by Robin Brande
"So what do we think about Matt?" Amanda asked. "Do we believe him? Is he really clueless?"
I let out a big sigh. "I don't know. Maybe."
"You think it's possible someone can just forget something so evil?"
"I suppose."
"Wow, that guy is totally without a conscience."
"Yep," I said.
Amanda unscrewed another Oreo and scraped off the frosting with her teeth. I had to satisfy myself with a carrot.
"Not to change the subject," Amanda said, "but I still say you looked totally hot. We'll just have to find you another boyfriend."
"I'd rather have dental surgery."
"We can probably arrange that, too."
43
Day 68, Monday, October 27
Time to rethink everything about this project.
I was eating in the cafeteria today with Amanda and Jordan, and had the brief fear that Greg would show up despite what happened at the party. But when ten minutes went by and he still wasn't there, I felt like I could relax. Hopefully he's gone back to his off-campus lunches. Hopefully he's gone back to his pre-me life. I'm certainly ready to get back to a life without dating. What a disaster that was.
I said something to Amanda about how at least now I could stay awake during lunch again, and Jordan asked me what that was about.
"It was weird," I said. "Every time I was around Greg, it's like someone hit me with the doze stick. I had this wave of sleep come over me."
"Hmm." Jordan took another bite of his sub, then told me to hold out my arm.
"My arm? Why?"
"I want to test something."
So I stuck my arm straight out in front of me, and Jordan laid two fingers gently on my wrist. "When I tell you to resist, I want you to try not to let me push your arm down, okay?"
"Okay ..."
"Adolf Hitler," he said. "Resist."
He lightly pushed down on my wrist and my arm went with it.
"Okay, try again," he said. I straightened my arm and Jordan reset his fingers on my wrist.
"Mahatma Gandhi. Resist." He pushed down and this time my arm stayed strong.
"One more time," Jordan said, resetting my arm. "Greg Beecher." Once again my arm drooped all the way to the table.
"Hmm," Jordan said. "Interesting." Then he picked up his sandwich and resumed eating.
Amanda and I looked at each other. "Sweetie," she said, "want to tell us what that was about?"
"Applied kinesiology," Jordan answered with his mouth full. "Cat probably knows all about that."
"Um, no."
Jordan scarfed a pickle. "It's the theory that your body automatically goes weak in response to negative stimuli. It's not something you can control--your body just takes over."
"How do you know about that?" Amanda asked.
"Read about it in a skateboarding magazine," he said. "One of the guys who won the X Games last year has been using it to improve his ride. He stopped playing violent video games and watching violent movies and listening to gangsta rap. Now he's into meditation and harp music. Seems to work--he's completely dominated lately. I've started experimenting with it myself. See if I can improve my swim times by next year."
Amanda and I exchanged another glance.
"Sometimes I feel like I don't even know you," she told Jordan.
He flashed her a grin. "Keeps it interesting."
I tried to absorb what he'd just said. "So you mean my body had some automatic reaction to Greg? Without me even knowing about it?"
Jordan shrugged. "Just a theory. Maybe it picked up on something none of the rest of us did. I can tell you for sure the guy isn't what I thought he was. I'm glad you ditched him."
Amanda looked as surprised as I was. "Why do you say that?" she asked.
Jordan shrugged again. "Let's just say I misjudged him, okay? He's not as solid as I thought."
The bell rang, and Jordan got up to throw away his trash. Amanda watched him walk away. "Is it just me, or is that guy the coolest boyfriend ever invented?"
"It's not just you." And there was that same dull pain--the one I get sometimes when I see the two of them together and realize I'll never have that.
I gave Amanda a smile. "He's great. I'm really happy for you."
And that was a hundred percent true.
But it didn't make it hurt any less.
44
By the time the bell rang in Mr. Fizer's, Matt wasn't there. So far both of the guys I wanted to avoid today were helping me do it. I let myself relax.
But that lasted about five minutes.
"Miss Locke, may I speak to you?"
Mr. Fizer was holding the notebook I'd just turned in. I did not have a good feeling.
I went up to the front.
"Out in the hall," Mr. Fizer said.
Even worse.
I had no idea what I'd done wrong. As far as I knew I was meeting all the criteria--doing my research, keeping accurate records, turning in my notebook every Monday.
"I'm concerned, Miss Locke. Your project seems to have stalled."
"Sir?"
"While it's fascinating to learn that you have perfected a recipe for lentil and barley loaf, I fail to see the science in this anymore."
I swallowed hard. I seemed to be out of saliva.
"Miss Locke, what is your project really about?"
The truth? As if I could tell him that. It's about me trying to be pretty, sir, and maybe someday fit into a size 8. And hopefully kick Matt McKinney's butt in science while I'm at it and finally get my revenge.
"It's about ... trying to conform our habits to the healthier lifestyle of our ancestors."
That didn't sound bad. I kept going.
"And you can see from my notes that I've been doing a lot of research into other native and primitive cultures, just like you suggested, and comparing how much healthier they were without all the processed foods and modern luxuries we have today."
Mr. Fizer studied me over the top of his half-glasses. I hate it when he does that. It's worse than when Amanda stares me down.
"Let me ask a different question," he said. "Do you feel that your project, as it stands right now, rises to the level of a superior science fair entry? One that might qualify to compete internationally?"
Well, if he was going to put it that way ...
"I guess not," I admitted. "Not right now."
"Are you bored with your project, Miss Locke?"
"No! Not at all."
"It's not a crime," he said. "Some of your classmates have found it necessary to shift directions. As scientists we can't afford to become entrenched in our ideas. We always need to be able to approach our work with fresh and open minds. If you feel you've done all you can with your original premise, then it's time to step back and re-evaluate. There's no shame in that. In fact, it's the mark of a great scientist that he or she constantly asks new questions and pushes ahead toward new horizons. Do you understand?"
I slumped against the wall. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Fizer handed me back my notebook.
"Don't be discouraged, Miss Locke. We all have moments when even our finest ideas seem to have run their course. Remember what Einstein said: 'The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.'"
I attempted a smile. "Yes, sir."
"You're a bright young woman," Mr. Fizer said. "I was impressed by your analysis of whether early hominins used fire. If you bring that sort of curiosity to your project in its present form, I know you'll find your way."
He opened the classroom door. Apparently we were done.
I sat at my lab table the rest of class, flipping through my notebook, feeling totally depressed over the fact that I might have to start over. But I knew Mr. Fizer was right: it's not good enough. It might be good for me personally, but it's not going to blow the judges' minds. Not the way Matt's projects always do.
The problem was, I didn't have any new ideas. None at all. I've been so abs
orbed by what I've been cooking and what I've been eating and all the research I've done over these past few months, it never occurred to me it might not be enough.
But then I realized something: maybe what Jordan showed me at lunch would apply here, too. Maybe when I got a great idea, I'd know it. My body would automatically tell me.
And that's exactly what it did.
45
Eureka.
Sometimes your best ideas come to you when you're standing at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in soapy water while you wash out the pots and pans.
It's when your brain isn't fully occupied that it can sort through all the random mishmash of facts and pieces of information you've crammed in there.
So I stood at the sink tonight replaying my conversation with Jordan--that whole cool thing about kinesiology and how our bodies automatically go weak if they're exposed to negative stimuli. That's such an amazing idea. I've never heard of it before.
And then my mind wandered over to my conversation with Mr. Fizer this afternoon, and then to some of the conversations we've had in the past about what was and wasn't working with my project.
And then strangely, Jordan and Mr. Fizer morphed together.
--you're a bright young woman--
--not something you can control--
--your body just takes over--
--astonishing amount of chemical adulteration in our food supply--
--leave that to you to research more fully--
--impressed by your analysis of whether early hominins used fire--
--your body automatically goes weak--
Stop. There.
My hand halted mid-scrub. A sort of buzzing went through me, like a low level of electrical shock. I felt alive and awake as my brain quickly worked through the formula.
What if--
What if the human anatomy reacts to stimuli in the environment, whether it's positive or negative--
What if Homo erectus reacted to a positive stimulus--the existence of fire--by undergoing a radical change in anatomy, improving and streamlining the body--
But what if--
The same thing is happening right now. Only in reverse. Modern humans are reacting to negative stimuli--bad food, junk food, chemically tainted food--by undergoing a new radical change. But this time instead of improving and streamlining, we're growing bodies that are fat and riddled with disease--
And what if--
My original premise was right, and we can fix ourselves by returning to the simple habits of our ancestors, back before ice cream and potato chips and microwave hot dogs--
I mean, what if this is much bigger than I thought? It's not just about me at all. It's about reversing a dangerous, destructive trend in human physiology before our species ends up worse than it is.
Oh my gosh.
It'll be like convincing people to stop throwing garbage into the sea.
Only I'm going to convince them to stop throwing it into themselves.
46
"HUGE crisis," Amanda announced.
She burst into my room before the ten p.m. cutoff my parents have set for all visiting friends, crisis or not. And even though I was right in the middle of my research, saving our species would have to wait.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Amanda dove face-first onto my bed and groaned into the pillows.
"What's wrong?" I asked again. Amanda might be dramatic at times, but usually she has a good reason.
She rolled over onto her back. "Darlene just called me."
"Darlene ... from the Karmic Cafe?"
"Yes. She thinks she has to shut it down."
"Why?"
"No one comes in there, she's not making the rent--"
"That's because her food is awful," I said. "I'm sure the only time people go there is for Poetry Night."
"I know. And she said this Saturday's Poetry Night is probably going to be the last. Can you believe it? What are we going to do?"
"What do you mean--what can we do?"
Amanda sat up and hugged one of my pillows to her chest. "You should have heard her--it was so sad. She was crying and blowing her nose and I could barely understand her half the time. She's really such a sweet woman. But I have no idea why she thought she could run a restaurant."
"It's been there awhile, hasn't it?"
"Almost two years, Darlene said. But her lease is up next month, and she doesn't think she can renew. She's been borrowing all this money from her elderly parents, and now they're having trouble--I got the whole story."
"Why did she call you?" I asked. "I mean, it's not like you're friends with her."
"No, but she knows how much Poetry Night means to me, and she wanted to let me know this was the last one, in case I wanted to write something special." Amanda buried her face in the pillow. I heard through the stuffing, "This sucks."
Then she sat up and took a breath. "We have to save it somehow. We can't just let her close it down."
"How? We don't have any money."
"Yeah, but we have friends, don't we? We could make Jordan start bringing the whole swim team there, we could put flyers all over school--"
"Nobody's going to come more than once," I said. "You know that. Darlene can't cook."
And then Amanda's eyes narrowed. She looked at me like I was dinner.
"You can cook," she said.
"No--"
"Yes you can. You can cook." Amanda was getting revved up. "And then you can teach Darlene to cook. And people will come there. And they will love it. And then more people will come, and you will save the cafe. You, Chef Cat, can come to her rescue."
"No--"
"And I'll go work for her. I'll be her hostess, or a waitress, or whatever she needs. And I'll redecorate the place. And make sure people actually know how to serve there--none of this attitude like some of those waitresses give us. I'll teach them how to be nice to the customers, and how to dress right, and what to say to keep people ordering more--"
Heaven help us when Amanda is on a roll.
"That's what I'll do," she said. "I'll quit my job at Olympus and get someone to cover this weekend's shifts so my boss won't hate me. Then I'll go work for Darlene right away. I won't even charge her for a month--I'll just work off of tips. And you, Kitty Cat, need to start cooking right away. Like tomorrow. Start figuring out some new recipes so we can bring in new customers by the weekend--"
"Can I please say something here?" I interrupted. "NO."
"Why?" Amanda said. "You know you'd love it! It would be like having our own cafe again, but this time for real. I'm sure Darlene would let us come in there and do whatever we want. You should have heard her tonight--she's desperate. Plus you and I can run that place a thousand times better than she can."
"No. I can't. I'm serious." It all sounded like a dream. But I had to be realistic. "Amanda, I have so much work to do. I already have a job, remember?"
"So quit it--"
"I'm not quitting. I like it there."
"So you could work at the cafe on the weekends," Amanda said.
"Except I have homework. And I have to cook for my own family, remember? I just don't have any more time."
"But this is important," Amanda said. "And I know you're very organized. You can figure out a way, can't you?"
This time when she stared me down, it was so much more pathetic. She wasn't demanding, she was pleading.
And I felt myself starting to give in.
"I don't know how to cook vegetarian," I tried.
"Of course you do. You cook it all the time--all those vegetable dishes, those soups, those fabulous zucchini muffins--come on, Kit Cat, don't you think the world deserves your muffins?"
If Amanda were a puppy at the animal shelter, she'd be adopted in a flash. There's no way anyone could resist that pitiful face.
"Besides," Amanda said, "I can guarantee that everyone would rather eat your absolute worst vegetarian meal than any of Darlene's best. You know that's true."
&n
bsp; I closed my eyes and heaved out a sigh. And Amanda knew she had won.
She jumped off my bed and hugged me. "Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret it--I mean it. We can really do something good here. We can save Darlene from ruin and still make a home for poetry. It's the most noble thing you've ever done."
"You're a very sinister person," I told her.
"I know. I love you, too."
She left me to go back to my homework, as if I could concentrate on that anymore. Instead I immediately started looking up vegetarian recipes. If I'm really going to do this, I don't want to embarrass myself.
Am I really going to do this?
47
Day 71, Thursday, October 30
My audition at the Karmic Cafe.
It's absolutely amazing what Amanda can accomplish in just three short days.
When I walked into the Karmic Cafe tonight, it was like I'd never seen the place before. There were actual living plants in there, and clean tablecloths, and enough new lighting that everyone didn't look like they had hepatitis anymore.
And just like in the days of our own cafe, Amanda had decorated the walls with pictures and signs and handmade artwork.
And there was music.
"What do you think?" Amanda asked. As if my dropped jaw wasn't answer enough.
"Un. Believable."
Amanda grinned. "You think?"
"This is ... gorgeous."
Amanda squeezed my arm. "Thank you!"
She took me on a tour. "I made all the tablecloths out of sheets I found on sale--I was up cutting and hemming until about midnight last night. I went through Darlene's house and brought in everything that I thought looked cool--like those jelly jars over there I'm using for vases."
A little of this, a little of that--that's Amanda's decorating style. Nothing ever needs to match--matching is boring. Somehow no matter how odd the combinations are, they always end up looking perfect together.
She drew my attention to the lists she'd posted on the walls. Famous Vegetarian Poets. Famous Vegetarian Artists. And singers, and actors, and writers, and athletes--
