Maggie Bean Stays Afloat

by Tricia Rayburn

  “Throwing in the towel already, Madge?”

  She looked at him to see if he was kidding.

  “It’s still early. I thought we could walk around, maybe grab something to eat.”

  “Eat? Really?” For some reason, even when she’d briefly let herself believe this might be a date, she’d never imagined it lasting beyond the reading.

  “You usually do dinner, yes?”

  She nodded and looked to the ground so he couldn’t see her growing smile. “Yes.”

  “Great. There’s a phenomenal Thai place around the corner. What do you think?”

  “Ben! Maggie!”

  They turned around to see Polly hurrying toward them, holding an ice-cream cone in one hand and dragging Jason down the sidewalk with the other.

  “Hey, Pols. What’re you guys up to?”

  “Save me.” Jason gasped and grabbed Maggie’s arm.

  “Shopping.” Polly shot Jason a look before letting go of his hand. “No running this time.”

  “Polly decided I was in major need of …” Jason looked at her. “What’d you call it?”

  “An overdue wardrobe overhaul,” she said proudly, licking her ice-cream cone.

  “Right. Which pretty much means dragging me into a million stores, throwing me random clothes that all look exactly the same, and shoving me into dressing room after dressing room.”

  “Brutal,” Ben said sympathetically.

  “Hey, no pain, no gain. We girls understand that, don’t we, Maggie?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think Ben gets home delivery of nice clothes?” Polly turned to Jason. “See how good he looks right now? He had to actually go to a store and try stuff on to look like that.”

  “You really only have to go once to figure out your sizes and then you can order everything online without ever having to set foot in a store again.”

  “Thanks a bunch, Ben.” Polly sighed.

  “Dude. The music store’s three doors away… .”

  “Actually, Maggie and I were just about to grab something to eat.”

  “That’s okay.” Maggie smiled and waved one hand. “I’m not starving. We can hit a few stores first.”

  “Perfect!” Polly grabbed Maggie’s hand. “You guys shop for CDs, we’ll shop for skirts.”

  Before she knew it, she and Polly were down the sidewalk, around the corner, and in Stella’s, a trendy boutique she’d passed countless times but never set food inside.

  “Don’t you just love this place?” Polly stopped short just inside the store and picked up a funky brown skirt with suede fringe. “I stop in every week to check out the new shipment.”

  “I’ve actually never been here before.”

  Polly looked at her, eyes wide. “How’s that possible?”

  Maggie shrugged. The truth was that when she was finally old enough to wear the clothes in the store, she was too heavy and didn’t fit in the clothes in the store, but that wouldn’t do well as an explanation.

  “Don’t worry,” Polly reassured her, already distracted by a tiny white tunic. “You’re here now, and we’ll make sure you’re initiated appropriately.”

  As Polly sifted through a rack of shorts that were so short, Maggie’d have to sew three pairs together to make them the length of her regular shorts, Maggie strolled through the store. For a very long time, she’d lived in a boring uniform of jeans and baggy hooded sweatshirts that she got at Lane Bryant or ordered from JCPenney; when she lost enough weight to start wearing clothes from the Gap, J.Crew, and all the other stores at the mall that normal girls shopped in, she’d loaded up on cute skirts, dresses, pants, and T-shirts, all of which kind of looked the same (Jason had a point), and none of which looked anything like the trendy clothes at Stella’s. These were a little too loud, a little too wild for Maggie’s taste. Plus, the medium she usually wore would probably translate to an extra-large here, and she didn’t think she was emotionally prepared for that yet.

  “Ready?” Polly stopped short in front of her, embracing a mountain of clothes. “What’s the matter? Why are your hands empty?”

  “Nothing’s the matter. I just don’t know if this stuff is really my style.”

  Polly smiled at her over the top of the mountain. “It’s your style. You just don’t know it yet.” She dashed into a dressing room, unloaded her clothes on the zebra-printed plastic bench, ran back onto the floor, did a thirty-second lap around the store, and came back holding two dresses, three skirts, and two shirts. “Trust me,” she said, holding them out to Maggie.

  Deciding she had nothing to lose and lots of time to kill since Polly was going to be in there a while, she took the clothes. “Thanks.” She entered the dressing room next to Polly’s and pulled the magenta satin curtain shut.

  As a general rule, dressing rooms still made her uncomfortable. After stretching the curtain as far as it would go so that no one could see in the narrow spaces between its edges and the doorway, she turned away from the full-length mirror. Taking her shirt off but leaving everything else on, she tried on the skirts and T-shirts, turning only briefly to catch her reflection. The clothes fit—which was almost reason enough to buy them—and were sort of cute, but definitely not for her. She didn’t even try on the dress, which was super-short, strapless, and tangerine orange.

  Back in the store, she sat on a fuzzy black ottoman until Polly came out, carrying the entire mountain in her arms. “No luck?” Maggie asked sympathetically.

  “I’m taking it all.” Polly looked at Maggie, then at her empty dressing room. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “Oh, nothing was really right. No biggie.”

  “What about the orange dress?”

  “Nope. Not quite right.”

  Polly hurried to the front counter, dropped off her new wardrobe, grabbed the orange dress from its rack, and hung it back in Maggie’s dressing room. “Just try it again. And let me see.”

  “You really do take this seriously,” Maggie teased.

  “Ben will thank me, and you will too. I promise.” She smiled and flopped on the ottoman.

  Having no choice, Maggie returned to the dressing room. She stretched the curtain, turned away from the mirror, took off her tank top, and pulled the orange dress on over her head. Facing the mirror, she laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Maggie pulled the curtain to one side. “I look like I’m wearing a gum wrapper.”

  “How can you tell how it looks when you’re wearing another entire outfit underneath? Get back in there. Take off the capris.”

  Maggie did as she was told. Facing the mirror this time, she didn’t laugh. The dress definitely wasn’t something she’d normally wear—it stopped about four inches too short above the knees for that—but it was definitely something she could imagine someone else her same height, age, and weight wearing.

  Polly gasped.

  Holding the curtain to one side, Maggie looked down at the dress.

  “It’s gorgeous. Buy it immediately.”

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said doubtfully. “It’s not really me.”

  “Bra straps.”

  “What?”

  “Tuck them into the top of the dress so we get the full effect.”

  Maggie again did what she was told and stepped out of the dressing room to face the three-way mirror hanging just outside.

  “Gorgeous.” Polly beamed. “Stunning. Radiant. I knew it.”

  Maggie inspected her reflection. She had to admit it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Her arms and legs were tan from spending so much time outside, and her shoulders, toned from swimming, looked great without straps or sleeves. Her dark brown hair, which was also lighter from so much time in the sun, hung in loose waves down her back. “It’s just so short.”

  Polly jumped up from the ottoman and stood by Maggie. “You’re young, beautiful, and in great shape. Now’s the time to wear stuff like this.” She lowered her voice. “See that girl near the register?”

>   Maggie followed Polly’s eyes in the mirror to a twenty-something woman holding the same dress, but in green, against her torso.

  “She should definitely not wear this dress. In fact, she should be shopping at Lane Bryant or somewhere else that caters to the fuller figured.”

  As Polly swallowed a giggle, Maggie watched the woman in the mirror. She was much thinner than Maggie’d been at her highest weight. “I’ll take it,” she said suddenly.

  Before she could change her mind, Maggie returned to the dressing room, put on her regular clothes, and headed for the register, heart racing and Camp Sound View earnings and orange dress in hand. She had no idea when or where she’d wear the dress, but the point was that she never would’ve even considered buying it before. She never would’ve even considered trying it on before, even despite Polly’s best efforts.

  And now … who knew?

  “Okay, I think we have about fifteen minutes before they start serving breakfast.”

  “We weren’t that long,” Polly scoffed, swatting Jason with her shopping bags as they rejoined the boys outside.

  “Get anything good?” Ben smiled and stood from the bench where he and Jason had been flipping through newly purchased CDs.

  “Actually, yes,” Maggie said, returning his smile and feeling her cheeks redden, as though she were wearing the short dress right then.

  As they followed Jason and Polly into the Thai restaurant, Ben put his hand lightly on Maggie’s back, sending a chill greater than any she had felt watching lightning bolts dance before her in the pouring rain up and down her spine.

  She didn’t know if it was Ben, the dress, or the excitement of the day, but as she sat with her new friends in the dimly lit restaurant, she found herself talking, joking, and laughing much more than usual—so much so, she hardly felt like the same, ordinary Maggie Bean. She felt like someone other people would actually want to know. And the only clue that the old, shy, insecure Maggie was still around was when she ordered steamed chicken and broccoli—no sauce, no rice—while everyone else ordered pad thai.

  Now that she was Maggie who owned a cute, short orange dress, there was no way she’d ever be Maggie in jeans and a baggy hooded sweatshirt again. And she didn’t want Ben to ever know that that’s who she used to be.

  19.

  “Do I have the wrong classroom?” Maggie stepped back to look at the number above the door.

  “Why would you ask such a thing?” Electra asked sweetly, dumping the contents of a brown paper grocery bag onto the snack table.

  “Kit Kats, Rolos, Snickers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Reese’s Pieces, M&M’s, Nestlé Crunch, Butterfingers, Baby Ruths, Mounds, Whoppers, Almond Joy, Twix, Dots, gummi bears, gummi worms, Starburst, Skittles, Swedish Fish, and Twizzlers,” Maggie said, reading the familiar labels as she neared the snack table. “Am I being punished for something?”

  “Don’t forget Ding Dongs, Ho Hos, Twinkies, Pop-Tarts, Chips Ahoy!, Oreos, Nutter Butters, and every flavor of Girl Scout cookie.” Electra leaned toward Maggie. “The photo slideshow I got. The sugar overdose is still a mystery.”

  “Arnie,” Maggie called across the room, “has Splenda knocked sugar completely out of the junk-food ring?”

  “Come see this.” He smiled over his laptop screen.

  “What’s with the trick-or-treat-bag explosion?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said quickly, turning the laptop toward her. “Look.”

  “‘Dear Arnie and Maggie,’” Maggie read. “‘Congratulations on your weight-loss success, and thank you for sharing your experience with kids all over the country. Because you care, our children will be healthier and happier. Many thanks, Deb V., Hoboken, New Jersey.’” She looked at him. “Hoboken?”

  “It’s our very first message on our new message boards,” he said, typing quickly. “People can exchange notes on a variety of topics, including everything from fun snack suggestions to favorite movies.”

  “What’s that flashing box at the bottom of the screen?”

  Arnie clicked on it, and the box grew to reveal lines of moving text. “Chat room.”

  Maggie gasped. “Those are real people in there right now?”

  “People have been in there since noon. I launched it at eleven forty-five.”

  “What’re they talking about?”

  “Mostly where they’re from, how old they are, where they go to school. But that’s just the beginning. It’s what we did with the kids here last week. It’s part of building trust, which is so essential to the weight-loss process.”

  “Arnie,” Maggie said, throwing both arms around his shoulders and squeezing, “it’s actually working.”

  “And I played with the layout some more, and added the recipes you e-mailed—which were great, by the way. I already tried the baked whole wheat pita crisps with low-fat spinach dip. Delicious. I also added a few of my favorite songs that make jogging feel less like the torture it really is—Pearl Jam, Coldplay, and Enrique Iglesias.”

  “You have quite an ear.”

  “You can add yours, too. And then other people can submit their songs, and we can make a whole Patrol This mix. And maybe even get it on iTunes.”

  “How long did it take you to do all this?” Maggie asked in awe.

  He shrugged. “Not long.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, more than a few hours. But it’s fun.” He clicked out of the website and closed the laptop.

  “Hi, Arnie! Hi, Maggie!”

  “Hey there, Lucy Goose!” Arnie held out one hand as Lucy ran at him full-speed. “What’re we doing today?” she asked, smacking Arnie’s hand so hard with her own, he flinched.

  “That’s a very good question, Lucy.” Maggie smiled.

  “Guys,” Lucy’s mother called, her voice simultaneously confused and concerned, “there’s enough sugar here to put a nondiabetic into a coma.”

  “What is with the sweets?” Maggie whispered as Lucy joined her mother and the other arriving kids and parents near the snack table.

  “Everything in small doses,” he said with a grin—as though that served as an explanation—before standing and addressing the room. “Okay, everyone, we’ll get to the candy eventually, I promise. But first we have some boring business stuff to take care of.”

  Maggie joined him when he leaned against the front edge of the teacher’s desk.

  “So, how’re we doing?” Arnie clapped his palms together. “Good week all around?”

  “I went miniature golfing,” Paolo announced.

  “I saw three movies,” Margo added.

  Arnie waited patiently for each update. “That’s great. Sounds like you’re keeping busy and having fun. We’re going to have fun today, too. But first, let me run something by you.”

  Maggie watched the kids and parents watch Arnie curiously.

  “You know there are a few things we have to do here—things that if we didn’t do, Maggie and I would have no way of knowing if we were helping you the way we should.”

  “Oh, no,” Hannah groaned dramatically.

  Arnie laughed. “How do you know what I’m going to say?”

  “It’s the scale.” She shook her head. “I just know it’s the scale.”

  “Okay,” Arnie conceded. “It is the scale—”

  The room filled with boos and jeers as the rest of the kids echoed Hannah’s reaction.

  “But I promise it’ll be super fast, easy, and pain-free. See that silver curtain over there? It’s been scientifically tested for visibility and privacy—no one can see in, and no one can see out. All you’ll need to do is hop on, let Maggie fiddle with the bar and talk about how much she hates scales, hop off, and you’re done.”

  “I really do hate scales,” Maggie added, hoping the shared sentiment would help the kids feel more comfortable.

  “Who doesn’t? But we promise that no one but you, Maggie, and eventually me will know what happens behind that curtain.”

  “And the parents,” Marg
o’s mom reminded him.

  “Nope.” Arnie shook his head. “Not even the parents. Unless the kids want to share themselves, but that’s up to them.”

  Maggie watched the kids sit quietly in their chairs. They didn’t look like they were getting ready to go to Disney World, but they didn’t look like they were about to run screaming from the room either.

  “So what do we say? Under a minute each, and then it’s on to fun stuff?”

  “Let’s get it over with,” Jack said, glancing around at the other kids.

  “Great! Love the enthusiasm.” Arnie turned, leaned across the desk, and grabbed a plastic bag from the floor by the chair. “Look alive, Jack.”

  Jack grinned, the looming pain of the scale temporarily eased, when he caught the blue Frisbee.

  “That there is a little piece of blue plastic fun, and shameless promotion for our all-new, really cool website.”

  “‘www.PatrolThis.com,’” Jack read from the top of the Frisbee.

  “We’re going to toss it around outside while everyone takes turns behind the silver curtain, and later, when you get home and can’t stop thinking about just how much fun you had today, you can refer to your very own Frisbee—which you’ll receive at the end of the meeting—visit the website, play around, and shoot us an e-mail to tell us what you think.”

  “Brilliant.” Maggie patted Arnie on the back as the kids and parents got up to head outside.

  Not only was it an easy way to get kids to exercise and an excellent marketing tool, the Frisbee was also a great distraction. So great that when Maggie asked Hannah if she’d like to go behind the silver curtain first, she dragged her feet because she watched everyone go outside through the door at the back of the classroom, and not because she dreaded getting on the scale.

  “Can we make this quick, please?” she asked politely.

  “Absolutely.” Maggie held up Electra’s silver cape for them to duck under.

  “Do you really hate scales?” Hannah kicked off her shoes and stepped on to the small platform.

  “I really do. I used to hate them more than anything, but now I know they’re meant for good, not evil.” Maggie waited for the scale’s bar to stop moving, and adjusted the weights.