by Nina Beck
“It’s not on her, but she definitely has it, Mrs. Hotra,” screeches Jenny.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do, you little liar!” Jenny continues to screech at a higher and higher pitch.
“Why don’t you just go search my room if that’s what you think,” I say, bluffing. And for a moment I think I’ll get away with it—Mrs. Hotra looks unsure.
“That will not be necessary, Ms. Swain—”
“Fine, I will!” Jenny says, pushing past me and opening the door. She storms into the room, pausing to spin in a circle, around and around. As if a pile of food with which to get me kicked out would suddenly appear and make itself known. Mrs. Hotra steps in behind her.
“Jennifer, where is this food that you suspected Riley had in her possession?”
“Well, um…” She looks under my bed. In the closet. “It’s not here. But she did have it.”
“How do you know that?” Mrs. Hotra is really starting to look annoyed now. Samantha and Allie look from each of us, like a three-way Ping-Pong match. I glance under the bed too—there isn’t a box to be found. Not a Kit Kat, not a Ho Ho.
“Jennifer?”
I can see Jenny struggling. Obviously she wants to get me into trouble and out of New Horizons, but not at the cost of having Eric be mad at her. I am counting on her love for him to get me through this. She loves Eric and she would never get him in trouble with his own mother. This will go away and she will have to admit defeat.
“Mrs. Hotra, I saw Eric helping her get it. He delivered it and I saw…”
I see her struggle to mention Allie and Samantha. Not like she just didn’t get Eric in trouble, but at least she seems to have some sort of conscience.
“And I saw her bring it inside.”
I can see the stone wall fall over Mrs. Hotra’s face and emotions. She isn’t annoyed anymore, she’s pissed off now. Swell. I hope they don’t find the food now. Wherever it is. I could probably get Eric out of this, but only if they don’t find the food. I mean, it’s Jenny’s word against mine. Who would you believe?
“Ms. Swain, do you have any food in your room?” she asks.
“No,” I say, and it’s the truth. At least, I think it is.
“Ms. Swain…I’d like to see you in my office in half an hour. Please bring your belongings with you.”
Well. I guess that settles that question.
Jenny looks satisfied as Mrs. Hotra turns on her heel and stalks out the door, leaving the four of us staring at one another.
“You’re going to get what you deserve,” Jenny says finally.
“You’re an idiot,” I say.
“Excuse me?” she repeats.
“You are an idiot. Do I need to dumb it down a shade for you?”
“How dare you speak to me that way? I’m not the one who is breaking all the rules and…and…”
“And kissing your ex-boyfriend! Well, listen to me…you lost him. You gave him up. You dumped him.”
She shakes her head, but her mouth just keeps gaping open and then slamming shut again. She looks like a swollen, blond-ponytailed codfish. “You dumped him,” I continue, “because you didn’t know what a great guy you had. He’s perfect. He’s amazing and everything that a girl could ask for. And now that you realize what you had, you think you can just get him back, like he’s going to do your bidding. And what’s worse, you don’t even like him.”
“I do,” she says, looking down at her hands. “I do like him.”
“No you don’t,” I tell her. “I like him.”
“You don’t.”
I say it again because it feels good to say. “I like him. I may even love him.”
“If you loved him you wouldn’t be leaving, you wouldn’t have pushed him away,” she tells me.
It is completely unfair of her to turn her logic on me. I shrug. “That’s between Eric and me. It has nothing to do with you and we’ll work it out in our own time.”
Her face, which had looked sad with longing a moment ago, begins to scrunch up again once more. “Well, that’s just fine…It’s obvious why he likes you anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. I’m dying to hear this. What could she possibly say—
“Of course it’s obvious. I mean, we dated until I got thin. Obviously he’s not into thin girls.” (I hear Allie gasp in the background.) “He has a thing for fat chicks.”
Awkward silence.
Crickets cricketing.
Silence…la, la, la, this is silence.
“And—” she starts again, advancing on me.
“That is enough!” Samantha yells. We all stop in our tracks, even Jenny—who turns to her, mouth agape. “Who do you think you are?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who do you think you are, you self-righteous, spoiled, conceited prig?”
“Excuse me!”
“How dare you come in here, into our room, and not only insult Riley, who has never done anything more than make out with your ex-boyfriend—yes, ex-boyfriend—but insult all of us. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Listen, Sam, you don’t understand…we were going to get back together and because of her—”
“Because of her, Eric is going to be happy and loved.” (I blushed at this.) “Because of you he’s going to be in trouble with his mother. For someone who claims that this guy is her boyfriend, you sure don’t treat him like it.”
“Yeah, Jenny,” Allie says, coming up to stand next to Samantha. “That wasn’t cool.”
Jenny looks from Allie to Samantha to me and back again. “I—I—”
“I think it’s time you left,” Samantha says, putting her hands firmly on Jenny’s shoulder and spinning her toward the door. “I think you’ve done enough talking for today.”
Samantha pushes her toward the door—and when she is halfway through the doorway, I hear her whisper to Samantha, “But I think I might love him.”
And Samantha whispers, “That’s too bad. Learn how to love the next guy a little better.” And gives her a final shove and shuts the door behind her.
Wow.
“Wow,” Allie says, staring at Samantha like she just grew another head. Or some balls. Whatever.
“Wow is right,” I say, walking toward Samantha and giving her a great big hug. “Thank you. I mean…well, you know…I just want…”
“Yeah,” she says. “I like you too.” And then she ruffles my hair like I’m six. And all I can do is nod and smile at her. I don’t know who this girl is, but this is not my Samantha. I like this girl, though, and if she wants to stick around in Samantha’s place for a little while, I’m OK with that.
We’re all standing there smiling when it occurs to me. “What did you guys do with the food?” I’m just hoping they didn’t ingest it all really quickly, like drug traffickers in a raid.
“We threw it out the window.”
“What?”
“Well,” Samantha says, walking toward the window, “we threw the box out the window.”
We three all look out the window at the grass below. There is a smattering of food all over the lawn. Samantha hands me the phone. “You have to be there in twenty-five minutes.”
“Yeah.”
“At least you’re packed,” Allie says.
“Jesus, Allie.”
“What?”
Samantha pulls Allie by the sleeve toward the door. “Let’s give her a minute.” I can hear them arguing outside the door, walking down the hall, and I smile.
I sit thinking about what Jenny said. She might be an idiot, but she’s right—at least about this.
I think about D and how we’re friends and how I should trust him enough and trust myself enough to let us be friends. Can we do that? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I still love him or if I just fell for Eric because D isn’t around.
But I want to figure things out with Eric. That’s the one thing I’m sure of. I’m not even sure I want to leave New Horizons now
. Not that I suddenly started loving vomit-food or that I like wearing four sports bras so I can skip like a clown, but I think I’d miss Allie. And Sam. And…Eric.
I don’t know what I want anymore. It was really clear a week ago. What happened? Stupid fat camp.
I take a deep breath and pull out my cell and bring up my contacts list. I start a text message.
Am @ Fat Camp in upstate NY. Will be home tonight.
And I hit SEND, sending the text to everyone on my contact list. Including Marley. Including D. Including everyone.
EAT-IN
There are only twelve of us, mostly girls I’ve never talked to. We’re sitting on the front steps of the cafeteria, surrounded by fat-filled products. I’m double-fisting Snickers bars (and I haven’t taken a bite yet, but I’m dying to). Allie is standing in the middle of us, crooning a song—in a British accent, no less—to carbohydrates. She’s actually got a really great voice and if it wasn’t for her love of Brit punk and carbs, I bet she’d have some great songwriting ability too.
One of the janitorial staff is the first (and only) person to walk by during our eat-in—but he has such a terrified look on his face and takes off at a sprint toward the administration building that I think one person is all we needed.
We see Mrs. Hotra marching out of the admin building just minutes later.
“That’s it?” Allie says.
“That’s it,” Sam responds.
“I thought it would all be so much more dramatic,” Allie says, throwing a Twinkie on the floor.
“Ms. Lawrence, please pick that up and put it in the trash. We try not to litter here.”
Allie blushes at being the first to be called out by Mrs. Hotra. We took care to do this right. No food packages were actually opened (or devoured) in the making of this eat-in. Could we get in trouble for having them? Probably, but that is my job. I am ready to confess—I would take the fall—I would—
“Ms. Swain, please join me in my office. Now.”
The other girls look at one another and then look at me. I step off the steps and follow Mrs. Hotra down the sidewalk to the administration building.
“You just couldn’t wait another twelve minutes to see me, Ms. Swain?” she said over her shoulder, walking ahead of me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was smiling.
“I like to be productive.”
“That I can tell,” she says, reaching to pull open the door in front of me and holding it open so I can pass. When we reach her office, she tells me to sit in the sitting area until she’s ready for me. A few minutes later Eric shows up, looking nonplussed, and sits down next to me.
UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCES AND MORE UNCOMFORTABLE CONVERSATIONS
I am feeling jittery, like I’m headed to my execution, and so my leg is bouncing up and down and accidentally brushes again Eric’s leg.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my leg farther to the other side so there is absolutely no way that they could possibly touch.
“No problem,” he says, pulling his legs in his direction.
“Look—” we both say at the same time.
And then we both stop and look expectantly at each other.
“I’m—” we both say, again at the same time.
I take this as a good sign. Obviously we’re both about to apologize, and we’ll be OK. I’m not sure how this will work, as I’m about to go home and be grounded for life. But perhaps he’ll wait for me. You know, until I’m eighty and allowed out of the house again.
“You go ahead,” he says.
“No, no…you go ahead.” I smile.
“OK. I’m still mad at you.”
“What?” I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting apologies and I get…well, not apologies.
“I’m still mad at you. I feel like you used me. You weren’t honest with me. I don’t even know if you were ever going to tell me that you were leaving.” I must’ve blushed, because he nods. “I thought so. I don’t know what exactly all this was for you, but it meant something to me.”
I am about to respond when Eric’s mom opens the door and tells us both to come in. The secretary raises her eyebrows as we walk by her desk, but she gives me a little wink and I feel—if not reassured, then at least like my life isn’t quite over. Not yet. That would come when she calls my dad.
“The two of you have been causing a lot of problems lately,” Mrs. Hotra says as soon as we are seated. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you were both having a poor influence on the other youths here.”
Youths?
“So much so that I think a break might be in order. Ms. Swain, as Eric lives here, unfortunately I’m asking you to leave,” she says, her hand up. “I think that this is getting out of hand and until we all have a better grip on how to…maneuver through these troubled waters, I think this is best. Your parents will receive a reimbursement of your tuition for the remainder of the two weeks…Yes, Ms. Swain?”
“I…I don’t know if I want to go home,” I say, my lip quivering. And it surprises me to realize it’s true and I’m not just saying the thing to get myself out of trouble. Although that’s true too.
“I’m not sure if that is the concern at this point. At this point, I think it’s best that you do—however—go home. I have to think about all concerned, every student here.”
“Mom,” Eric starts, but then stops again. He doesn’t know what to say. Neither do I. We’re both in the same position.
“Eric, I’ve made up my mind. After I call Ms. Swain’s parents, you may bring her back to the train. The next train is running in an hour.”
I nod. He nods. I think we’re both thinking about the last conversation we might ever have together.
“Mrs. Hotra,” the intercom buzzes. The secretary is buzzing through.
“Yes, Abigail?”
“Ms. Swain’s stepmother is on the phone.”
“Future stepmother,” I quip before I realize what that means. “Wait, why her? Can’t you talk to my father?”
“She called us, Ms. Swain,” she says before pressing down the intercom button once more. “Can you put her through, please, Abigail?”
The phone clicks over a second later, and Elizabitch is on the line. “Mrs. Hotra?”
“Yes, this is Mrs. Hotra.”
“Hello, I apologize for calling so late in the evening. I’m sure you’re preparing for some evening festivities.”
“Uh, actually…”
“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t for a family emergency.”
“A family emergency?” Mrs. Hotra says.
“Yes, Mr. Swain’s sister is in the hospital. She slipped in her Choos and broke her hip.”
“She slipped in her shoes?” Mrs. Hotra says, frowning.
“Choos.”
“Shoes?”
“Jimmy Choos.”
xl hasn’t said anything about my illicit affair, my demerits, or the false alarm on the food stash. Instead I’m going home. Like I wanted. No fuss, no muss. If I had thought it could be this easy…I would’ve broken my aunt’s hip days ago.
Of course, it might’ve helped if I actually had an aunt.
I couldn’t figure out if it was Allie or Samantha on the other line, but whoever it was did a great convincing Bostonian accent. Even I was almost convinced that it was Elizabeth Butler on the phone.
“Ms. Swain—I assume that you are fully assessed of the situation.”
What is the appropriate response to an aunt with a broken hip? I look at Eric and he’s watching me carefully. I think he knows something is up. I gasp, “This is horrible.” I cry—perhaps a moment late—“She’s a dancer! Her career is going to be over!”
“Your aunt is still dancing?”
I do a quick math problem in my head. “Well, she’s teaching…and she’s a very popular teacher at the NYC ballet academy. I don’t know how she’ll ever recover. Ballet is her life.”
I feel a stab of guilt, lying to Eric’s mom about a fake aunt’s ruined career as a prominent
and beloved teacher.
“Eric, if Ms. Swain is ready to go, why don’t you take her back to the train station?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hotra stands nodding behind her desk, kind of like a bobblehead, while we leave her office and walk toward the front drive where, supposedly, Eric had left the minivan, where he would take me home.
“I didn’t realize you had a ballerina in the family,” he says, shooting me a sideways glance as we walk side by side.
“I didn’t realize it either.”
“A ballerina?” Samantha says in a very snooty Bostonian accent.
“That was you?” I ask, floored. It really is a very good accent.
“I fancy myself something of an actress,” she says, pulling me into a hug.
“That’s great,” Eric says, taking my suitcases from me and throwing it in the backseat. Wow, great. Someone is overly emotional.
“He’ll get over it. He’s happy. He really is,” Samantha says, giving me another squeeze before letting me go. I nod happily. I know she’s right. He’ll forgive me. If I get the chance to apologize.
THE LONGEST DRIVE EVER
Look, I’m sorry,” I blurt out, five minutes into our drive to the station.
“Yeah,” he huffs. “You sound sorry.”
I look out the window, rolling it down all the way so I can stick my head out. I love nature. Sort of. Not the smelly kind. It’s night and it’s really dark out; there is a weird buzzing sound in the distance, I think they might be bugs. I stick my head back inside and roll up the window.
“I mean it,” I say, pulling my head back to face him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you involved in all of this.”
“Did you ever think I wanted to get involved?”
“Huh?”
He pulls the minivan over sharply to the side of the road and throws it into park.
“Holy shit!” I scream. Minivans are not three-wheelers. I swear I was five seconds away from death from Mr. Emo tipping the van.
