Actually, I didn’t just look in the mirror, I kinda talked to the mirror, too.
I talked about how it was “Revenge time.” I talked to it about how “I looked good.” I talked about how “Our act is good,” about how “We have ’em where we want ’em,” and about how “I finally have a chance to get back at the girls who have hurt me so bad for so long.”
For the first time in my life, weird as this sounds, I really looked at myself in the mirror. And spoke to myself. Honestly, I talked to me.
Then I told myself one of the most truthful things I had ever said.
“Maybe I used to be one thing,” I said. “But not anymore.”
No more would I be a baked potato. No more would I be the girl who always got laughed at. No more would I be the sad little outcast who always felt picked on and bad about herself and thought she was an idiot-doofo-weirdo-turdhead loser.
No more would I hate myself. For the first time in a long, long time, I felt good.
Really good.
I walked out of the bathroom knowing that nothing was going to stop me. Nothing at all. Not food. Not fear of failure. Not the ThreePees.
Especially not the ThreePees.
I headed back to Q with a bounce in my step. By this time tomorrow night, there would be a new Maureen, one that that for the first time in her life not only felt good, but was good.
However, Q wasn’t around.
“Q?” I said, calling out. “Hey, dorkwad, where’d ya go?”
There was no answer.
“Q?” I called again.
A voice startled me from behind.
“Looks like someone forgot to teach the little doggie how to swim.”
Huh?
I looked at the Fountain. There, at the bottom of the pool, was Poochy.
What the...
I raised my eyes. In the distance I saw Q walking farther and farther away.
“Q!” I shouted. “Q!”
“I don’t think she’s gonna turn around,” said Sofes, giggling. “Not after all that hyperescalating.”
“Hyperventilating, Sofes,” said Kiki. “The freak was hyperventilating.”
“Same thing,” she answered.
“Q!” I cried out again, but Sofes was right: Q was too far away, and even if she had heard me, she didn’t look like she was going to turn around for anything.
I spun back around and looked at the bottom of the Fountain.
“See ya tomorrow, fat girl,” laughed Kiki.
And with that, the ThreePees wiggled off.
I pulled Poochy from the bottom of the Fountain and lifted him up. Water drained out of his ear. I tried to turn on the power.
Nothing. The dog looked at me with an empty stare.
He was dead. Dead.
Totally and completely dead.
I put Poochy inside my backpack and zipped it tight. I was so stunned I felt numb. Emptiness filled me. I mean, you’d think I would have wanted to kill the ThreePees, or kill myself, but instead my insides were in a total state of shock. I just felt hollow, blah, gone. It was as if the complete disbelief of seeing Poochy in the Fountain had sucked my soul out of me like some sort of high-powered vacuum cleaner, and there didn’t feel like there was anything else put back in its place. Though it would have been totally like me to do so, I didn’t yell, stomp, scream, flip out, or explode.
And I didn’t go snitch to a teacher, either. Why? Because really, I realized as I shuffled away, it was all my fault. Really, it was all my own stupid fault.
I mean, why did I ever think I could be normal?
You’re such a loser, Maureen, I thought. Such a total loser.
I headed home.
And partnering up with a bunch of other loser-weirdo freaks certainly doesn’t help things either, now does it?
Like I said, such a total loser.
I dragged my feet forward like I was on automatic pilot. However, instead of going home, I made an unscheduled but completely mandatory detour.
To Paradise Palace.
“Seven of those, please,” I said as I put some money on the counter.
“Eez there a cupcake party?” asked the guy behind the cash register when he saw all the two-packs of chocolate love I was purchasing.
“You could say that,” I answered. Not only was the junk food junky at Paradise Palace, it was cheap too. For just a few bucks a person could stuff their face completely.
“Hey,” I added, suddenly pointing to the long pieces of rubber turning around and around under the heat lamps, shimmering in grease. “How are those hot dogs?”
“Dee-lee-cious,” the guy answered. “I eet two or three a day.”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to try one,” I said.
“So, you vood like?” he asked.
I paused and considered what I was about to put into my body. “On second thought, naw,” I answered.
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Okay, you’re the customer.”
“Better gimme two,” I said. “Need my nutrition, ya know.”
He smiled, glad that I was joining his toxic-hot-dog-eating club.
“Weeeth relish?” he asked, grabbing some tongs.
“And kraut and cheese and chili bacon, too,” I answered. “Load ’em up.”
“Youz got eet,” he said.
I paid for my food, grabbed my convenience-store death dogs, and got ready to walk out. However, there wasn’t enough room in my backpack for all the cupcakes as well as Poochy, at least not without squishing all of the tasty, delectable treats.
Hmm, what to do, I thought.
“Excuse me, is there a garbage?” I asked.
The man pointed to a bin under the Icee machine. I walked over and—BOOM!—dropped Poochy into the gray can.
Good, I thought. Plenty of room in my backpack now.
“Hey,” said the convenience store guy as I was walking away. “Eez too beeg. You no can throw there.”
“What?”
“Eez too big,” he repeated, pointing at Poochy. “Take oop too much room. Take weeth you, take weeth you.”
Frustrated, I shrugged my shoulders and picked up Poochy from out of the garbage can. Whoever heard of there being rules to what you could throw away in a convenience store? I looked at my backpack, still not wanting to smash my cupcakes.
Hmm, what to do?
“Do you have a Phillips head?” I asked.
“A vutt?”
“A Phillips head? A Phillips head screwdriver?” I said.
“A pheeleeps heed, no,” he answered. “Just a reegular head.”
He held up a long screwdriver.
“That’ll do,” I said. “Can I borrow it for a sec?”
“Sure theeng.” He passed me the screwdriver. With a Phillips head I would have been able to unscrew some of the pieces, but with a flat head, I wasn’t really able to turn any of the screws without stripping them, so instead of properly disassembling the robotic dog, I simply jammed the screwdriver deep into Poochy’s neck.
Then popped off his head.
“There,” I said, handing the man his screwdriver. “Thanks.”
“You braked it,” the guy said to me, seeing the damage I had done to the dog.
“It was already braked,” I told him. “In a way, I guess you could say the whole idea of it was braked a long, long time ago.”
I stuffed Poochy’s head and body into my bag. Now that the dog had been decapitated, I was easily able to fit all the pieces into my backpack without smashing any of the cupcakes.
Perfect, I thought. I mean, you gotta have priorities, right?
I picked up my chili-bacon death dogs off the counter, took a big bite, and made sure that all the performers in the cupcake carnival were tucked safely away in a smush-proof place in my backpack.
“Eez good?” the guy asked after I plowed a huge hunk of overcooked mystery meat into my face hole.
“Eez dee-lee-cious,” I answered. “Thanks. See ya tomorrow.”
> “Too-mahrroo?” he asked.
“Yeah, too-mahrroo,” I answered. “What, you don’t work?”
“No,” he replied. “I’ll bee heer.”
“So will I,” I answered. “So will I.”
Then I walked home.
“How was it, Boo?” asked my mom as I came through the front door. Both Ashley and Marty looked up when I entered.
Just then I did the best acting job ever done on the face of the planet. It was like I deserved ten Academy Awards for my performance.
“It was awesome, Mom,” I said with all the perkiness of Beanpole. “Just awesome! We hit all our marks, and Poochy was great, and the judge even laughed out loud at the end. You were, like, so right. Being positive is the secret. I’m always going to be positive from now on.”
“That’s excellent,” she said, thrilled to hear the news.
“We really nailed it. One thousand percent,” I added. Then I burped. It tasted like burned bacon chili. Gross.
“Where’s the dog?” asked Marty, reaching for my backpack. “I want to check him out and make sure he’s all set.”
I pulled my bag away before he could get to it.
“He’s fine,” I said. “Just fine. But Q wanted to take him home. You know how she can be sometimes. I figured it was good for her self-esteem. For all I know, she’s cuddling with Poochy on the couch right now.”
My mom laughed.
“But…” said Marty, noticing that my bag was pretty full for a person who wasn’t carrying a robotic dog around.
“Oh, relax, Poochy is great,” I said, cutting Marty off. “A real champ. You know, I think we’re gonna win tomorrow,” I announced.
“You do?” said my mom, happily surprised by the idea of it.
“I do,” I said. “I really, really do.”
My mother beamed with so much pride I thought her cheeks were going to explode. Marty, however, still looked suspicious.
“I’m gonna go shower, then get to sleep early so I can be well rested for the performance tomorrow,” I said.
“No dinner?” asked my mom. “I made a healthy salad.”
“Naw,” I answered. “I’m not hungry.”
“Nerves?” she asked.
“Probably,” I replied.
“It’s natural,” she said, trying to be supportive.
“I guess,” I said casually. “Oh, Mom,” I added.
“Yeah, Boo?”
“You’re not going to be mad if we don’t exercise in the morning, are you? I think I want to sleep in.”
My mother paused and then smiled even bigger.
“I think we can afford to take a day off,” she answered. “We’ve earned it, don’t you think?”
“You’re the best, Mom,” I said. “Just the best.”
I turned to head for my room, but Marty suspected something was up.
“Aw, you gotta think positive, bro,” I said before I walked away. “Everything’s gonna be great tomorrow. Just spek-tak-cu-lar!”
Ashlee looked at me with a twisted expression on her face.
“And you,” I said before bouncing up the stairs, “your hair looks really cute like that. You should wear it that way more often.”
“It does?” she said.
“Really, it does,” I answered. “Brings out your cheekbones. Are all your friends still coming to show their support?”
“Um, yeah,” Ashley answered.
I went to my bedroom, closed the door, and began to eat.
And eat and eat and eat. It was just me and the chocolate love parade starring Mr. Cupcake and all his talented friends.
And really, why not? I mean, no matter what I did, I would always be one of life’s losers. Nothing would ever change that. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much effort I gave, no matter how long I worked or how good I attempted to be, I had just learned the most valuable lesson the world could ever offer.
In this life, there are winners and losers; and me, I was a loser. A big, fat loser. Always had been, always would be.
Always.
It was a fact that only chocolate cupcakes understood. Lucky for me I had fourteen of them to help get me through the night.
The more I chewed and thought and chewed and thought and swallowed, the more I realized that I should actually be thanking Kiki and the ThreePees for what they had just taught me. I mean, think about how many people never learn the lesson that they are one of life’s nothings in this world, and waste all their precious years trying and trying to be something they are not. Like a cat will always be a cat, and a dog will always be a dog, and a ferret will always be a ferret.
But a ferret will never be a cat or a dog, no matter what it does, right?
Me, I’d always be a ferret, and in a way, the ThreePees had just saved me all the stupid effort of ever trying to be a dog or a cat again.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep, dreaming ferret dreams and preparing for a ferret tomorrow. I don’t even remember taking off my stupid watch before climbing into my stupid bed.
The next morning I woke up with the taste of chocolate on my tongue. Urgh! I had forgotten to brush my teeth. And as everyone knows, the only way to cure the taste of unbrushed chocolate on your tongue is with…
More chocolate. But I need fresh stuff.
Paradise Palace, here I come!
I headed downstairs.
“Big day today, Boo,” said my mom, sipping her cup of coffee.
“Uh-huh,” I replied.
“Where you goin’?” she asked.
“For a walk,” I said. “You know, clear my head.”
“Want company?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I think I am gonna stop by Q’s house for a minute anyway.”
“Sort of a pep talk before the big show?” she asked.
“Exactly, Mom,” I answered. “You nailed it.”
I faked a big, happy, positive smile and left. Then it hit me: I should go to Q’s house. Not to give her a big pep talk. Of course not; why would I want to do that? But to tell her the truth.
The real truth.
The truth about how we couldn’t hang around at lunch anymore. Or after school. Or in the halls or at any of our houses or anything.
Of course I expected Q to start explaining to me about all her lame-o-ness. About how it wasn’t her fault, about how the ThreePees outnumbered her, about how when she had one of her famous hyperventilating, freak-out, “oh no, I’m panicking!” attacks and dropped to her knees to put her hands over her head in order to catch her breath, the ThreePees stole the dog from her and threw it in the Fountain. Walking over to her house, I just knew that Q’d probably have a sad little excuse for everything.
A sad little excuse with a whole lot of Wheeesh-whooosh, Wheeesh-whooosh sound effects mixed in, too. What a mutant.
But really, did excuses even matter? I mean, what difference did it make how it happened? All that mattered was Poochy was dead, we had lost, and once again, dorkwads like us were going to be life’s losers.
Maybe I should have snitched? I mean, I could have snitched. Could have told the teachers and the parents and the whole world everything. But really, what was the point? I’d still be a ferret, a loser, a Nerd Girl, and there wasn’t anything that was going to change that. If I tattled to a teacher or a parent, it would have been just like setting myself up to lose again.
Naw, it was over. Everything was completely and totally over. After all, I had been born on Planet Piece-of-Garbageville, and no one can ever change where they were born.
Nope, I was going to Q’s house for a different reason. I was going to Q’s house to tell her that it was like I had always said it would be, that the best that Allergy Alice, Beanpole Barbara, and Big-Boned Maureen, the Human Baked Potato, could ever possibly be was associated grapes.
And I wanted to disassociate.
Over. Done. No more.
I just wanted to live my life at the bottom of life’s grape bowl all by myself.
For
get the talent show. Forget the ThreePees. Forget one another. I was better off in this world as a lonely, shriveled grape.
Okay, a plump grape. But either way, a grape that wasn’t associated.
I walked up to Alice’s front door. It was painted red, a sign for good luck.
Yeah, right, I thought.
Associations caused pain. Associations caused disappointment. Associations caused humiliation. It was time to, once again, become disassociated. Better for everyone that way.
I knocked. Mrs. Applebee, Alice’s mother answered.
That’s when things changed forever.
So this is where the kook-job lives, I thought as the door opened.
“Hello?”
“Is Q…I mean, your daughter, is she home?” I asked in a short voice.
“Well, you must be Maureen,” said Q’s mom, welcoming me inside with a warm smile. “Please, come in. I’m glad we finally get to meet.”
I entered and looked around. The house seemed normal enough…for a freak asylum, that is.
“Alice is resting right now before the big show,” said Mrs. Applebee. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Naw,” I said. I just wanted to get in and get out and then hit Paradise Palace on the way home. It would be jelly doughnut day for me. One for the history books.
“Please, sit down, sit down,” Q’s mom instructed. I tried to look down the hallway to see the psycho girl’s bedroom, but her mother had me copping a squat on the couch before I could get a good peek.
She took a seat across from me in a blue chair. Oh great, it was talk-with-another-kid’s-mom time.
“You know, I can’t tell you how happy I am that Alice finally has some real friends,” she began. Her smile was wide and bright.
“Uh-huh,” I replied, not really in the mood for chitchat.
“I mean, this is Alice’s third school in two years,” she continued. “It’s like everyone shuns her, and she can’t…” Mrs. Applebee paused. “It’s like she can’t fit in.”
“Um, yeah,” I said. “Is she gonna be awake any time soon so that I can...”
“Kids can be just so mean to one another,” Q’s mom said, finishing her own thought more than she was answering me.
“You can say that again,” I responded.
“The meanest,” she added. “Just absolutely cruel.”
Nerd Girls Page 13
