Size 14 Is Not Fat Either (30 page)

“Yeah,” Gavin says with a nod. “Last night. When he was walking me back here. Which I didn’t need, by the way. I mean, I’m twenty-one years old. I don’t need anyone to escort me back to my dorm.”

“Residence hall,” I say. “And what else did Cooper tell you about me?”

“Well, you know.” Gavin shrugs uncomfortably and turns back to the Monet on the opposite wall. “That you were really, really hurt when his brother Jordan cheated on you, and that you were confused, and you’re still getting over the loss, and aren’t ready for any new romantic relationships—”

“WHAT?” I’ve risen to my feet. “He saidwhat ?”

“Well,” Gavin says, turning his head to look at me quizzically, “you know. I mean, on account of how you’re still in love with him—”

My heart seems to explode inside my chest. “In love with WHO?”

“Well, Jordan Cartwright, of course.” Gavin looks taken aback. “Oh, shit,” he adds, when he sees my expression. “I forgot. Cooper said not to tell you what he said—you won’t tell him I told, will you? That guy kinda scares me….”

Gavin’s voice trails off as he stares at me in alarm. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s because of the way I’m hanging over my desk with my mouth wide open and my eyes spinning around in their sockets.

“Well, I mean, isn’t that why you don’t want to go to Jordan’s wedding tomorrow?” Gavin is starting to babble. “Because you’re still so in love with him, you can’t stand to see him marry someone else?

Because that’s what your friend Cooper thinks, anyway. He thinks that’s why you haven’t been able to
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move on to someone else, because you’re still mourning Jordan’s loss, and that it will be a while before you get over it—”

The scream starts at the bottom of my feet and rises steadily, like steam from a kettle. I’m about to tilt my head back to let it out when Tom comes staggering into the office, his face white as the snow outside.

He’s not carrying a tray with breakfast on it.

“They just found the rest of her,” he says, right before he collapses onto the couch beside Gavin.

The scream disappears.

“The rest of who?” Gavin wants to know.

“Lindsay,” Tom says.

24

They say that only time will tell

Until then, I’m in a living hell

What can I do, what can I say

I can’t BELIEVE how much I weigh.

“Scale”

Written by Heather Wells

Magda is at her cash register, weeping.

“Magda,” I say, for what has to be the fifth time, “just tell me. Tell me what happened.”

Magda shakes her head. Against all laws of physics and hairspray, her hair has collapsed. It droops sadly to one side of her face.

“Magda. Tell me what they found. Tom won’t talk about it. Gerald won’t let anybody into the kitchen.

The cops are on their way. Justtell me.”

Magda can’t speak. She is constricted with grief. Pete doesn’t have to argue with any of the residents he is busy herding from the cafeteria—they’re leaving of their own volition, with many nervous glances in Magda’s direction.

Considering the fact that she’s practically keening, I don’t blame them.

“Magda,” I say. “You’re hysterical. You’ve got to calm down.”

But Magda can’t. Which is why, after heaving a sigh, I haul off and slap her.

And why she, in turn, slaps me back.

“Ow!” I cry, outraged and clutching my cheek. “What did you dothat for?”

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“You hit me first!” Magda declares angrily, clutching her own cheek.

“Yeah, but you were hysterical!” Magda has some arm on her. I’m seeing stars. “I was just trying to get you to snap out of it. You didn’t have to hit me back.”

“You aren’t supposed to slap hysterical people,” Magda snaps back. “Didn’t they teach you anything in all those fancy first-aid courses they made you take?”

“Magda.” My eyes finally stop swimming in tears. “Tell me what they found.”

“I’ll show you,” Magda says, and holds out the hand she hadn’t used to smack me in the face. There, in her palm, is nestled a strange-looking object. Made of gold, it resembles an earring, only much larger, and curved. There’s a diamond on one end of it. The gold is pretty banged up, like it’s been chewed on.

“What is that?” I ask, gazing down at it.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?”

Both Magda and I are startled by the reaction of Cheryl Haebig as she and her boyfriend Jeff pass us on the way out of the cafeteria. Cheryl’s eyes are wide, her gaze glued to the object in Magda’s hand. Pete, who is trying to herd everyone out of the place, looks frustrated.

“Cher,” Jeff says, tugging on his girlfriend’s arm, “come on. They want us to leave.”

“No,” Cheryl says, shaking her head, her gaze still fixed on what Magda is holding. “Where you did get that? Tell me.”

“Do you recognize it, Cheryl?” I ask her—though it’s obvious from her reaction that she does. Also that I probably don’t want to know why. “What is it?”

“It’s Lindsay’s navel ring,” Cheryl says. Her face has gone as white as the blouse she’s wearing. “Oh, God. Where’d you get it?”

Magda presses her lips together. And closes her fingers. “Oh, no,” she says, in the singsong voice she only uses when students are around. “Never mind. You go to class now, or you’ll be late—”

But Cheryl takes a step forward and says, her eyes going hard as the marble floor beneath us,“Tell me.”

Magda swallows, glances at me, then says, in her normal voice, “It was stuck at the bottom of the garbage disposal. The one that hasn’t been working right all week. The building engineer finally got around to taking a look at it. And he found this.”

She flips it over. On the other side of the gold, the wordLINDSAY is engraved—hard to make out, after all the mashing. But still there.

Cheryl gasps, then seems to find it difficult to stand. Pete and Jeff help her to a nearby chair.

“Tell her to put her head between her knees,” I tell Jeff. He nods, looking panicky, and makes his girlfriend lean forward until her long, honey-colored hair is sweeping the floor.

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I turn back to Magda and stare down at the ring. “They put the rest of her down the disposal?” I whisper.

Magda shakes her head. “They tried. But bones won’t grind up.”

“Wait, so…they’re still down there?”

Magda nods. We’re whispering so Cheryl won’t overhear. “The sink was stopped up. No one thought to wonder why—it’s always stopped up. We just used the other one.”

“And the police didn’t look in there, either?”

Magda wrinkles her nose. “No. The water was all…well, you know how it can get back there. Plus they served chili Monday night….”

I feel a little bit of vomit rise into my throat.

“Oh, my God,” I say.

“I know.” Magda looks down at the belly button ring. “Who could do such a thing to such a nice, pretty girl? Who, Heather?Who ?”

“I’m going to find out,” I say, turning away from her and striding blindly—because my eyes are filled with tears—toward Cheryl, still sitting with her head between her knees. I squat down beside her so that I can ask her, “Cheryl. Were Lindsay and Coach Andrews sleeping together?”

“WHAT?” It’s Jeff who looks astonished. “Coach A and Lind—NO WAY.”

Cheryl raises her head. It’s very red from all the blood that’s rushed into it while she was hanging upside down. There are tear tracks down her cheeks, and unshed tears still glisten on her long eyelashes.

“Coach Andrews?” she echoes, with a sniff. “N-no. No, of course not.”

“Are yousure ?” I ask her.

Cheryl nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I mean, Coach A, he…” She looks up at Jeff. “Um.”

“What?” Jeff looks frightened. “Coach Awhat , Cher?”

Cheryl sighs and looks back at me. “Well, none of us are sure,” she says. “But we always just assumed Coach A is gay.”

“WHAT?”Now Jeff looks as ifhe’s the one who’s about to cry. “Coach Andrews? No way.NO WAY

.”

Cheryl blinks up at me tearfully. “You can see why we kept that suspicion to ourselves,” Cheryl says.

“I can,” I say. I give Cheryl a pat on the wrist. “Thank you.”

And then I’m gone, brushing past Pete to head out of the caf and toward the elevator.

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“Heather?” Magda trots after me in her stilettos. “Where are you going?”

I jab at theUP button, and the elevator door slides open.

“Heather.” Pete follows me out into the lobby, gazing after me in concern. “What’s going on?”

I ignore them both. I get in the elevator and stab the button for the twelfth floor. As the doors close, I see Magda tottering toward me, trying to stop me from going alone.

But it’s just as well she doesn’t come with me. She isn’t going to like what I’m about to do.I don’t like what I’m about to do.

But someone has to do it.

When the doors open on the twelfth floor, I get off the elevator and stalk toward Room 1218. The hallway—which the RA has decorated in a Tigger the Tiger motif, being a Pooh fan…only an ironic Tigger, since she’s given him dreadlocks—is silent. It’s just past nine in the morning, and the kids who aren’t in class are asleep.

But one of them I fully intend to wake up.

“Director’s Office,” I yell, thumping on the door once with my fist. We are not allowed to enter any room unannounced.

But that doesn’t mean we have to wait for the resident to answer the door. And I don’t. I insert my master key into the lock and turn the knob.

Kimberly, as I hoped, is curled up in her bed. Her roommate’s matching twin—they’ve even got the same bedspreads, in New York College gold and white—is empty. Kimberly is sitting up, looking groggy.

“Wh-what’s going on?” she asks sleepily. “Omigod. What areyou doing in here?”

“Get out of bed,” I say to her.

“What? Why?” Even when just waking from a dead sleep, Kimberly Watkins looks pretty. Her face—unlike my own, when I’m just waking up—isn’t smeared with various anti-zit-and-wrinkle creams, and her hair, instead of standing comically on end, falls into perfectly straight planes along either side of her face.

“Is there a fire?” Kimberly wants to know.

“There’s no fire,” I say. “Come on.”

Kimberly has clambered from her bed and is standing there in an oversized New York College T-shirt and a pair of boxers. On her feet are a pair of baggy gray socks.

“Wait,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear. “Where are we going? I have to get dressed. I have to brush my—”

But I’ve already got her by the arm and am dragging her out the door. She tries to resist, but let’s face it:
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I’m a lot bigger than she is. Plus, I’m fully awake, and she isn’t.

“W-where are you taking me?” Kim stammers, as she trots to keep up with me as I haul her toward the elevator. Her alternative is to let me drag her, which she apparently realizes I am totally willing to do.

“I’ve got something to show you,” I tell her in reply.

Kimberly blinks nervously. “I—I don’t want to see it.”

For a minute, I consider throwing her up against the nearest wall as if she were a handball. Instead, I say, “Well, you’re going to see it. You’re going to see it, and then you and I are going to have a talk.

Understand?”

The elevator cab is still waiting at the twelfth floor. I pull her into the car and jab the button for the lobby.

“You’re crazy,” Kimberly says, in a shaky voice, as we glide down. She’s starting to wake up now. “Do you know that? You’re going to get fired for this.”

“Oh, yeah?” I laugh. That’s the best one I’ve heard all day.

“I mean it. You can’t treat me like this. President Allington’s gonna be mad at you when he finds out.”

“President Allington,” I say, as we reach the lobby and the elevator doors open, “can kiss my ass.”

I drag her past the door to my office, and down the hall toward the front desk, where the student worker actually looks up from the copy ofCosmo she’s snagged from somebody’s mailbox to stare at me in shock. Pete, who is waving firemen into the building—why, no matter what we call 911 for, from a resident freaking out on meth to human bones in a garbage disposal, does the New York City Fire Department always manage to show up first?—pauses in his coordination efforts to stare at me.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says, as I drag Kimberly past him.

“Don’t just stand there,” Kimberly shouts at him. “Stop her! Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s holding me against my will!She’s hurting my arm !”

Pete’s walkie-talkie crackles. He lifts it to his lips and says, “No, it’s all clear here in the lobby.”

“Stupid rent-a-cop!” Kimberly sneers at him, as I thrust her through the cafeteria doors.

Magda, who is standing at the entrance next to her boss, Gerald, and several firemen, looks startled.

Her hand is open to show the firemen her discovery. Cheryl, I see, is still sitting nearby, a very white-faced—but solemn—Jeff Turner at her side. I grab Kimberly by the back of her neck and shove her face toward Magda’s open palm.

“See that?” I demand. “Do you know what that is?”

Kimberly is squirming to escape my grasp. “No,” she says sullenly. “What are you talking about? You better let me go.”

“Show her,” I say to Magda, and Magda very nicely holds the belly button ring right up to Kimberly’s face.

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“Recognize it?” I ask her.

Kimberly’s eyes are as wide as quarters. Her gaze is riveted on the object Magda is holding.

“Yeah,” she says faintly. “I recognize it.”

“What is it?” I ask, letting go of her neck. I don’t need to hold on to her anymore to make her look. The truth is, she can’t look away.