by Nikki Loftin
“Huh? You’re nuts.”
He shook his head; if anything, it made even more cowlicks appear, as though he had just rolled out of bed.
“I mean it. You don’t believe me? Check out your bowl.”
I did, just to get him off my case, and froze.
I knew I had emptied my bowl of candy out. But now, it was full. I examined my desk again. Yes, there they were, the candies lined up over my letters, gleaming red, yellow, green, blue, and deep brown on the wooden surface. And there, in my bowl, sat another large handful of M&M’s. Waiting, shining in the morning light that poured in the large windows behind me. Maybe I had two bowls in my desk? I bent low to see. No.
“What are you searching for, Lorelei?” Ms. Morrigan’s voice startled me. I glanced up too quickly and hit the bridge of my nose on the edge of the desk.
“Um, a pencil,” I lied. “The lead broke off mine.”
She walked over to her desk to get me a newly sharpened one.
“Here you are.” She laid the pencil and a reader down in front of me. “We’re beginning on page forty-two. A retelling of an old Russian fairy tale about Baba Yaga. Read it, and then write your own, with a different ending. Can you do that?”
She moved on, and I looked back at Andrew. He was pretending to read. His fingers kept twitching toward his desk drawer, though. Like he wanted to reach for the M&M’s.
“Andrew?” I whispered. He just shook his head.
“I’ll tell you at recess,” he mouthed a few minutes later. “But don’t eat anything before then.”
CHAPTER FIVE:
A TERRIBLE JOKE
At recess, I waited for Andrew on the swings. Allison was eating snacks with a bunch of the other girls. It smelled wonderful—freshly popped popcorn covered with caramel, candied peanuts, and giant pitchers of soda. I was starving, but I had watched all the other kids eat what had to be two pounds of M&M’s apiece that morning, and I knew something was wrong.
Andrew came over to me, holding two bags of popcorn.
“Here, hold this,” he said. “Pretend to eat, so the teacher doesn’t bug us.”
“Bug us?” I asked, then stopped. Come to think of it, Ms. Morrigan had asked me a dozen times if I didn’t feel well that morning. She kept noticing I wasn’t eating any of the candy. I finally lied and told her I was lactose-intolerant. She hadn’t known what to say to that, I guess. She’d called the cafeteria on her classroom phone, though.
“So, why was it so important I not eat any candy?” I asked, reaching into my bag of popcorn and rummaging around in the kernels. The smell was heavenly, so I stuck my head in the bag to sniff.
“It’s addictive,” Andrew answered, tossing a few kernels from his bag onto the ground, where they gleamed caramel-golden on the white sand.
I stopped rummaging. “Addictive? Seriously? How do you know?”
“Didn’t you notice?” He smiled a little. “I have a problem with food.”
I tried not to look at his stomach, where the T-shirt was wrapped around his middle like a sausage casing. I didn’t know what to say. One of the big rules at any school is that you don’t make fun of other people, at least not to their faces. But I had to say something.
“Okay, I can sort of see that,” I said at last. “But what does that have to do with, you know . . . the rest of us?”
He smiled wider. It was a nice smile, even if his two front teeth were a little crooked. “I went to a lot of counseling this summer. You may not know it, but I’ve lost forty pounds already.”
“Whoa,” I said. Now I really didn’t know what to say. That was a lot on a kid his age. “Good for you,” I managed.
“Thanks. The thing is,” he went on, tossing a few more kernels over his shoulder, “I learned about trigger foods at counseling. M&M’s are one of mine. When I start to eat them, I can’t stop. And not just candy, then—I’ll eat anything. It actually hurts if I don’t.”
“It hurts if you don’t eat?”
“Yep. I have to stuff myself to make it stop. And even then, it’s . . .” His voice trailed off. “Quick, pretend to eat something.”
I did, without looking where he was looking. I knew it had to be the teacher watching us. I kicked the ground at my feet, sending up showers of white sand that sparkled brighter than anything I’d ever seen, billions of miniature diamonds. For a minute, the beauty of the sand distracted me, but then I remembered what Andrew had said.
“So, trigger foods?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Look at all the other kids.”
I did. They were stuffing their faces, eating even while they played on the equipment. “They seem really . . . hungry.”
“They’re not,” Andrew whispered. “Or they shouldn’t be.” He scuffed his own foot in the sand. “We all had breakfast this morning. So much breakfast. It was the same as this dream I used to have, with piles of sausages and pancakes, syrup, butter . . .” He rubbed his stomach and groaned a little.
“Are you sick?”
“No,” he said. “Just hungry. Hungrier than I’ve ever been in my life, actually.”
He looked straight at me, and the world suddenly narrowed all around us, so all I could see were his eyes. “I know how to live with hunger. I’ve read a bunch about the science of it, studies on insulin resistance and glycemic loads. They taught me in nutrition counseling how to make better choices. How to say no to things like white bread, candy, sodas.” His eyes grew fierce. “I have to eat. But I can control what goes in my mouth now. At least, I could for months . . . until this morning.”
“What happened at breakfast?”
His voice broke a little. “It was like it used to be. I ate one bite of egg. Protein, right? It should have been safe. But one little bite, and my stomach started hurting. Burning. It was my trigger feeling, even though eggs aren’t a trigger food for me. So I stopped eating. And I saw the other kids.”
“What was happening to them?”
“Nothing you would notice,” he said with a sad smile. “Unless you had food issues, like me. How many eggs do you think a normal kid can eat at once? How many pancakes?”
“Not a lot. Maybe four eggs. Five pancakes?” I ventured.
“Well, that one over there?” He pointed to one of the girls who Allison had been hanging out with all day. Instead of me, I thought. “What’s her name?”
“Kendra,” I answered. “I think.” Not that she’d talked to me.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Andrew said. “Kendra. She ate at least eight pieces of French toast. And the short blonde girl, Mackenzie? She ate like a linebacker—at least twenty sausages.”
“No way!” I choked on a laugh. He had to be pulling my leg. Andrew nodded toward Allison. “I was sitting next to your friend at breakfast. Allison, right? She ate fourteen pancakes, seven eggs, nine pieces of bacon, and three whole waffles. Oh, and four cups of hot chocolate. I counted.”
“No,” I breathed. “That’s impossible.” I’d slept over at Allison’s a dozen times, even if it had been a year now, and I knew she almost never ate breakfast. She said it made her stomach hurt if she had more than a piece of toast. “You’re kidding, right? Punking me?” I looked around for the camera. Could be a camera phone, I thought. Maybe someone was taping it all, trying to see if I’d fall for it.
“Wrong,” he said. “I thought it was impossible, too. She’s so small. But she ate like she’d never seen food before.”
“Give it up, Andrew. Joke’s over.” I laughed, waiting for him to admit he was making it up. But he didn’t say anything—just sat there, looking like I’d said something to hurt his feelings.
“I wish I was joking.” He shook his head slowly. “I thought maybe you would see it, too. Maybe we could tell your parents about it. You and your brother are the only kids who weren’t there at br
eakfast. I thought, if I could keep you from eating the candy, you would be able to see what I was talking about.” He whispered so softly I strained to hear. “There’s something wrong here, Lorelei. Very wrong.”
If this was a joke—and it had to be—it was starting to get old.
“Now you’re just getting irritating, Andrew.” I stood up. “Joke time’s over. I don’t know why you were jerking me around anyway, but I’m going to tell Ms. Morrigan if you keep it up.”
I looked into my popcorn bag, but I wasn’t hungry anymore. I was too annoyed. I twisted the top of the bag shut and walked across the playground toward Allison and the other girls in our class. The white sand around their feet was littered with dozens of wadded-up popcorn bags. Two of the girls—Mackenzie and Tess, I remembered—were rubbing their stomachs like you do when you have a stomachache, but no one stopped eating popcorn, not even for a minute. Allison smiled up at me.
“Isn’t this the best popcorn you’ve ever tasted?” She stuffed another handful in her mouth.
I shrugged, and looked back at Andrew. He was swinging by himself, throwing popcorn over his shoulder one kernel at a time.
Allison was waiting for an answer. “Yeah,” I said, and untwisted the top of my bag. “It’s the best. How many bags have you had?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Two? Who cares? It’s so good.” Mackenzie and Tess had their mouths full, but nodded enthusiastically.
Watching Allison stuff her face, I wondered if, just maybe, she had chowed down like Andrew said at breakfast. No, he couldn’t have been telling the truth. But something was up. My stomach felt upset anyway, so—just to be on the safe side—I didn’t eat my popcorn. But lunch was only an hour away, and I had to eat sometime.
CHAPTER SIX:
BON APPÉTIT
Lunchtime came too soon.
Each cafeteria table had seven students sitting at it, except mine. We had Ms. Morrigan in our group plus us seven kids, all sixth graders. I didn’t see any other teachers in the cafeteria. It must have been her day to do lunch duty.
We were seated by college-aged waiters wearing black trousers and white shirts who took our drink orders and went to get our food for us, just like in a fancy restaurant. They were really good at their jobs, and fast, even though none of them talked. I thought it was sort of freaky, but I didn’t say anything about it.
I didn’t say anything at all. Ms. Morrigan kept staring at me, like she was waiting for me to do or say something wrong. I could feel her eyes on me all the time. Did she know I was thinking about her? I tried not to look her way, but my eyes kept sliding over.
“Where’s the food?” I heard one of the girls at the next table whisper. No one answered, since just then Principal Trapp walked through the door and clapped her hands three times for our attention.
“Students? Thank you for listening.” She spoke low, soft enough that we all had to get quieter to hear her. I smiled; my mom had used that trick on me and Bryan a thousand times to get us to pipe down. A pain shot through my stomach. Hunger, maybe. Or maybe just the normal pain of thinking about Mom.
“I hope you have been enjoying your first day at your new school. In fact, I want you to think of this as your home away from home.” Her eyes twinkled as a boy yelled, “Nicer than my house. Can I move in?”
“I’m not sure we have any beds at the moment,” she said over the laughter that followed. “But I’m flattered you asked. I would like you all to remember what I told you this morning at our breakfast assembly.” Her eyes settled on me, and I ducked my head down, suddenly shy. I had missed the assembly, of course. “When I started the first Splendid Academy many years ago, I chose the name for one reason, and one reason alone. Splendid Academy isn’t called that because of the teachers or the principal. It isn’t named for the food or the furniture. There is only one thing that makes Splendid splendid.”
Another voice rang out. “The playground?”
Principal Trapp’s laughter pealed out so loud the chandeliers overhead tinkled with her. “Some of you might think so. But no. The word Splendid refers to you. Our brilliant, magnificent, shining students. The children that fill our halls with laughter and our rooms with learning. Students from all across the globe have learned to shine at Splendid Academy. I’m so pleased that now it is your turn to share your spark with us. Here’s to a new school year, and a new Splendid Academy!”
The whole cafeteria burst into applause and cheering. Silverware rattled on the tables as some of the boys pounded their feet.
Principal Trapp glowed with happiness. I stared at her, wondering when I had felt that happy. Had I ever? As she walked out of the cafeteria, my feet tapped the floor, like my legs had voted to go with her.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Ms. Morrigan was still glaring at me. My feet stopped moving. “What do you think, Lorelei?”
“About the principal?” I swallowed. “I think she’s . . .” I stopped. There wasn’t a word that fit Principal Trapp. “Splendid,” I finished weakly.
“Yes, she is,” Ms. Morrigan said. “Splendid.” The way she said splendid made it sound like a bad word. Like she was cursing at me.
Then the food arrived, and I forgot what I was thinking about.
I don’t know how they had done it, but they’d cooked every single thing that was on the favorite foods lists I had been making since kindergarten. Pasta with rich tomato sauce, fried chicken that smelled the same as my grandma’s, mashed potatoes, carrot coins swimming in honey sauce, and white rolls so fluffy they reminded me of clouds.
“Bon appétit,” Ms. Morrigan said.
“Huh?” One of the boys at our table looked confused. “We’re going to learn foreign languages, too?”
She shook her head, reached over, and handed him his fork. “Dig in,” she instructed, and we did.
From the first bite, I was caught in a dream. Each bite was better than any school food, of course. The pasta sauce was rich and spicy, the fried chicken crispy and golden. But as I ate and ate, scooping the sweet carrots up, stuffing the pillowy rolls into my mouth in two bites, I realized that this food was better than any restaurant I’d ever eaten in. Heck, it was better than anything even my mom had cooked.
The thought crashed into my brain like a boulder into a pond. Better than Mom’s? Nothing was better than her food.
Nothing in the world.
The fog lifted from my brain, and I looked down. There were seven chicken leg bones on my plate, and crumbs everywhere, all over the red satin tablecloth. Half-eaten carrot coins spilling like crescent moons between the table settings. No one in the cafeteria was talking. No, the only sounds were chewing, swallowing, crunching, and occasionally, a mumbled “More!” or “Yum!” And then footsteps as the waiters came out again, bringing more food, and still more.
I was the only kid not eating.
“Aren’t you hungry, Lorelei?” Ms. Morrigan looked at me strangely.
I put a hand on my bulging stomach and realized that, yes—even after I had eaten all that food—I was still hungry. In fact, I was starving. I felt like I hadn’t eaten a bite for days. I would die if I didn’t get some more food. I snatched up a half-eaten carrot coin and put it in my mouth. Ms. Morrigan nodded, said, “Good,” and turned away to look at the boy on her right.
“You’re not eating enough, Zachary,” she said.
I might have kept eating if I hadn’t seen Ms. Morrigan do what she did next.
She reached out, pushed Zachary’s sleeve up his arm, and encircled his bicep with her hand. She frowned. Zachary was really skinny, even though he was eating more than anyone else at the table. Ms. Morrigan grabbed the butter dish from the center of the table and moved the entire stick of butter from the serving dish to his plate.
And then, in three bites, he ate the butter, the whole stick, plain.
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“Yum,” he mumbled. “More.”
Ms. Morrigan snapped her fingers and a waiter scurried over, placing another stick of butter on the serving dish and a new one on Zachary’s plate.
I gazed down at my own plate, at my fork piled high with mashed potatoes, and felt sick. I set my fork down and placed my napkin on the table next to my plate. “I’m not hungry,” I said to myself. I whispered it a little louder, since my stomach was rumbling, accusing me of lying. “I’m not hungry.”
“Not hungry?” Ms. Morrigan’s voice was harsh, a raven’s croak. I looked up. She cleared her throat. “Lorelei? You say you’re not . . . hungry?”
“No,” I lied, trying to keep my fingers from twitching toward the fork. “I’m full.”
“Full.” She said the word like she had never heard it before. “Full,” she repeated, wrinkles forming between her eyebrows, her lips tightening. My stomach cramped, hard. The room grew colder. I fiddled with the tablecloth, then glanced up quickly. For an instant, I caught a flash of—I don’t know. It seemed crazy, but her face looked wrinkled and old, like an apple left out in the sun, covered with black, pitted spots and scraped red across the cheeks and nose.
I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, she was staring at me, beautiful again. I rubbed my hand over my face, wondering if I was really sick. I was imagining things—that was for sure.
“What seems to be the problem, Alva?”
I almost jumped out of my chair, and then realized who it was. Principal Trapp was standing right behind me. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Thank goodness.
“The girl says she’s full,” Ms. Morrigan replied, face turned downward like she was afraid to look at her own boss. I peeked at the principal’s expression. She looked interested, maybe a little concerned.
“Full already? You haven’t even had dessert.”
She kneeled down and gazed into my eyes. I didn’t want to look away; her eyes were greener than grass, deep and thick, green as vines climbing castle walls, green as moss in a forgotten forest.
