by Robin Brande
It was a little baby gorilla, frightened and shy, trying to hide herself inside the coat of her keeper. The caption said her parents had been killed by hunters, and she was found bleeding from multiple machete wounds. She'd been brought to this sanctuary where scientists nurse orphan gorillas back to health, then eventually return them to the wild.
"It was her eyes," Matt said. "The way she's looking straight into the camera. You can really see someone in there."
I saw what he meant. It was like staring into the eyes of a child. You wanted to protect her--to comfort her. To just reach into the picture and cuddle the baby close.
"Why did you smile?" I asked. "I saw you smile when you picked this."
"Because I knew," Matt answered. "This was exactly what I needed."
He gave me a little background on the internship he'd done at the university over the summer. He landed this great position in the astronomy department, working with one of the top research scientists in the nation.
"He thinks we'll make contact with other life-forms within the next twenty years," Matt said. "He's developing all sorts of software for communication--lights, sounds, images, pictographs--going at it multiple ways. He figures there are about 300 million potentially inhabitable planets in the Milky Way alone--maybe a billion if you count all the moons--so odds are there has to be at least some creature out there worth communicating with. At least that's the theory."
"Okay." It's been a long time since I've talked astronomy with Matt. He was always far more into it than I was. I didn't want this to turn into some hour-long lecture. "So what's that have to do with the picture?"
"Wait. So we're spending all this time and brainpower trying to figure out what creature X on planet 23 wants to be serenaded with--blues? Rap? Tibetan wind chimes? Right? And whether it would prefer the scent of vanilla or gas fumes. That's what this guy's been working on for years. And he looks it, too--he's all gray and hunched over, smells like he never takes a shower--"
"We don't have much time," I said, checking the nearby clock.
A gust of wind broadsided us, pushing my hair all over my face. Amanda's sweater wasn't nearly warm enough. Not to mention the short skirt and the tights. I may have looked killer, but it was totally impractical for the weather. I shifted from one leg to the other and hugged myself.
"You're cold." Matt started to take off his jacket.
"No, I'm fine. Finish." This would all be over soon. I had a speech to give, but there was still time. I was actually interested in hearing the rest of his story.
"Short version," Matt said, "I hated the guy."
"Oh."
"I went in thinking I'd landed the coolest internship out there, but by the end of the first week I wanted to quit. The guy's a psycho. A real megalomaniac. Don't get me wrong--smarter than anyone on the planet--but he won't let you forget it."
My teeth chattered.
"Cat, here." This time he took off his jacket and handed it to me.
Taking aid and comfort from the enemy seemed like a bad idea, but I really was absolutely freezing. I put the jacket on and gathered the collar around my face. Which turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to do.
Because it smelled like him. Exactly the way I remembered. Whatever chemicals and sweat and soap make up Matt, they were all trapped within the folds of his coat. And this wave of missing him hit me, even though the person himself was standing right in front of me.
Because the Matt I missed was the old one--the one I trusted, the one I wanted to spend all of my time with. Amanda's told me before how hard it was to get to be my friend back when she first met me in seventh-grade English, because I was always doing something with Matt. It wasn't until he was out of the picture that she and I got to be best friends.
Matt reached out and adjusted the coat around me. "Better?"
I nodded. I didn't trust myself to say anything.
I read somewhere that one of the ways torturers break down their victims is by first treating them kindly. The prisoner expects to be beaten, threatened, maybe burned with cigarettes, and instead the torturer offers him coffee and sugar cookies and a warm bed.
Then once the prisoner's defenses are down, BAM. I should have given him the coat back.
I felt the first spit of rain on top of my head.
"We should go," Matt said. "You're freezing."
I didn't want to go. I knew once I did, this moment would be gone. I needed to say a few things to him, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever get up the courage again.
"Just a few more minutes," I said.
"Cat--"
I looked up at the sky. "It's not so bad. Tell me the rest. What's all of that have to do with the picture?"
Matt turned to the gibbons, now huddling in one of the huts inside their cage. "This was as close as I could come to a gorilla," he explained. "I needed an ape. Do you realize we share over 97 percent of our DNA with those guys?"
I looked at their white faces, those gloved hands so politely folded on top of each other, like they were waiters ready to show us to our table.
"Same thing--look at their eyes," Matt said. "There's definitely someone in there."
He was right. I looked into the smallest one's eyes and saw it--not the same haunted, traumatized look of the baby gorilla in Matt's picture, but still something real and tender and almost ... human.
"They're not that different from us," Matt said. "A few variables in the genetic structure, and they're in a cage, we're out here. Where you're freezing to death."
There was no denying it was raining. Cold, icy rain, coming down in dollops the size of spit wads.
Mothers raced their strollers toward the exit. Matt grabbed my hand. "Come on. Let's go."
We ran across the wet concrete, my boots seriously slowing us down. It made me laugh. Watching him pull me along like that, him in just his T-shirt getting totally soaked, me in my ridiculous skirt and boots and oversized coat, I didn't know who we were supposed to be.
I couldn't stop laughing. Because it was all so ridiculous. Matt McKinney was holding my hand, running with me like we were kids. And there in the parking lot was my coconspirator and friend, just waking up from her nap, obviously confused by what she saw.
I waved her away with my free hand. Even if I could have worked out all the vocabulary, I didn't have time to sign, "It's okay. This is weird. But I've got it all under control."
Matt unlocked the passenger door of his car and I darted inside. He ran around to his side and hustled in. He started the car to blast the heater, then we both sat there for a minute, breathless, smiling, our hair and faces drenched.
Of course my hair had totally started to frizz. He reached out and gathered up a few strands at their ends. "I was so happy when you let it go back to being curly this year. It reminds me of when we were little."
My breath sort of caught at that.
And then Matt's smile started to fade, and his eyes took on a soft, almost sleepy look, and he gazed at me in a way he never has.
And there was a moment right then. I could have reached out and touched it like it was a thing separate from both of us. It was a moment when I knew if I had wanted him to, he would have kissed me. I don't know how I knew it, but I knew.
"I should go." I quickly checked to make sure Amanda was still there. Of course she was--she wouldn't have missed this show for anything. It must have been driving her crazy that she couldn't see us clearly through the rain and the fogged-up windows.
"Here." I started to take Matt's jacket off.
"What's the rush?" he asked. "Can't we just talk?"
The rush was the sickening sensation of my heart beating too fast. I knew the signs. I knew what could happen next if I let it--I'd seen it happen with Nick.
But this wasn't Nick. I couldn't just go with it and see what might happen for the fun of it. I had history to contend with, and my history with Matt is too complicated. Too full of heartache and pain.
And besides, I'd already accomplished mo
st of what I came for. I'd confirmed for myself what I thought--that he does like me. That way. I've lost a bunch of weight, and now suddenly he's willing to give me a try.
I hadn't accomplished the second part--the part where I told him off--but somehow I didn't feel like it anymore. I just wanted to be done.
I handed him his coat and opened the door.
"Cat, wait--" His warm fingers closed around my wrist. "Don't go yet. I miss you."
"Then maybe you should have liked me when I was fat."
76
As soon as she saw me dart through the rain, Amanda started the car.
"Wrong outfit," she said, assessing the damage when I got in. "Sorry."
We all have our failures.
Mine was five minutes before, when I laughed as I ran to Matt's car. I let my defenses down. I let myself think it was all fine.
"Start at the beginning," Amanda told me as she drove past Matt's car on the way out of the parking lot. "Every word."
I needed the play-by-play myself.
Because when was the moment I decided it was okay to relax around him? How did I let things get to the point where he actually might have kissed me? And I might have let him?
"The Cat and Matt show," Amanda concluded. "Early imprinting. It might take a blow to the head for you to finally be free of it."
"I'm willing."
"So let me understand," Amanda said. The rain had turned into hail and was clunking against the roof. "As of yesterday, Matt was on your good side. Jordan told you what he said to Greg, and so maybe Matt was okay. Correct?"
"Maybe."
"Then this morning you have this epiphany that the only reason Matt is being nice to you now is you're so incredibly hot." "I didn't say that."
"That's okay," Amanda said, "I did. So you go there this afternoon expecting ... what?"
"To confront him about that. To get him to admit he only likes me because I lost weight."
"And how was that questioning going to go?" Amanda asked. "'Hi, Matt, do you like me now? Thanks a lot. And is it because I'm so gorgeous?'"
"I wasn't going to say that." She was starting to irritate me a little. "No, you weren't. And do you know why?" "No, Doctor Amanda. Why?"
"Because, my Kit Cat, Matt McKinney happens to be one of the reasons you lost weight in the first place."
"No, he's not. He has nothing to do with it."
Amanda turned onto my block. "Come on," she said. "You have been seriously in love with Matt since you were probably seven or eight years old. You can't deny that."
"Eight. But I'm not in love with him now."
"Early imprinting. You never forget your first love."
"I haven't forgotten him," I said. "Believe me. I'm well aware of where he's been the last four years."
She pulled up in front of my house and turned off the car. She unbuckled her seat belt and got comfortable, foot up on the seat, back propped against the door. I was wearing a cold, wet skirt, so I couldn't do the same.
"Here." She reached into the backseat and brought up a fleece blanket. No wonder she didn't mind napping in the car--she came prepared. She spread the blanket over both of us. I undid my seat belt and relaxed.
"Cat, whatever you say never leaves this car. You know that. You can tell me the absolute truth and I'm not going to criticize you or make fun of you. You know that."
I nodded.
"So tell me the absolute, hundred percent truth. Are you or are you not still in love with Matt McKinney?"
A drop of water rolled down my cheek. It must have come from my hair. "I am not. I was, but I'm not. I swear."
Amanda stared me down, but this time I wasn't budging.
She sighed. "Poor Matt. And he came so close."
77
Day 164, Saturday, January 31
Breakfast: Special brother-sister date at the Karmic Cafe. I made apple-walnut bread on my shift last night just so we could order some this morning.
"Okay," Peter said, pulling out his questionnaire. "Ready?"
He'd already interviewed both my parents over dinner last night. Now it was my turn. I told him I'd cooperate only if he walked with me to breakfast. My treat. Tough bargain.
The fifth and sixth graders at Peter's school are required to enter the science fair. A lot of them do it in groups. Peter came up with his project on his own. That's my boy.
On the way to the cafe I finally told him about my own project. Because we were about to work on his. And because I thought it was time to stop keeping that secret from him. And because I've discovered I actually like my little brother a lot.
"Okay," he said once we had ordered and were ready to get to work, "can you roll your tongue?"
I demonstrated I could not. He demonstrated he could. "Mom and Dad can," he told me.
"Guess we're not really related."
Peter's project is about genetics. He's asking the same questions of all our relatives, as far out as cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents on both sides.
"Is your second toe longer or smaller than your big toe?"
I had to take off my shoe and sock to check.
Questions about eye color, hair color, fingers (which is longer--index or ring finger?), earlobes (hanging or attached?), right-handed or left-handed, preferences for salty or sweet.
"Those are good," I told him when we were done. "Did you think them all up by yourself?"
"Yep."
"What's Trina's project on?" I can't help myself--whenever I say that girl's name, it's like I revert to third grade. "Flowers."
"Sounds stupid." As if I could tell from just that description. But I was going to say that anyway, no matter what he told me. Because I've got my boy's back.
We walked home, bellies full of bread and fresh fruit and an order of tofu scramble I convinced him to try. ("This isn't gross," he proclaimed. High praise.)
When we got back to the house, Peter took a few pictures--of me not rolling my tongue ("Rub it in," I told him), of my eyes, of my toes. I think my little brother's project actually has a lot of potential. Who knows--maybe we have another scientist in the family. That would be pretty sweet.
"You are so going to beat Trina," I told him. "You're going to beat her so badly she'll cry."
Peter looked at me sort of surprised. I was a little surprised myself.
Settle down, Cat. This isn't your fight.
Your fight was over four years ago.
78
Day 178, Saturday, February 14
Valentine's Day. I admit it: I wouldn't mind some chocolate right now. Like maybe a truckload.
Amanda has Jordan. I accept that. I have no one. I can accept that, too. Even on Valentine's Day. That's how it's always been.
Except the problem this year is that Nick came up to me after class yesterday and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner tonight, and I told him I was cooking at the cafe, and he asked if he could meet me afterward, and I confess I was seriously tempted.
But I said no. Because nothing has changed. I still don't have any real feelings for him besides lust, I still wouldn't be able to control myself around him, and I'm math geek enough to know that equation doesn't work out.
Amanda took the night off to be with Jordan. And Dave was with his girlfriend. So it was just me and Darlene in the kitchen tonight, filling order after order, while a bunch of happy couples sat out in the dining area gazing at each other with the googly eyes of love.
Whatever.
Even my parents are still out on a date right now. Disgusting. I mean, sweet. I don't know what I mean.
I didn't even used to care about Valentine's Day. Really, I didn't. Because it never seemed a possibility to me. I always knew I'd be home with my chocolate, and that was fine with me.
But this time I have been kissed by two different guys in the past few months, multiple times each, and a third one probably would have gone for it, too. So it's not so easy to ignore the possibilities anymore. It's like being certain you don't like choc
olate truffles because you've never had one before.
I have to admit that if Nick Langan showed up at my front door right now, I'd find him very hard to resist. Greg Beecher? Not so much. Matt McKinney? Let's not go there.
Snap out of it. There are other things to think about besides love and romance. There's calculus. And history. And hominins.
I think I'll head into the kitchen and whip myself up a little Valentine's Night couscous, maybe go crazy and put a little parsley garnish on top, and then settle down and do some homework. I'd rather sit and enjoy a Valentine horror movie with my little brother, but it's still twenty-nine days until I can watch TV.
Yep, the life of a cave woman is nothing but glamour. That's why everybody's trying it.
79
I was already in my pajamas when the doorbell rang. It was just before ten, so even if my parents had been home, they technically couldn't have objected.
I knew it had to be Nick. And I'm pretty sure I didn't mind. I yelled for Peter to get the door. Then I scrambled around, quickly throwing on the new bra Joyce recently fitted me with (36C!) and then pulling a sweatshirt over the whole thing.
I was just starting to leave my room when someone knocked on my door. Of course Nick knew the way--we'd spent some quality grope time in my bedroom already.
But it wasn't Nick.
And there was chocolate.
Matt looked really ... good. He was wearing a gray sweater, and his hair was all mussed, and he had on jeans and sneakers, and I have no idea why that all seemed so attractive, but at the moment it did.
Maybe it was the chocolate.
He handed me the heart-shaped box.
"I ... can't," I said, and it really hurt to say it.
"Cat--"
"It's not you," I hurried to tell him, although I don't know why. "I'm just off of chocolate."
"Oh. Okay."
We were both as awkward as if we'd only known each other thirty seconds. I stood there in my sweatshirt and pink flannel pajamas and felt really, really stupid.
