Another fine example of you making things better, even when you’re not there.
Till tomorrow’s tasty trial,
Arnie
Maggie closed the entry and opened the one from the day before. And the day before that. And every day of the entire week before that.
He had written to her in every one.
A steady stream of tears had traveled down her cheeks since the first “Dear Maggie”. After reading the entries, she wiped her eyes with her sweatshirt sleeves and clicked on the small MMT icon in the bottom right corner of the screen.
She held her breath until Maggie’s Master Multi-Tasker popped up, and then exhaled in relief. There was no reason for it to have disappeared—lack of use didn’t usually erase a document—but she felt better immediately, like as long as the spreadsheet still existed, then so did the chance that she could get her life back on track. She clicked on a new tab and quickly made five additions.
1. Stop eating chocolate.
2. Clean room (and throw out any remaining chocolate).
3. Apologize a million times to Aimee.
4. Apologize a million times to Arnie.
5. Don’t ever, EVER forget what—and who—really matters.
She saved the changes, pushed the laptop aside, and dug through her desk drawer for a pen and empty notebook.
It was a long shot, but if Aunt Violetta was right, if real friends saw through the hard times, she had to try.
24.
Maggie leaned against the wall just inside the classroom. No one had spotted her yet, because everyone—kids, parents, Arnie, and even Electra—was too busy dancing, jumping, and kicking to Gwen Stefani to pay attention. She’d been there since the beginning of the song and Maggie still couldn’t figure out what was going on. From their place in the front of the room, Lucy and Paolo seemed to provide some kind of direction (when they punched the air, the rest of the group punched the air; when they did cartwheels, the rest of the group sort of put their hands on the floor and jumped), though it was still hard to be sure since they tended to burst into giggles every three seconds. Whatever they were doing, there was no doubt they were having a great time doing it.
“Awesome job!” Arnie exclaimed when the song ended and everyone stopped bouncing long enough to clap and cheer. “Thanks to Lucy and Paolo for their creative choreography. Please join us next week for part four of our Rock Superstar series, as Margo and Alex get us sweating to … ?”
“50 Cent!” Alex pumped both fists in the air as Margo shook her head and buried her face in her hands.
“Interesting,” Arnie said. “Okay, that’s a wrap, guys. Check out the website, eat a lot of spinach, and have a great week.”
Maggie hung back as the kids and parents prepared to leave. They definitely lingered longer than they used to, talking, laughing and making plans for the kids to get together during the week. And the positive environment was clearly doing more than fostering healthy socialization and play dates; Margo’s adorable cheeks were smaller, Alex’s little belly was flatter, and Paolo’s favorite T-shirt, the one he wore to every meeting, was looser. The kids were having fun and losing weight.
She’d already felt bad for missing meetings, but now her stomach flip-flopped for not being there to congratulate the kids on their great progress. What if it was too late? What if they’d forgotten all about her—or worse, didn’t forgive her for disappearing?
“Maggie!”
Hannah charged across the room, and the rest of the kids followed close behind. Before Maggie could brace for impact, they surrounded her in a big, sloppy group hug. She didn’t know why, but they all seemed happy to see her.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Where’d you go?”
“We missed you!”
“Hi, guys! You all look amazing!” Maggie’s eyes filled with tears for the trillionth time that afternoon. She didn’t deserve the warm reception, and vowed to never disappoint them again. “I just had to take a little break, but I’m back now.” She looked up to silently ask Arnie if that was really true—if he would even want her back after she’d just vanished without explanation.
“Give Maggie some air, people,” Arnie called across the room. “You can bombard her with questions next week.”
Next week.
Maggie smiled at Arnie, but he quickly turned away and started cleaning up the snack table.
The parents graciously welcomed her back as they hustled the kids out of the classroom. Electra did the same, and gave her a big hug. It was much more than she’d expected or deserved. She was thrilled, but knew winning over the person who mattered most wouldn’t be so easy.
She waited by the door until she and Arnie were the only ones in the classroom.
“It’s working,” she offered gently.
The empty water bottle he tossed made a loud thwack as it hit the metal garbage can.
“They’re having fun, making friends, and losing weight. Their whole lives are changing for the better because of you.”
“Not just me,” he grumbled, gathering leftover carrot sticks.
She paused. “I visited the website. I hit every link, watched every video blog, and read every message on the message board. It’s amazing. People all over the country are really responding.”
“It’s getting ten times the hits the company anticipated,” Arnie said. His back was still to her, but his voice wasn’t as gruff.
“And I came up with something for the site. I mean, I totally understand if you want me completely hands-off—if you even want me back at all—so no worries if you don’t post it.” She took the notebook from her purse. “Can I run it by you?”
Sighing, Arnie turned toward her, leaned against the snack table, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
It was music to her ears. She opened the notebook to the carefully written note that she’d attempted on three pieces of scrap paper first. Maggie’s Online Journal, or How I Got in the Way Today. She glanced up to see him staring at the floor. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look like he was about to stop her, either. “‘Dear Arnie. I had a bad encounter with myself today—and yesterday, and the day before that, and about a month before that. It was my own fault. I started a new job where I met some people I thought were really cool. They asked me to hang out with them after work, and somehow I slowly became part of their group. I know it’ll sound silly, and please forgive me for it being true—but I was in the popular crowd for the first time in my entire life, and I loved it. You know I’m all about books and studying, and that my good-student place is pretty permanently carved in stone at school. And you also know that last year, when I weighed 186 pounds, it was sometimes all I could do to get out of bed every day. So, when these older, funny, really great people wanted to hang out with me, it was a big deal. And I kind of got carried away.’” She paused.
“I’m still listening,” he said, still looking at the floor.
“‘As it happened, these really great people, who I thought were my new friends, turned out to be not so great. Once they accidentally found out about my past, they acted like I was any other person walking down the street—they didn’t care about me, or my feelings. And that hurt—a lot—but what was a million times worse was what I did myself. I was so caught up in this new exciting life, I became a completely different person—I cut my hair, spent a ton of money on clothes I never would’ve considered wearing before, and I hardly ate in front of a boy because I worried he might think I was eating too much and guess at who I used to be. All ridiculous, I know, but true.’”
“The haircut’s cute, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Maggie smiled before continuing. “‘But I hit an all-time low when I started neglecting my best friends—my real friends. I let myself believe I was just busy, that I’d catch up with them eventually and they’d understand when I did. I was extremely selfish, and I took them for granted. You can never be too busy for friends.’” She took a deep breat
h. “‘I’m so sorry, Arnie. You’re amazing, and I’m an idiot. And I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgive me … but I hope you do. I promise I’ll do anything I can to make things right. Till tomorrow, and forever yours, Maggie.’”
Arnie stared at the floor for a few seconds more before looking up. “I get it.”
Maggie’s heart lifted in her chest.
“I don’t like it,” he clarified, “but I get it.”
“I’m a moron,” she said, shaking her head and stepping toward him. “The biggest moron in the history of moronic behavior.”
“You could’ve called.”
“I know.”
“Or e-mailed.”
“I know.”
“Or sent smoke signals.”
“Really?”
“You could’ve talked to me, Maggie. After everything we’ve been through together, you know I would’ve understood. Or at least listened and tried to understand.”
“I know,” she said, quieter.
“I only knew you were alive because Aunt Violetta has the gift of gab. She told Electra, who told me.”
“Arnie, I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know.” He sighed. “And I’m not mad because of what you did—I mean, I am a little. But I’m mostly just upset and sad.”
Maggie felt the familiar sting of fresh tears.
For the first time in weeks, his eyes met hers, and he smiled slightly. “This all,” he said, nodding to the classroom, “is going so well. Our little summer project that we didn’t ask for and weren’t even sure we wanted when we got it, is a big hit. The company couldn’t be more thrilled.”
“That’s great,” Maggie said sincerely.
“It is, but it’s been hard to enjoy it without you. It’s our thing, you know?”
“Is it still our thing?” she asked hopefully. “It’s not too late for me to be a part of it?”
His smile grew as he left the snack table and headed for the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom. He pulled two long white envelopes from the front pocket of his laptop bag, and held one out to her.
“What’s this?” She joined him at the desk and took the envelope.
“Proof.”
Not sure what that was supposed to mean, she lifted the envelope flap and peered inside. “A check?” She pulled the blue slip from the envelope—and leaned herself against the desk when her knees gave. She looked at him, at the check, and back at him. “This is a joke.”
“When it comes to their money, corporations don’t mess around.”
Maggie stared at the long black number printed on the check. “There are three zeros,” she said incredulously.
“With another digit in front of them.”
“Arnie,” she said, needing confirmation that she wasn’t imagining things, “this check is for a thousand dollars.” The most money she’d ever had at any one time—since her parents’ seemingly limitless credit card didn’t count—was when she’d won twenty dollars on an instant lottery ticket Aunt Violetta bought her.
“Yup.”
She looked at him. “And my name’s on it.”
“Right again.”
“But... why?”
“Our local Patrol This trial has been so successful in such a short amount of time, the Pound Patrollers corporation plans to expand the program—slowly to start, with two more locations in our area, and then more from there, depending on how it goes. But they want us to stay involved. These checks are a sort of ‘thank-you’ bonus, with a ‘please continue’ attached.”
Maggie shook her head, not quite believing what she was hearing. “What do we have to do?”
“Participate in weekly meetings, update the website, and maybe make a few appearances around the area. Basically what we’ve been doing, with a few mini–road trips thrown in for kicks.”
Maggie slid the check back in the envelope and held it toward Arnie.
“What’s wrong?”
“What we’ve been doing is what you’ve been doing. I’m not at all responsible for the early success of Patrol This.” She shook the check gently. “I can’t take this.”
“Maggie,” he said. “So what if you’ve been lying a little low lately? Without you, I never would’ve lasted at Pound Patrollers. And if I hadn’t lasted at Pound Patrollers, I never would’ve lost the weight that I did. And if we hadn’t been the charmingly dynamic duo that we are—the two of us, together—we never would’ve been asked to be involved with this project. It took both of us to get here, and it’ll take both of us to keep going. You deserve the money.”
Maggie lowered her outstretched arm and looked at the envelope. She didn’t know if what Arnie said was true, or if he was just being his usual kind, generous self. In any case, regardless of whether she deserved the money, one thing was certain. “I won’t let you down,” she promised softly.
“I know.” He smiled and flopped in the chair behind the teacher’s desk. “Now how about we post that journal entry on our website?”
Beaming, Maggie pulled up a chair. One thousand dollars was a ton of money that could buy a ton of things (all of which she would certainly contemplate and list as soon as she got home). But right then, nothing—not one thousand dollars, not one billion dollars—was worth more than sitting next to Arnie.
25.
According to the bathroom scale at home, Maggie’s post-traumatic candy binge had set her back six pounds. Not a huge amount in the grand scheme of lifelong weight fluctuation, but enough to make her feel like she was towing a small child as she swam a seventh lap. Refusing to quit before finishing ten laps, she slowed her pace, but forced her arms and legs to keep moving. When she was done, she treaded briefly before heading for shore.
“Oh,” Ben said, dropping his bottle of sunscreen as she neared the beach. “Maggie. I didn’t realize that was you out there.”
The swim had served its purpose of alleviating some of the nervousness she’d felt returning to camp for the first time in two weeks, and she managed to make it out of the water without tripping and falling. “Hi, Ben,” she said, forcing a polite smile.
“Hi.” He looked at her and opened his mouth to speak. When nothing came out, he bought time by bending over to retrieve the sunscreen.
She grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her waist. She’d heard Ben’s and Jason’s laughter around lap five, and glanced toward the beach just long enough to see them emerging from the camp trail. She’d expected them to be there for their early morning workout (which was why she’d arrived an hour earlier, to beat them and boost her confidence with a good swim), and was prepared for the inevitable awkward conversation.
“How’s it going?” he asked, smiling as though it were just another day. “You’ve been pretty busy, huh?”
“Very.” She leaned to one side and squeezed excess water from her hair. “And you?”
“Insanely busy, actually.”
“Hey, look who it is!” Finishing his beach sprints, Jason ran toward them. “Good to see you, Maggie.”
“Thanks.” She lifted her backpack from the sand and headed toward the lifeguard stand. “See you guys later. Have a good swim.”
She knew they probably were looking at her as she walked away, and then at each other, confused, but she kept going without turning around. She focused only on the stand, and once she reached it, did her best to block out any image of her and Ben huddling and talking together during the lightning storm. Seeing him again stung even more than she’d anticipated, but right then, she had more important things to worry about.
She sat in the sand and pulled a notebook from her backpack. She wanted to make sure she included every single detail for that day’s Patrol This online journal entry.
Dear Arnie,
I’m nervous. I know we talked things out and evaluated every possible scenario. I know you said everything would work out and be fine, and I know you’re usually right. But as I sit on the beach with “the cool kids” only a few feet away, my heart’s raci
ng and my palms are sweating, and I’m wondering if you might be wrong on this one. If, for some miraculous reason, this all does have a happy ending, it’ll be because I forced myself to swim ten whole laps—quite an achievement after not exercising and after living on sugar for weeks, and proof that bouncing back is possible. Honestly, I don’t know how I got through life before Aimee got me in the pool.
The last sentence was especially true and an appropriate one to temporarily end on, so she capped her pen and swapped the notebook for e-mail correspondence between Arnie, Electra (who would continue to be the official adult Patrol This leader), and regional Pound Patrollers execs regarding future expansion plans. He’d printed everything out for her so she’d be all caught up. She was in the middle of a note about proposed Patrol This merchandise—baseball hats, beach towels, pillowcases and, of course, T-shirts—when she heard the familiar snippy voice she’d been waiting for.
“Nice vacation?”
Maggie shoved the papers in her backpack and jumped up. “Hi, Erin.”
She stood in front of the stand, hugging her clipboard and eyeing Maggie warily. “I hope you brought back souvenirs.”
“Just me, sorry.” Maggie tried to laugh. When Erin’s stony expression remained unchanged, she plowed ahead. “Erin, I’m really sorry for the past two weeks. Something came up—which is no excuse for not calling or letting you know, I know—but believe me, I’m here now, and for the long haul.”
“You’re fired, you know.”
Maggie’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. She’d mentally prepared for that response, but hadn’t anticipated it coming so soon into her apology.
“You fail to report to work, give your sister the unsavory chore of explaining that you haven’t been feeling well, and then just show up here two weeks later, expecting me to welcome you back with open arms?”
“Absolutely not.” Maggie swallowed. “I mean, I don’t expect anything. I just—”
Maggie Bean Stays Afloat Page 19
