Fat Cat

by Robin Brande

  Nick was a great multitasker, able to negotiate traffic while at the same time sneaking endless peeks at my chest. I made myself sit on my hands.

  "So, where are we going for dinner?" I asked.

  "Karmic Cafe. Amanda told me you're a vegetarian now and that's the only place you'll eat."

  Oh, she's good. Not only did Amanda look out for my dietary needs, but this way she ensured she'd get a front-row seat to my date. Clever.

  "Mr. Langan," Amanda said regally as we walked in, "so nice to see you this evening. And Miss Locke, aren't you stunning?"

  She crisply removed two menus from the stack and escorted us to our table, over in the Famous Vegetarian Scientists section, of course. I started to sit down in the first seat Amanda offered, but she stopped me. "Oh, no, Miss Locke. You should face the room so that everyone can drink in your beauty."

  I thought she was pouring it on a little thick--and gave her a look that said so--but she merely smiled in her most professional hostess manner and returned to her station.

  I understood right away why Amanda had made me sit there--it was so she could sign to me from across the room. "You look great!"

  Pretending I was covering my mouth to cough, I brought my hand to my chin, then forward and down. "Thank you."

  "Nick looks hot!"

  I glanced at my menu while casually nodding my fist twice.

  Then more customers arrived, and we both got back to work.

  "So," I said, "have you ever been here before?"

  "No, I heard the food sucks."

  I choked on my water. "I think it's gotten a lot better."

  That was about all the small talk I was up for. My parents set my curfew at midnight, but I planned on being home much earlier--this wouldn't take the whole night. But it meant I had only a few hours for observation, and I didn't intend to waste any more of them.

  "Look, Nick, we've known each other a long time, right?"

  He chomped on a bread stick. "Yeah."

  "Since first grade, right? And just because we haven't exactly ... hung out before, we're technically old friends, right?"

  "Okay."

  "Great." I leaned forward, and his eyes snapped right where I expected. I cleared my throat to regain his attention. "So look, here's the deal. I don't want to play any games tonight--we've known each other too long for that. I want us to be able to relax and be honest with each other--no pressure, you know?"

  He gave me a curious look.

  "So I'll start," I said. "Do you want to know why I agreed to go out with you tonight? I could say it's because I admire you, I think you're so smart, you're so good-looking, blah, blah, blah. But the truth is, it's because you took me by surprise and I was flattered that you asked me. There--I said it. That's me being honest. Can you take it?"

  Nick crunched. "Sure."

  "So now it's your turn," I said. "Please be completely honest with me--why did you ask me out?"

  He smiled and reached for another bread stick.

  "I mean it, Nick. You can tell me. Is it my sparkling personality? My impressive GPA?"

  He chuckled.

  "So what is it?"

  Nick lounged back in his chair. "You really want to know the truth?"

  "I really do."

  Little did he know I had a research notebook going in my head, and right then it was like I had a pencil poised to write down everything he said.

  Because what I decided in the pool a week ago was that maybe Amanda's right. Maybe I've actually achieved that secret result I was aiming for when I first embarked on this whole hominin project. Maybe in some small way I've actually made myself ... pretty. Or at least better-looking than I was before.

  I was starting to feel a little of that when Greg asked me out, but that was almost two and a half months ago, and I've lost a lot of weight since then. I know I look a lot different.

  And since I've never really gotten attention for my looks before--except bad attention for being fat--is it so wrong to want to spend a little time here and see what it's like? It's all just for research purposes--sort of a social experiment to see what it's like to be a girl that guys notice. It's like the opposite of what Amanda does. She fools people at school into thinking she's plain. For a little while I'd like to see what it's like not to be.

  "I'm serious, Nick. You can tell me the truth--I'm not going to get all weird. Just tell me as a friend--why'd you ask me out?"

  Nick took another bite of bread stick, then leaned forward onto his elbows. "Okay, Cat, I'll tell you the truth. It's because I can't believe how incredibly hot you've gotten all of a sudden." His eyes strayed to my chest for about the eightieth time. I was beginning to feel at this point like my breasts should do some kind of trick.

  "What happened to you?" Nick asked. "How'd you end up like this? You used to be so large."

  Steady ...

  "Well, thanks for noticing, Nick. You've always been so observant--that's what makes you such a great scientist."

  "So what happened?" he repeated. "Did you have surgery or something?"

  Is that really what people think?

  "No, nothing like that," I said, smiling politely. "Just good healthy living."

  "Very healthy," Nick said appreciatively.

  And this time I smiled for real. Because right then I was glad it was Nick who asked me out. Amanda was right--Superbrain could take it. He could deal with some honest conversation and not make it feel weird.

  And I realized I could handle it, too. I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable--or sleepy--around Nick the way I did with Greg. There really is something to be said for hanging out with someone you've known practically all of your life. Even if he keeps staring at your chest.

  And once the ice was broken and we'd gotten all that beginning honesty out of the way, I felt like I could relax. I just sat back and let Nick entertain me with his stories. And believe me, they were plenty entertaining.

  At first they were just about his various awards and accomplishments--from being first-chair cellist in the city youth orchestra to winning honors at the various international science camps his parents have sent him to over the years--but then he moved on to some of the more juicy details of his life.

  Like all the girls he's dated since junior high. I had no idea Nick was so ... successful. And since I'd already declared the theme of the evening to be honesty, Nick felt free to tell me everything I wanted to know.

  That Russian chick we all heard about wasn't even the most exotic of the bunch. There was the South African ambassador's daughter, the visiting French physicist's daughter, and the Nobel Prize winner for chemistry's niece. Not to mention the odd high school science genius here and there. From the sound of it, he's been juggling multiple girls every summer since we were thirteen.

  But never during the school year--once fall hits, it's always back to work.

  Amanda kept coming over and refilling our water glasses all during dinner, even though that wasn't technically her job. Then she'd stand behind Nick and mouth what he was saying, a mere split second after he said it--another one of her talents. Very hard for me to keep a straight face for that.

  By the time dessert came around (my apple and peach cobbler, thank you very much), I had said very little besides, "Uh-huh," and "Wow," and, "Then what happened?" And yet it was still a thousand times more interesting than any of my conversations with Greg had been.

  "It's funny," Nick said as he dug into his cobbler. "You're not at all what I expected."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Even McKinney warned me about you."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Excuse me?"

  "Yeah, he told me to watch out for you."

  Amanda happened to be pouring more water for me right at that moment, and she nearly spilled the pitcher on my lap. I didn't dare look at her.

  "What, exactly, did he say?" I asked.

  Nick took another bite of dessert. "Just that ever since you've lost weight, you've been seeing a lot of guys." "A lot of guys
!"

  Amanda moved close enough to step on my foot. Unfortunately she didn't get to hear the rest because people were waiting up front to be seated.

  I tried my best to seem nonchalant. "So, what else did Matt say?"

  "Just that you seem pretty conceited lately, and I should watch out."

  I could barely speak, I was so angry. "Watch out for what?"

  Nick grinned. "Apparently you're quite the heartbreaker. Love 'em and leave 'em, you know?"

  So that's what Matt thinks happened with Greg? Please. And what about Greg being the bad guy--the "jackass"? Now he's the victim and I'm the cruel one?

  "Well," I said, smiling as best I could, "I'm afraid as usual, Matt McKinney is completely wrong. I hope you didn't listen to him."

  "I like to find out things for myself."

  "You're very smart," I said, and of course Nick agreed.

  I was running out of time. I knew once we got to the dance, the music would be so loud we couldn't really talk anymore. I had to shake off my anger at Matt and instead focus on my task.

  "So," I said, "I'm really curious about something."

  Nick looked at his watch. "We should probably go." He signaled our waitress for the check.

  I persevered. Because hearing all about Nick's history, I knew he had a few things to teach me. It wasn't like talking to a girl about her particular strategy with guys, but humans are humans. And sometimes a scientist has to broaden her research base.

  "I hope you don't mind me saying so," I said, "but it sounds like you've been really successful with girls over the years."

  Nick smiled. "What can I say?"

  "Well, that's just it--I'd like to know what you do have to say about it. Obviously you're a smart guy, so you must know what your secret is. I mean, beyond just the good looks--a lot of guys have those."

  Every time I mentioned how good-looking he is, Nick just ate it up. And the truth is, the longer the evening wore on, the better-looking he seemed to me.

  "So what do you think your secret weapon is?" I asked. "I mean, if some random girl is out there looking over the vast array of guys in any particular place, why do you think she'd pick you instead of somebody else?"

  People are funny. You just never know what they'll say in a given situation. I guess that's why there's a whole discipline of psychology to try to anticipate what people are thinking and how they're going to react.

  So I thought Nick would say something about girls loving how smart he is, how he's going to Harvard, how he's going to win the Nobel, yada, yada, yada--who knows? He could have said anything.

  But what he did say was this: "Because I know how to appreciate a beautiful woman, Cat. And tonight I'm appreciating you."

  61

  I didn't mean to dance that close. Really--it's totally against my nature. But something came over me--something chemical, something I couldn't control. I am shocked and horrified to admit that Nick Langan and I actually sort of made out on the dance floor, right there in front of everybody, the two of us mashed together, not really dancing but clutching and kissing for the entire duration of two back-to-back slow songs. Finally the DJ showed some mercy and switched to a loud, obnoxious dance track, so I could finally pry myself off of Nick and catch my breath.

  "Oh," I gasped, "this is bad."

  Nick grinned. His teeth flickered in the strobe light. He kissed my neck, then whispered, "I think it's pretty great. Come on--let's get out of here."

  More than happy to, thank you. Because that whole room was like a giant centrifuge, spinning us around like test tubes, separating out my good sense from the rest of me. Then by some bizarre chemical process, this new me fell completely under Nick's spell, and when he went for it at the start of the first song, I went with him. I didn't care who saw us or what I did--it's like it wasn't even me inside my body anymore. I had become this creature, this animal, this girl in the movie star dress making out with a guy in a tux. Completely unreal.

  But also scientifically instructive. Some part of my brain understood I'd have a lot of new data to analyze. Later. When the rest of my brain came back.

  That was another interesting thing to notice: my brain. It wasn't like with Greg. I might have been dazed with Nick--out of my mind is more like it--but I wasn't sleepy. Feature that.

  We stepped outside the hotel ballroom into the cold night air. Some kids were out there smoking. All I wanted to do was breathe.

  "Nick--"

  But before I could say something intelligent or even coherent, he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. And there we were, kissing again.

  I swear, my mind just abandoned me. I was nothing but brainless lips and hands. What a disgusting image. But it felt good while it was going on.

  Finally I heard some people laughing at us, and it broke the spell enough that I could push away and gain some space. Nick stood there practically panting, his mouth smeared with my dark red lipstick like he was a wild animal that had just come back from a kill.

  "Nick, this is such a bad idea."

  "Then let's go somewhere," he murmured, as if my problem were that we were making out in public.

  Believe me, that was a big part of the problem. I'm just not like that.

  But the bigger problem was this uncontrollable urge to keep doing it. How did I end up sharing tongues with a guy I never even liked before?

  I adjusted my dress. Somehow there was more cleavage showing than when I started out the night. I did my best to rearrange it.

  Nick kept me close. Even his breath--his garlicky, spinachy, appley-peachy breath--did something to me. I stepped a little more to the side so I could think.

  "What time is it?" I asked. I forced myself to turn over his wrist and look at his watch. It was past eleven.

  "I have to go," I said. "I'm on curfew."

  "Come on," Nick whispered, pulling me to him and kissing my neck again. "We're just getting started."

  "No, really. My parents are incredibly strict." Which was a lie, but I had to say something. It was hard enough to get those lines out, with his hands on my back and his lips on my throat. I could have stayed there like that all night.

  "You really are a heartbreaker," Nick murmured. "McKinney was right."

  And that did it.

  What was I doing? Who was this creature I'd become? I am not that kind of girl, and especially not with a guy I've never even liked. I swear, it really was this freakish chemical reaction, somehow activated by a dark dance floor and the faint smell of Nick's breath and sweat.

  I clasped both his hands in mine and removed them from my hips. Then I forced myself to create some distance between us. "I'm serious, Nick. I have to go. Really. I'm sorry."

  "Mm." He pulled me back and murmured into my hair, "I'm sorry, too."

  We walked to his car, arms interlaced, pausing every few steps to kiss again. It was starting to make me sick--not because I didn't like it, but because I knew once I was out of his presence, I'd regret absolutely everything about tonight. So much for scientific detachment. So much for my grand experiment. For all I know, Nick was doing an experiment on me, trying to see if he could overcome all my natural inclinations and somehow bring me to this helpless state.

  But I wasn't helpless, was I? If that crack about what Matt had said brought me back to my senses once, it could do it again.

  For the rest of the walk to the car and then the entire ride home, every time Nick reached for me or whispered something seductive or just emanated whatever those bizarre chemicals were that had me so entranced, I thought about Matt McKinney. Thought about how smug he'd be when we got back from winter break and everyone was talking about my slutty behavior. Thought about what Matt would say to Nick and to everyone else about me.

  That worked better than if someone had slapped me.

  When we got to my house, Nick turned off the ignition and the lights. He pulled me toward him, almost onto his lap.

  "My parents are probably watching."

  "Let them
," he whispered, then he went for a breast.

  I jerked away.

  It's a lot different when a guy is pressing himself against you on a dance floor and feeling your breasts that way. Somehow I could handle that. But an actual hand cupped over an actual boob? No way. I still wasn't ready for that, whether it was Greg in the Mondo Head or Nick in front of my house. And my fear turned out to be an even greater deterrent than just thinking about Matt's smug face.

  "I can't. I have to go." I flung open the car door.

  "Cat, wait!"

  I turned and waved, but kept on running. I felt like Cinderella escaping from the ball. Only the thing I almost lost control of wasn't a slipper, but a breast--I quickly tried to stuff it back in. I can't believe I let things go so far--no outsider except Joyce my lingerie guru has ever had access to my naked breasts.

  I was barely in the house thirty seconds when I heard a soft knock on the front door. I opened it before my parents could hear.

  Nick leaned against the doorjamb, his white shirt looking rumpled from all our exertion. "Cat. I think you're amazing."

  I maintained my distance. "Thanks. I have to go. Good night."

  I tried to close the door, but he blocked it. "Just one more kiss."

  I took a deep breath. "This was a mistake."

  Softly he gripped the side of my waist and started to pull me toward him. I stiffened my arms and held him off.

  I had to tell him the truth. "I don't really ... like you, Nick. I mean, not that way--not as a boyfriend."

  He chuckled softly and pulled me toward him again. "That's okay." His mouth moved in for the kiss.

  "And you don't really ... like me that way, do you?" I asked.

  He nibbled the lobe of my ear.

  I don't know why I had to keep asking him questions when I already knew the answers. "This is just physical, right?" "Mm," he whispered, "hope so." Well, at least he was honest.