. “She forgot a swim cap.” All heads pivot toward me. Once again, I imagine their thoughts and see myself through their eyes: tallish, skinny, long-waisted girl whose coral tankini clashes with the skin pink bathing cap. Without all my hair hanging down, I feel extra gangly and awkward, and I wonder if they see me as another Penny. It upsets me a little to think so, especially since I’m not
trying
to be weird right now.

“Hello, dear. Please come join us,” calls the lady in pink.

“Better hurry, Maggie,” Penny shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Class starts in less than a minute.”

I toss my towel on the bench and ease myself into the pool. The water is bathtub warm and reeks of chemicals. I slowly make my way over to the others and stand beside Penny.

“Maggie, this is Helen,” she says, pointing to the pink-clad woman, “that’s Mabel”—she points to the one in purple—“and Doris and Barb.” She points to the two at the end of the lineup—a tiny frail-looking lady in a tropical-patterned suit and a heavyset one in black “slimming” swimwear. Everyone smiles and nods.

“Are you from Penny’s school?” Helen asks.

“Yes, ma’am. I just moved here from the West Coast.”

The large woman, Barb, makes a harrumphing noise that bounces harshly off the walls. “All these folks moving here from California…they’re the ones making traffic worse and driving up our property taxes!” Her voice is deep and braying, almost manly, and I instinctively shrink back out of her line of sight.

Helen laughs lightly and leans across Penny toward me. “Don’t mind Barb,” she says, her blue eyes glittering under the fluorescents. “She’s not happy unless she’s mad about something.” I smile and nod.

“Oh, and no need to call me ma’am. I’m really not that much older than you,” she adds with a wink.

Barb makes another harrumphing sound.

Right at this moment the door squeals open and a muscular woman in a red racer-type swimsuit strides into the room.

“All right, ladies! Spread out and get ready for leg lifts!” she shouts at near-Barb volume.

For the next half hour, the teacher (she never gives her name or asks me for mine) commands us to do several reps of lifts, bends, kicks, and side stretches. The movements are tougher than they look and I find myself straining to keep up at times. Penny is a star student, Mabel whimpers, and Barb, of course,
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complains loudly—which makes Helen laugh and shake her head. Occasionally Doris will slip and go underwater, requiring Barb to stop what she’s doing, reach down, and lift her back onto her feet.

“Whoopsie!” Doris says each time, with a tinkly laugh, followed by various grumblings from Barb.

I can feel some stress working its way out of my body. I can’t believe I’m here, with these people, wearing a dorky rubber cap and moving like a marionette. If my cool friends from the past could see this, they’d disown me forever.

Only…they kind of already have. Except maybe Lorraine. And she hasn’t replied to any of my messages since we left Portland three weeks ago.

“You’re doing really well for your first time,” Penny says to me as we stop for a quick breather.

“She sure is,” Helen remarks. “You fit right in, Maggie.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

But her comment makes me feel sad.

By the time I walk back to our shop, my arms and legs feel all loose and floppy. Our upstairs apartment is completely empty. Judging by the silence, I figure Rosie and Les are probably working in the store. I head into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, hoping to claim the leftover avocado salad, but it’s not there. I grab a carrot instead, shut the door, and immediately let out a yelp.

Rosie is suddenly standing there. Usually I know she’s around by the swishy sounds of her skirts, but not this time. Probably because I’m a little dopey and worn-out from water aerobics, but also because Rosie’s naked.

“Rosie! You scared me!” I cry, clutching my chest in a mini CPR move.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a giggle, which totally annoys me. I’m really tired of being laughed at today.

She slips past me and opens the fridge. “I was hoping we had another one of those mango sodas,” she says, scanning the contents.

“There’s one in the door shelf,” I point out.

“Oooh yay!” she exclaims, doing a jiggly hop for joy. “The Universe loves me.”
Yeah,
you
maybe,
I think wearily.

“I hope you weren’t downstairs like that,” I say, sounding more snappish than I mean to.

“No, no.” Rosie flicks away my comment with a hand flourish. “I was on the roof.”

“What?” My hair whips around in a double take.

“You should go up there. It’s nice.” She opens up her bottled soda and sits down in one of the red vinyl dinette chairs.

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“But…but…” My head is suddenly throbbing. I press my fingertips to my temples and take a long breath. “What were you doing on the roof completely nude?”

“Hanging out the clothes,” she explains as if the answer should be obvious.

This is one of Rosie’s things. She loves doing laundry—specifically, hanging it to dry in the open air. This is why I don’t wear a lot of denim. Sunshine-dried blue jeans can practically stand up and walk around on their own.

“Everything takes longer to dry here because of the humidity,” she goes on. “But at least it hardly ever rains. There’s lots of sunshine. Les wants to fill a washtub with good soil and start an herb garden up there.”

I shake my head. “Rosie, we aren’t living off the land right now. We’re in the middle of the city. You can’t just stroll around naked on rooftops. They probably have laws against it. I mean…what if someone sees you?”

She shrugs. “How can they see me all the way up there?”

“We have neighbors.”

“Don’t be silly. No one else was on their roof.”

By now I’m totally exasperated. “But the building across the street has a third story! All they’d have to do is look out the windows!”

She shrugs again and takes a big sip of mango soda.

It’s no use. Trying to discuss the rules of society with my parents is like trying to talk about world economics with a couple of two-year-olds. When I started attending school, I began to realize just how different my home life is. Even though I agree with my parents on most things, I found myself constantly wishing that they’d try to fit in with the masses a little more—if only for me and the sake of my reputation.