This Book Isn't Fat, It's Fabulous

by Nina Beck

  I start mixing my low-fat “spotted dog”—which is, according to Samantha, a favorite here at New Horizons. It’s a kind of rice pudding mixed with raisins. There are so many things wrong with this, I’m unsure of where to start explaining…Let’s just say I don’t eat anything that looks like it’s already been digested.

  “I want a four-cheese omelet,” I speak up.

  There is at least one gasp.

  “And…pancakes,” says Allie, looking animated for the first time.

  “…and bacon.”

  “You should’ve gotten the fresh fruit with cottage cheese,” Samantha pipes in. The killjoy.

  Cottage cheese. I repeat: I do not like eating anything that looks like it’s already been digested.

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Hey, ladies.” Eric walks up to us. His blond hair spikes a little bit at the front. He is wearing dark green khaki shorts, skateboarding sneakers, and a T-shirt that clings to his shoulders.

  “Riley,” Samantha says, elbowing me in the side.

  “What?” I snap, looking up from Eric’s abs. Everyone is watching me, including Eric. “I’m sorry, I was too busy undressing Eric with my eyes. What’s going on?”

  One of the girls, who is just settling into a seat diagonal from me, gasps, and I hear Samantha muffle a laugh behind her hand, but Eric—Eric just smiles.

  “That’s so freaking rude,” says another girl standing at the table, with a tray in hand. She has a pug nose (I would’ve gotten some work done if that were my nose), a really bad perm, and her outfit…goodness, it looks like she couldn’t find her way to the mall with a flashlight and a black American Express, but whatever.

  “Don’t worry about it, Tilly.” (Really, what kind of name is Tilly?) “With a body like this, I expect as much.” Eric leans back and begins to flex his arm muscles—posing for us until even Tilly has to laugh at the spectacle he is making. Tilly smiles at Eric like he’s a god and sits down across the table from me. For a moment I’ve forgiven her for being absolutely heinous, but then she shoots me a double-dirty stare when Eric looks away from her. Whatever.

  “Sometimes,” Eric continues, “I don’t brush my hair—just so I can give other guys a chance.”

  “Kind of you,” I say, nodding.

  “I thought so.”

  I didn’t notice Jennifer approach until it was too late. I mean, it was bad enough to have been caught in that awkward conversation last night, but to be caught smiling at a potential player in front of the potential player’s last major heartbreakee the very next day? I was scared to think of what the consequences would be.

  “Hey, Jenny,” Eric says, his smile faltering just for a second before it comes back as bright and shiny as ever. My eyes volley between his face and hers. His seems normal enough; hers is a mixture of sadness and pissed-offedness. Hmm. Did he sleep with her and then never call her again? Likely.

  “Hi, Eric,” she says, standing there for a really long, really awkward amount of time while Tilly pushes her chair close to Allie’s, making room for Jenny next to her.

  “Do you want to sit with us?”

  I felt for sure she’d say no, but instead, she decides to sit down right next to me—so that we’re both sitting across from Eric. Tilly is sitting on his right and shooting me the glares of death, either because I was flirting with Eric or because Jenny decided to grace ME with her presence instead of her…I have no idea. I must’ve run over a little rat terrier in a former life or something.

  “Eric—” Jennifer starts.

  “Riley—” Eric starts, stopping and looking at Jennifer. “Sorry, what?”

  “Um, nothing. Go ahead.”

  “Riley, I have your cell phone. I found it on the seat in the van.” He takes it out of his pocket and places it on the table.

  Tilly mumbles something that sounds like, “Probably the backseat.” But before I can respond, Jennifer stands up short, knocking over her one-percent milk (gross) into what looks like cottage cheese (double gross) and a slice of fruit. (Is this really breakfast? No wonder they expect people to lose weight.)

  The entire table watches as Jennifer picks up her tray, apologizes to Samantha, who sat on the other side of her, ignoring the fact that she got milk all over my tray and not Samantha’s, and walks to the side of the room in a huff.

  “What was that all about?” I ask, turning to the rest of the table.

  Eric’s eyes are on the back of Jennifer’s head. “I’ll be right back,” he says, standing up and following in Jennifer’s wake.

  “Seriously, is there something I should know?” I ask the table. Everyone is looking down at their plates, except Tilly, who is still shooting me daggers.

  “What?” I finally snap at her, hoping she’ll back down.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing with Eric,” she says, “but I hope you know he’s too good for you.”

  “Excuse me?” I screech.

  “Tilly—” Samantha starts.

  “He’s been with Jenny for three years now, and no one—especially not a tramp like you—is going to stop that.” She gets up with a huff that sounds like she’s about to start crying, and follows Jenny out the door.

  “What the hell?” I ask. Nobody says anything. Nobody even makes eye contact. Fine, if you can’t beat them, join them. I grab my tray and get up from the table, walking away from the group. I’m only going to be here for two weeks. I don’t need this drama. I don’t even need to get involved. I have a life, a good life—a GREAT life back home—I don’t need these people’s backward-assed problems screwing with my real goals: getting home and back to the people who mean something.

  I’m particularly disgusted with Samantha, who seemed really cool (OK, that might be pushing it a little) for about five seconds, but maybe it’s something about the nature up here. Tilly is obviously insane. Jenny has some weird issue with Eric. Eric is probably a player who wears nail polish to throw girls off his sex-obsessed scent. The entire place is crazy and I’ve just about had enough.

  I make my way out of the cafeteria and out into the public veranda when I hear someone calling my name. I know it’s Eric, unless Tilly’s voice dropped by half an octave. He’s the only boy on campus.

  I keep walking. I cross the grass in front of the Victoria Dorm and go around the building where there is a small grove of trees. I head toward them, hoping he’ll just give up and leave me alone. God knows what’ll happen if people see us speaking together. I’ll probably be deemed slut of the west and burned at the stake at midnight. I refuse to be burned at the stake—at least not here, where I haven’t done anything.

  “Riley, wait up,” he calls from behind me.

  “Go away, Eric. There is absolutely nothing you can say to me that will make me stop!”

  “You left your cell phone on the table…I brought it out for you.”

  OK, well, I guess there is one thing he could say. I stop and let him catch up. He hands me my phone, which I flip open to note that I have thirteen missed calls. Ugh. I snap it shut, shoving it in my back pocket.

  “That’s probably why you’re always losing it. When you sit down, it’ll push up and out of your pocket,” he says, pointing at my ass.

  “Please stop looking at my butt. And please stop talking about my butt.”

  “Um,” he says, his eyes wide. “I wasn’t. I was talking about your cell phone.”

  “And please stop talking to me, period! I’ve only been here, like, five minutes and already half the girls hate my guts and think we had sex in your minivan. God knows why. I don’t even like you that much.” (He takes a step back.) “And you totally ruined that poor girl Jenny so now she’s obsessively stalking you or something and she’s scaring the hell out of me. So I think the best thing to do is just leave me alone so I can wait out my time here until I can get back to my real life. You know, without getting murdered in my sleep.”

  “Um,” he says again, and then, “Oh God, don’t cry.”

  �
�I’m not crying!” I’m a mess and my eyes are tearing up and my nose feels like it’s swelling. I glance around at the back of the buildings that are all in this strange semicircle around the big grass lawn. We’re behind them, facing a bunch of trees. I think it’s a forest and I know if I go in there, there is a particularly good chance that I will never find my way out again.

  “Come here,” Eric says, putting his arms out to hug me.

  “Forget it,” I say, sniffling. I make at least one really gross noise. Not fabulous.

  “What? Why?”

  “You’ll probably feel me up.”

  He laughs, and chokes out, “Probably.” And then I laugh too, laughing and crying. I must be PMSing. He puts his arms out again, and this time I step into them and it’s weird…This is what Jennifer must have meant—he’s a total player, but right now I don’t care, because he’s got one hand in the back of my hair, kinda massaging the nape of my neck, and the other hand is rubbing up and down my spine.

  “I need a tissue,” I say. I wipe my nose and eyes on the back of my hand before resting my forehead against his shoulder.

  “God, I hope you didn’t just wipe that on my shoulder.”

  “No, on my hand.”

  “Really? That’s so sexy. Are you trying to turn me on?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh again. “I hate that I’m so transparent.”

  He pulls away, his hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the face. “Ready to go back in there?”

  “Not so much. Can we go for a walk?”

  He hedges. “I dunno. You’re likely to miss something and then get a demerit and then—”

  “I don’t care. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “They’ll send you home and you’ll lose your entire tuition.”

  “Boo hiss,” I say, turning toward the woods. Eric follows me. “So what is it that you do here? Just hang out?”

  “Yeah, when I’m on break. My mother is the program head.”

  “We met.”

  He smiles. “She’s a bit much sometimes.”

  “Oh, I know. We met,” I repeat. In a clearing a ways away, a large tree has fallen over. I head toward it. Eric walks beside me, with his hands in his low, deep pockets.

  “What do you do the rest of the time?”

  “School, work out, seduce unsuspecting girls in my mother’s charge.”

  I shoot him a look and he holds his hands up in front of him. “Kidding, geez.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  “Oh yeah, from who?” he asks. We reach the clearing, the sun is shining, and there is a slight breeze. It’s perfect. Nature isn’t so bad after all, I suppose. I sit down on the tree, which has bark that digs into my butt a little. Eric sits down on the grass next to my feet. He’s not as close as he was the last time, but he’s still sitting close. I think of the last boy I sat next to and wonder what D is doing.

  I give him a look and he nods. “Jennifer,” he guesses.

  “Jennifer told me to stay away from you. That you were a player and that you would probably seduce me if you had half the chance.” I don’t add that I thought Jennifer was a total wack job, or that I thought she was right. Or that I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t like it.

  Instead of doing what I thought he’d do, sigh and dispute the whole thing, he just stays quiet for a moment and then says, “Jenny’s my ex.”

  “No kidding,” I snort.

  “She dumped me a couple of months ago, and we seemed to be OK with it, until she saw me out with this other girl from town. Then she lost it and now I don’t know.”

  “She dumped you?” I ask. Sometimes girls are so insane.

  “Yeah, I mean, I know—it’s really hard to comprehend. I’m such a specimen,” he says, lying back on the ground. He folds his arms behind his head, making his chest seem wide.

  I cough politely. “Are you still seeing this other girl?”

  “No,” he says. I am pleased. I have no idea why, but I am pleased.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Is it?” he asks, sitting up. Suddenly he seems very close. What is going on here?

  “Look,” I say, scooting back a few inches. “I don’t know what’s going on. The girls in there are crazy. Your ex-girlfriend is telling me that you’re likely to seduce anything with two legs, and from how you’re acting, it’s like she’s right.”

  “Isn’t it just as easy to imagine that I just like you?”

  “You like me?” I ask. He nods. “You like me? You don’t know me.”

  “Well—that’s disputable,” he says, lying back down again.

  “It’s not disputable. We met yesterday. You don’t know anything about me, other than the fact that my nose runs when I cry and that I don’t like nature!”

  “Actually…” he says, and suddenly he looks kind of uncomfortable.

  “Spit it out,” I say, tensing, waiting for the worst. I’m not sure what the worst is, but somehow I feel like I’m about to get it. He leans back onto the grass and stretches out. He crosses his ankles and folds his arms over his eyes to block out the sun. “I might know you a little more than you think.”

  “How so?”

  “I read your application material.”

  “Come again?”

  “I read your application material.”

  “Yes,” I say, kneeling next to him, and kneel-crawling closer to his face, so I can pull his hands away from his eyes to find out if he’s serious or not. “I got that the first time. But what you do mean you read my application material?”

  “Well, I was helping my mom out in the office when your material came in, and I sort of glanced at it.”

  “They just let anyone look at that stuff? What happened to privacy?” I stand up and begin pacing. He sits up and looks at me.

  “It’s private.”

  “How private can it be…oh.” I pause, noticing the blush creeping up his neck. “You weren’t supposed to see it.”

  “Right.”

  “And you looked anyway.”

  “Right.”

  “And the picture?”

  He turns bright red then. I sigh and sit down. Jeez. This is weird. I mean, it’s not weird that some guy likes me, because who could blame him, really? But I don’t think I’ve ever been on the boy side of the girly stalking experience. It’s kinda flattering, in a creepy way.

  “When did my application come in?”

  “About four months ago.”

  “Let me get this straight. You saw something you weren’t supposed to see,” (he nods) “then you read something you weren’t supposed to read,” (nods again) “and then you copied the picture from my application?” (One final, slightly delayed nod)

  “Oh my God. You still have it in your pocket, don’t you?” I ask.

  “Maybe.”

  I open my mouth to say something. Then close it. Then open it—seriously. What does one say to this? You’re a freak? Thank you? Get away from me? Let’s make out? I like your nail polish?

  “Look, just because you read that doesn’t mean you really know anything about me.”

  “I get that.”

  “So…”

  “So, I MySpaced you.”

  “You what?”

  “I looked you up on MySpace.”

  I sat down again. “You MyStalked me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think this is normal?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Pfft,” I scoff. “I mean, should I believe that?”

  “Well, it is a strange little introduction…”

  “A little?”

  “But when I read that material you sent, you were just so funny…and then, I don’t know, it’s not like you were my type either.”

  My eyebrows rise at this. I’m not his type? He’s stalking me and I’m not his type?

  “I mean, I didn’t go around looking for people who are like you, but something about what you wrote on your application just caught my attention an
d made me laugh and I wanted to know more about you. So…so, I MySpaced you.”

  My mind began reeling through all the things that were on my MySpace page. Holy crap. Everything. My entire life is on my MySpace page.

  “I just liked you. The more I read, the more I liked. I had to con my way into getting to be the one who picked you up.”

  I looked at him and he had this weird earnest look on his fact that I didn’t know what to do with. I thought about it for a second and wondered, Could I like him? Could I like this guy? I mean, he’s not my type but he’s funny and witty and obviously good around the Internet and not above a little obstruction of the privacy regulations. That said, he doesn’t have any sense of personal boundaries (at all) and…and…he’s not D.

  It takes me a moment to let that sink in. It doesn’t matter that Eric is totally cute and totally here and obviously adorable in an alternative punk sort of way. And it doesn’t matter that he’s a great flirt or that he looks like he’d be an amazing kisser. But what about D? How could I trust my own judgment when it comes to who is good for me and who isn’t?

  “Eric, I don’t know what to say—I’m really flattered.”

  “Uh-oh,” he says, sitting up.

  “But I’m sorta seeing someone else.” I’m a liar. And a bad person. And a liar.

  “You are?”

  “Yes,” I snap. “I am. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Well, your MySpace page says you’re single. And…I dunno, I guess I just didn’t think that I’d meet someone like you and you’d be dating someone.”

  I blush a little. “Well, I’m not dating. Not really.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s someone I’ve liked for a long time. And…well, I don’t know. This is all very confusing. It’s just bad timing. I mean…I don’t even know if I even like him. I thought I did but then I kissed him and it felt all wrong, but we haven’t really even talked about it and then I lied to him and…”

  He stands up, brushing his hands on his pants. “No, no. Kimono, right?” (I nod.) “You don’t need to explain anything.” He smiles in his quirky crooked way, and for half a second I want to take it all back and just grab and kiss him. OK, weird. “Look, I knew from the moment I read your application that I had to try. But I knew there was a chance, a good chance, that you were probably taken or might be uninterested.”