Just as Long as We're Together (14 page)

El C1iunko! I didn't wait for another word. I shoved my chair back and stood up so fast it toppled over. "And this . . . in case you're wondering . . ." I said, pointing at Eric, "this is the Class Asshole!"

Everyone laughed like crazy for a minute, then the room fell silent again. Mrs. Zeller looked right at me and said,"I'm going to forget I heard yu use that word in class. . . but I never want to hear it again. Do you understand?"

I wiped my sweaty palms off on my jeans. "Yes," I said.

Then the bell rang and everybody rushed off to their first period classes.

At lunchtime the first one of us to reach the cafeteria gets on line and buys three cartons of milk. Today it was me. But Alison met me at the cash register. "Eric didn't mean anything, you

know," she said. "It was just his idea of a joke."

"Some joke!" I walked across the cafeteria in a huff.

Alison followed. "Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. I just don't see how you can like him."

"Mom says there's no accounting for taste," Alison said.

"I guess this proves she's right!"

The three of us share a lunch table with Miri Levine, Kara Klaff and two other girls. Eric Macaulay, Peter Klaff and their friends sit two tables away from us. Today they also had Max Wilson with them. I set the milk cartons down and took a seat with my back to the boys. Rachel sat opposite me. "Who is that guy?" she asked.

"What guy?" I said.

"That comely guy with Eric and Peter."

"What's comely?" Alison asked.

"Attractive. . . good looking. . . cute. . ."

"You think he's cute?" I said.

"Yes," Rachel said, "very."

"Then why didn't you just say so in the first place?" I asked.

"Because I like the way comely sounds," Rachel said. "I think it suits him."

"His name is Max Wilson," Alison told her. "He's new . . . he's in our homeroom . . . he's from Kansas City."

"The one in Missouri," I added, as I opened my lunch bag and spread out a tunafish sandwich with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise, a bag of Fritos, two doughnuts and an apple.

"He's in my Spanish .class," Alison continued, "and he couldn't answer one question. He's a complete airhead."

"I'll bet he's at least 5'8"," Rachel said, staring. "Did you hear what Alison said?" I asked. "She said he's a complete airhead."

"You can'tjudge a person's intelligence by how he behaves in one class on his first day at a new school," Rachel said.

"Especially if he's a comely new person," Alison said.

"Oh, right," I added, "especially if he's really comely." Alison and I laughed and laughed.

Rachel pushed up her sleeves. "Sometimes the two of you act like complete airheads!"

29.

El Chunko.

Aunt Denise gave Mom an exercise tape for Christmas. When Mom got home from work on Monday night, she put on shorts and a T-shirt, shoved the tape into the VCR and jumped around doing something called Jazzercise.

I made myself a snack of rye bread slathered with cream cheese, then curled up in my favorite chair in the den and watched as Mom huffed and puffed her way through the tape. Mom is shaped like a pear, small on top and wider on the bottom. She says there's nothing you can do about the way you're built. It's all in the genes.

I draped my legs over the arm of the chair and devoured the rye bread as Mom lay on her

mat doing some kind of fancy sit-ups to an old Michael Jackson song. Mom copied everything the Jazzercise leader did. When the leader asked, Are you smiling? Mom smiled. When she asked, Are you still breathing? Mom shouted, "Yes!"

"You know what Eric Macaulay called me today?" I asked Mom.

"What?" she said, without missing a beat.

"He called me El Chunko.. . so then I called him an asshole."

I expected Mom to give me a lecture about using unacceptable language at school. But instead she said, "You have gained weight, Steph. Why don't you join me . . . Jazzercise is fun!" She was on her hands and knees raising one leg to the side, then the other. Each time she did, she groaned.

"It doesn't look like fun," I said.

"It's not as bad as it looks." She was panting so hard she could barely talk.

When that number was over the Jazzercise leader applauded and said, Give your gluts a hand!

Mom sat up and applauded, too.

"Where are your gluts?" I asked.

"Back here," Mom said, grabbing the lower part of her backside.

"Oh," I said.

The next day Mom brought home a digital scale. When she stepped on it her weight flashed across the screen in red numbers. "You're next, Steph."

"No thanks."

"Come on. . ."

"I said no thanks!"

"Look," Mom said, "I know you don't want to talk about this but I'm concerned about your health. I need to know exactly how much weight you've gained since the school year began."

"A few pounds," I. said. Actually, I had no idea how much weight I'd gained. The school nurse weighs us the first week of school but other than that I haven't been near a scale.

"Stephanie," Mom said, sounding very serious, "get on the scale."

"Not with my clothes on."

"Okay. . . then get undressed."

"Not in front of you."

"I'm your mother."

"I know! That's the point."

"Then get undressed in the bathroom.. . but hurry up."

I could tell Mom was losing patience with me. So I went to the bathroom, took off all my clothes, wrapped myself in a towel, then ran back to Mom's room and stepped on the scale.

"Stephanie!" Mom said, as the numbers flashed.

"This scale is at least ten pounds overweight," I told her.

"No, it's not. It's exactly right. I'm calling Dr. Klaff in the morning. We've got to do something about this."

"Don't call Dr. Klaff!" I said. I could just see the Klaff family at the dinner table talking about me. Stephanie Hirsch has gained quite a bit of weight, Dr. Klaff would say.

And Kara would say, I'm not surprised. I'm at her lunch table and she's been pigging out since Thanksgiving.

Then Peter would say, I used to like her, but that was before she turned into El Chunko. Now I'm not so sure. I don't even know if I'm going to dance with her at the Ground Hog.Day dance.

Then Kara would say, But Peter. . . if you don't, who will?

"I want Dr. Klaff to recommend a sensible diet," Mom was saying, "not one of those fad diets that ruins your health."

"Who said anything about a diet?" I asked.

"How do you expect to lose weight without a diet and exercise?"

"I don't know."

That night after dinner Mom cleaned out the pantry. She got rid of every cookie, pretzel and potato chip. Then she attacked the freezer, pulling out the frozen cakes and doughnuts. "From

now on," she said, "it's carrot and celery sticks for snacks."

I watched as Mom packed all the goodies into a shopping bag. "What are you going to do with them?"

"I'm taking them to Aunt Denise's house. Howard and his friends can have it all."

"Don't you care about his weight and health?"

"Howard is as thin as a flagpole," Mom said.

"I'm going to starve," I said. "I won't have enough energy left to exercise."

"You'll have more energy than you do now," Mom told me. "Wait and see."

That night I stood naked in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was steamy from my bath, but I could see enough. My breasts were growing or else they were just fat. It was hard to tell. Maybe if I lost weight, I'd lose them, too. My gluts were pretty disgusting. When I jumped up and down they shook. The hair down there, my pubic hair, was growing thicker. It was much darker than the hair on my head. My legs weren't bad but my feet were funny-looking. My second toes were longer than my big toes.

"Stephanie!" Bruce called, banging on the bathroom door. "I've got to go."

I put on my robe and opened the door. "It's all yours."

"I can't breathe in here," he said, fanning the air. "Why do you have to steam it up every night?"

"Steam is good for you," I told him. "It opens your pores."

"Where are your pores?"

"You'll find out when you're my age."

30.

Flings.

The phone rang just as we were finishing dinner the next night. It was Dad.

"How's school?" he asked me. "Fine."

"How are Rachel and Alison?" "Fine."

"How's the weather?" "Cold with a chance of snow." "What's new?"

"Nothing."

After that there was a minute of silence. Probably Dad was trying to think of some other question for me. When he couldn't he said, "Well

why don't you put Bruce on?"

I was at my desk later, doing math homework

and humming along with the Top Forty songs on my radio, when Mom came to my room. She stood behind me with her hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "Did something happen between you and Dad over the holidays?" When I didn't answer Mom continued, "I couldn't help noticing how distant you were to him on the phone."

"It has to do with Iris," I said. This was the first time I'd said Iris's name at home.

"Is she the woman Dad's seeing?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure if you knew."

"I don't know the details," Mom said, "but I know he's met someone."

"Doesn't it bother you?" I asked.

"I guess I don't like the idea of being replaced so easily."

I turned around and faced Mom. "You're not being replaced! Iris is just a fling."

Mom laughed.

"it's not funny!"

"I know. . . and you're probably right. . . it's just a fling."

I was glad Mom agreed with me. I felt a lot better until she said, "I imagine I'll have my own fling one of these days."

"You!" I said. "When?"

"I don't know."

"Will it be before or after my birthday?"

Mom laughed again.

"I'm serious," I told her. "I want to know."

"Forget it, Steph."

"No, I'm not going to forget it. Is having a fling part of a trial separation? Is it something everyone does?"

"I was just kidding," Mom said.

But I knew she wasn't.

31.

Thoughts.

Jeremy Dragon is available again! But the three of us can't be happy about it because Dana is so miserable. She came to the bus stop the following Monday morning with red and swollen eyes. "It's all over," she said, holding up her naked wrist.

"What happened?" Rachel asked.

"We went to a party and he made out with Marcella, that eighth grade slut." Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Alison put her arm around Dana's waist. "I'm really sorry."

I gave Dana a tissue to blow her nose.

"I trusted him," Dana said. "I trusted him with my innermost feelings and he betrayed me."

I felt a lump in my throat. If this was love you could have it!

"I don't know how I'm going to face him on the bus this. morning," Dana said. "Do you think I could sit with the three of you.. . because my closest friends don't ride this bus and . . ."

"We'd be honored," Rachel said.

"And we'll never speak to Jeremy again!" I promised.

When the bus stopped we got on and found seats together. At the next stop, when Jeremy got on and greeted us in his usual way, "Hey, Macbeth!" we turned away from him.

I was very glad to see Mrs. Remo back at her desk in homeroom. Mrs. Zeller had never forgiven me for saying the A-word in class, and I'd felt uncomfortable around her all week long. After Mrs. Remo took attendance she stood and said, "I want to thank all of you for your kind thoughts and generous contribution to the Cancer Society in memory of my father. He was a fine man and I'm going to miss him very much." She choked up~ "But he had a long, productive life and that's what counts."

I felt another lump in my throat. This one was even bigger than the one at the bus stop. This

one made me think about my father. Sometimes I feel guilty because I don't miss him that much, especially since the holidays. I think if he would just stay in L.A. everything would be okay. Maybe it would be different if Mom cried all the time or seemed depressed, but she doesn't. I think it would be a lot harder for us if Dad lived nearby and we had to go visit him and Iris.

Still, as Mrs. Remo told us about her father, I imagined all the terrible things that could happen to Dad. I imagined him crashing into a van on the Freeway, drowning in the ocean, having a heart attack at work. I couldn't stand the idea of anything happening to him, especially if he didn't know I still love him.

As soon as I got to math class I opened my notebook and started a letter.

Dear Dad,

I was thinking of you this morning. And I was wondering if you think I don't love you anymore? In case you don't know, I still do. But sometimes I get really mad and I don't know how to tell you. I got really mad about you and Iris because Bruce and I thought we were coming to L.A. to spend the holidays just with you. So naturally we were surprised and disappointed to find Iris there. Also, I hate it when you ask me so many questions over the phone. I especially hate it when you ask me about the

weather. You never ask Bruce about the weather. If you want to know about the

weather that much why don't you listen to the

national weather report? Another thing is, I was wondering how you feel about me...

Alison tugged at my arm. "Steph . . . he just called you to the board."

I looked up and Mr. Burns was staring at me. "I won't even ask where your mind is this morning, Stephanie. It's clear that it's somewhere else. But if you wouldn't mind taking your turn at the board. . ."

I walked up to the blackboard and stood between Peter Klaff and Emily Giordano. Somehow I was able to solve the problem quickly and

get it right. I would have to finish my letter to

Dad during English.

But once a week, when we come into Mr. Diamond's class, we have a special writing assignment. And today was the day. Mr. Diamond had printed the topic on the board: I Used To Be... But I'm Not Anymore. Mr. Diamond never grades these papers. He just writes comments. Also, spelling and grammar don't count. What counts is our ideas and how we present them. The following week he'll choose two or three papers to read out loud but he never tells us who wrote them. Sometimes you can figure it out, though.