“Onward then,” said Piper. “Jemma, what have you got on the Fat or Not thing?”
I gave them my recap, saying that I now understood what BMI was. I talked with Bet and I asked both the school nurse and Mr. Ford.
“It’s complicated, but basically BMI is a number that tells whether you’re underweight, at a good weight, or overweight. You put your height and weight in a formula and it gives you your number. You can do it online,” I said.
“That’s good,” Kate said. “We can just put the link in there so she can do it herself.”
“But I’m worried that if she does that it will just spit out a number that says ‘You’re fat,’” I said.
Kate winced a little, like she had just taken a punch. I needed to remind myself that this was a touchy subject for Kate, too.
“You’re kind of plotting yourself on an X-Y axis, like in geometry,” I said. “Your weight, over time, are like points on the graph. If you connect the dots, they make a curve. That’s why my doctor says I’m ‘consistent on the curve’—I’ve always been thin and though I gain weight I’m still in the same percentile,” I said.
“You’re losing me,” Kate said. “What did the nurse say?”
“She said you can get your BMI number, but you need a doctor or nurse to really make sense of it all,” I said.
“And what about the losing-weight-fast part of her question?” Kate asked.
“Well, there’s no simple answer there either,” I said. “People younger than eighteen shouldn’t really diet. You know, like, eat only grapefruit or something crazy like that. At least that’s what the nurse said.”
“So what’s she supposed to do if she comes up fat in that formula?” Kate asked pointedly.
“I don’t know, but the nurse did give me four tips,” I said.
I pulled out my notebook page, where I had them in a bullet list. I held it up for them to see.
• Eat more fruits and vegetables
• Drink water instead of soda and sugary drinks
• Get an hour of exercise every day
• Understand that it’s normal for a girl’s body to change during puberty. Hips get wider and figures get curvy.
“No offense, Jemma, but what’s the difference between fat and curvy?” Kate asked.
I had no answer. I wondered if there would ever be anything curvy about my body. Kate continued. “Eat right. Get exercise. Everyone says that and it’s not very easy to do,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Kate, if you can do better on this one, then go ahead.”
I was actually a little angry at Kate for how she answered my question about Forrest. That’s probably why I was so snippy.
“Come on, you two never argue. What’s up?” Piper said.
I was miffed at Piper, too, come to think of it.
No, Piper. I’m not living in a fantasy world by fake-dating Forrest. It’s more than that to me.
Neither of us answered Piper’s question.
“Jemma, I think your answer is good,” Piper said. “Kate, we can’t spend our whole year on one question.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I got carried away, I guess.”
“I did the best I could, Kate,” I said. “That’s all I ever do, you know that.”
I was worried I might cry, right there in the school basement, and admit everything to them both. But Piper put an arm around each of us and pulled us into a group hug.
“C’mon girlies, hug it out,” she said.
And we did.
Eighteen
We needed Bet, I decided. With her video camera and her inquisitive mind, I knew she’d have some good ideas for how to locate and stop our stalker.
That’s right. I said stalker.
Again, I met Bet at Lucky’s. We rode our bikes there, as usual, but the December weather was turning colder. It wasn’t so bad when you were walking, but the wind whipped my face as I pedaled uphill into downtown. Well, it was “downtown” in our small town—a few restaurants, a hardware store, a drug store, a fancy dress boutique, and a place that made homemade ice cream in summer and boarded its front in winter.
Bet and I arrived within minutes of each other, hung our jackets on hooks, and settled into our back booth, red-cheeked. Mugs of cinnamon tea steamed below our noses.
“The bookmark bandit—I love it!” Bet said. She pulled out her notebook and settled into note-taking position.
“I don’t love it,” I said.
I told her about my hunch about library club members and about the succession of threats, including how whoever it was called us “cheap and trashy.”
“Ugh. What does that even mean when you are in middle school? None of you guys are cheap or trashy,” Bet said.
“Well, thanks. I guess that’s a compliment,” I said.
“I mean it’s not trashy to tell girls about basic stuff that will happen or already has happened to them,” Bet said.
“Uh-huh,” I agreed.
“And this person is worried about boys seeing it? I really doubt boys are visiting the Pink Locker Society. I mean can you imagine Forrest surfing around on that girlie site? And even if he did, who cares?”
She was getting fired up now. This happened with Bet a lot. I laughed in a nervous way. Just the mention of Forrest’s name could set me off.
“Forrest spends most of his time on his fantasy football Web site,” I said.
“Exactly,” Bet said.
I liked that Forrest had named his fantasy football team Six Strings after the six strings on the guitar he played. He was a guy who was a jock and played sports but was also an artist—someone who might sing me a song someday.
Oh, it was so tempting to just spill it all to Bet. She was a good listener and she would keep my secret. And she always wanted to hear both sides. I thought she might see some other way than the route Kate advised. I didn’t want to break up with Forrest and admit the lie to everyone.
“So the trick will be to get the names of all the library club members. And some surveillance would be nice,” Bet said.
Bet thought the instigator of all this was clearly angry—why else go off and attack us personally? She also guessed it was probably a girl. I told her that Ms. Russo was friends with Mrs. Kelbrock, the librarian.
“Excellent—a great lead,” Bet said. Then she took a last sip of her tea and stared into the empty cup.
“Oh, Bet. I’m so sorry. I’ve been talking on and on about the Pink Locker Society and all our problems, and I haven’t even once asked about your show.”
I had noticed that You Bet! had not been shown for the last few weeks. She did the hand washing show as requested but that was it. On the announcements, Principal F. said the show was going on a temporary hiatus and would be back with a “new format that I’m very pleased about.”
Bet said her report on the Fat or Not list was already prepared and ready to air, but Principal Finklestein said no. She said she had interviewed a bunch of people on the list, including Emma Shrewsberry.
“By the way, Emma said she did not write in about the Fat or Not list.”
I didn’t blame Emma for denying it.
“And Kate?”
“I asked to interview her, but she didn’t want to talk about the notebook, not even off the record. I told her I didn’t think she was fat at all,” Bet said.
“So you’ll never be able to show that report?” I asked.
“Principal F. wants me to make my show more lively and fill it with ‘good news,’” Bet said. She put up finger quotes around the words.
“That could be … okay, right? You’d still have a show,” I said, trying to be encouraging.
“I guess, but I’d rather report on things people actually care about. Do you really want to know more about Hangnail Awareness Week?”
“You made that up,” I said.
“Maybe so, but you get the idea. You’re lucky, Jemma. The Pink Locker Society can just do whatever you guys want,” Bet said.
&
nbsp; She was absolutely right and—lightbulb!—a fabulous idea was born.
Nineteen
Kate and I don’t fight. Well … at least not much. We had that testy moment about the weight and BMI thing, and we’ve had other spats. But in general, we get along well and we keep the drama to a minimum. That’s mostly because of Kate, I think. She’s just so easygoing and not at all competitive. I depend on her yoga voice and generally chill attitude about life. Not so on this particular day. She texted me:
KATE: Why is there a VIDEO on OUR Web site?
That was my fabulous idea. Our Web site, www.pinklockersociety.org, could host Bet’s show on the Fat or Not list. In fact, I thought the PLS site could host her show permanently. I mean, who needed Margaret Simon TV when you had the whole Internet? So I just went ahead and posted it up there. I thought Kate and Piper would be impressed with my creative decision-making skills and my technical ability to make the video work on the PLS site.
The report was brilliant, I thought. Classic Bet. She had really gone in-depth and interviewed tons of people—students, teachers, our school nurse, and a doctor. She explained body mass index. She gave all sides—kids who wrote in the book said they just did it for fun and didn’t really think anything much about it. The people who were called out as fat—even people who got only one star in the fat column—were pretty upset.
Emma Shrewsberry was so brave to be interviewed.
“I know I’m overweight and I’m working on it,” she told Bet. “I’m going to the doctor and I’ve lost twelve pounds. I don’t like being made fun of, so I didn’t appreciate that list,” she said.
I wondered if my tips (eat more fruits and veggies, etc.) had helped her.
“What I would say to anyone who knows they’re overweight is that they need to find real friends. Maybe you’ll lose weight and be healthy. But you’ll never get there without friends who like you right now, as you are,” Emma said.
Bet then interviewed Emma’s two best friends. They were not overweight, but they said they now exercised as a trio and tried to do simple stuff for Emma, like eat healthier foods when they had sleepovers together.
It was such an upbeat story, it was hard to understand why Principal F. didn’t want to air the piece. I received an immediate congratulatory text from Piper. So it surprised me to receive the exact opposite response from Kate.
KATE: Thanks a lot, Jemma. YOU ARE NOT A GOOD FRIEND!
I immediately called Kate’s number.
“Kate, what is going on? Why are you so upset?”
“Aren’t we the Pink Locker Society, as in we’re all part of the group and we should make important decisions together?”
“Yes, but I thought you would like that I put Bet’s video up there. You were the one always encouraging me to be friends with her.”
“Be friends with her all you like, but did you see her show?”
“Yes, I saw it.”
“Stop it, Jemma. You know exactly what I mean.”
“No, Kate, I really, seriously do not.”
“When Bet showed the pages of the Fat or Not list, in the notebook, my name was there. It was first on the page. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Kate, I didn’t even see it.”
“It’s not bad enough that everyone in the eighth grade saw the notebook. Now anyone who has a computer will know I was in that book as a fat chick.”
I remembered the shots of the notebook. They went by so quickly, I didn’t see anything.
I heard Kate sigh loudly. And she was sniffing some, too. I worried that she was crying.
“Can you get her to take it off?” Kate asked, her voice quieter now.
“Well, she’ll be really disappointed because she was just kicked off MSTV. And this seemed like a place where she could put her You Bet! shows without any hassles,” I said.
“Jemma, you just do not get it.”
“Tell me,” I said.
“I used to look in the mirror and see myself—not perfect but a normal-looking girl. Now, every time I see myself I see my worst parts.”
“Kate, you’re beautiful. Everyone says so.”
“Yes, but eighteen people also said I’m fat.”
“Who cares?” I said. “People aren’t really thinking when they fill that list out. It’s just a stupid thing, for fun.”
“It’s not fun for me,” Kate said. “I did that BMI thing and my number was too high.”
“Don’t be mad at me, Kate, please.”
“Then help me.”
I asked her, “What would you do, if you were in my position? Whatever it is, that’s what I should do.”
Twenty
Now I really felt like a bad friend. Not only had I been lying, for weeks now, to Kate about me and Forrest, but I just accidentally humiliated her in front of the entire Internet. I needed to fix it, but how could I do it without devastating Bet? She was so happy when I said I’d post her videos on www.pinklockersociety.org. She hugged me and said I was the nicest person she’d met since coming to Margaret Simon Middle School. But how was that possible when Kate saw it all so differently?
Luckily, Kate never held grudges. She was still my friend and she didn’t send me any more mean texts. But she did bring up Bet’s video more than once and asked when it would come down. Kate knew it would not be hard for me to remove it. She could have done it herself even, but she was waiting for me to do the right thing.
I couldn’t bend the truth like I might with, say, my mother. My mom was technologically stuck in 1985. She still has one of the original Walkman cassette players. She also has a cell phone without texting capabilities and says she’s fine with that.
But it was not fine with me—especially on Thursday when I never got her phone calls telling me she’d be late picking me up from running club. I usually don’t put my ringer on, because I mostly text and I don’t want it going off in school. But all Mom does is call the regular way. I didn’t hear her calls and I sat there after school, wondering where she was.
She wanted me to try to get a ride home from someone else. But I didn’t notice the messages until too late. Running club had long ended. It was already dark and everyone had left except for Mrs. Percy in the office. I was out in front of the school and I could see her puttering around in the glass-enclosed front office even though it was after five thirty. Then a few minutes later, with Mom still not there, I saw the lights turn out and figured she’d be coming out soon. I secretly hoped that she’d exit through some side door.
Mrs. Percy had a reputation. Ms. Russo told me, “She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.” She was blunt and direct and did not seem to edit her thoughts much. I heard the scrape-scrape of the heavy front school doors and knew she’d stop and say something to me.
“Jemma Colwin, what in heaven’s name are you still doing here?”
“My mom’s coming. She’ll be here soon.”
“Would you like to go inside and call her?”
Another low-tech woman, Mrs. Percy was. At home, she probably still had a phone that was hooked to the wall with a twisty cord.
“No. Thanks. I have my cell phone. She called me earlier. Now she’s not answering,” I said.
I was thinking I’d just add this to the list of weird behavior Mom was exhibiting lately. I hoped she was OK.
“Well, I’ll just wait here with you until your mother comes,” Mrs. Percy said. “Can’t have you all alone out here.”
She sat down with a harrumph on the wooden bench next to me, my backpack the only buffer between us. This was even worse than talking to Forrest. I had no conversation ideas for me and the crabby school secretary. I had hardly ever thought of her except to hope and pray that she’d be on vacation if I ever got my period at school. When the school nurse was off at a district conference or working a half-day at another school, Mrs. Percy filled in. I had once heard a boy in my class tell her he had a headache.
“Me, too,” she had said, without looking up from the high counter w
here she stood. “Now, go back to class.”
I couldn’t imagine a safe topic for the two of us so I stayed quiet on the bench.
“You run track?” she asked.
“Yeah. I just started this year.” I looked down at the patch of pavement between my two sneakered feet. My running shoes were neon orange so cars would see me. (Mom’s idea.)
“Do you know there was a time when we had no girls’ track team whatsoever?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Back in the day, there was a girls’ basketball team, but they didn’t travel or have uniforms.”
I turned my head to face her and nodded. Why was she telling me this? And more importantly, I knew I had heard this before. Was it in a pink chain e-mail?
“There was cheerleading, but it was that ‘rah-rah-sis-boom-bah’ kind of cheerleading. Not throw yourself up thirty feet in the air and dance like a hootchie-cootchie girl cheerleading.”
I laughed at “hootchie-cootchie.” She seriously sounded like my grandma. And then it hit me.
“You’re Patricia,” I said quietly, almost to myself.
“Who, me?” she said, and smiled. Then she winked at me.
“Patricia” wasn’t her real first name. It was Adele and people called her Addie. Patricia was the fake name Bet gave her when she interviewed her on camera about the original Pink Locker Society. Bet had shown her only as a silhouette behind a curtain and even computer-synthesized her voice so that no one would know who she was. At the time, I thought I recognized that rat-a-tat way of speaking, even with the scrambled voice.
“I’m actually glad you know,” she said. “You’re doing a nice job with the Pink Locker Society.”
“Thanks,” I said.
It was so weird to be taking a compliment for this, especially from her. She had told Bet all about the PLS getting shut down in the 1970s. It was after they had openly supported some female athletes at Yale who protested so they’d have locker rooms like the guys.
“I want to help you with this bookmark problem you have,” Mrs. Percy said.
She said she knew about the “Stop the PLS” bookmarks and how they continued to be slipped into books. Whoever it was had slipped them into books by Meg Cabot, Judy Blume, Laurie Halse Anderson, and even The Daring Book for Girls.
The Forever Crush Page 5
