Fat Cat (25 page)

And what was that bit at the zoo yesterday? What was his point? As if showing me those monkeys--excuse me, apes, as if I care--was supposed to make up for anything. What kind of twisted logic is that?

I slept in late this morning after my long interview with Jordan at the cafe last night. Amanda and I must have grilled him for another hour after he told us that story, but he never really gave us more to go on. Jordan is a skillful writer, but not so much a talker. He kept falling
back on phrases like, "He's solid, I'm telling you," when what Amanda and I wanted was
details
.

So then she and I analyzed it between ourselves for another good long while at her house, and by the time I dragged home, I could barely pry my eyes open.

When I woke up this morning, I thought maybe I'd dreamed the whole thing--the zoo, Jordan, all of it. Because it's not the path my brain has been taking all this time. I'm predisposed to believing everything Matt does is to hurt me or make fun of me somehow. But sticking up for me with Greg doesn't fit that pattern.

So now what? That's the thing.

Amanda told me last night that I might have to do the unthinkable: go back to Matt and give him a chance to make up.

There are two major problems with that, as far as I can see: First, it means I have to go crawling back to him, which is exactly what I don't want to do. I think I've established a very strong persona with him lately, and it's taken me so long to get here I can't stand thinking I'll have to give it up.

Second, who's to say Matt would even be receptive at this point? I couldn't have been colder to him yesterday. I think I was pretty clear we wouldn't be reconciling anytime soon.

Oh, and I just thought of a third thing: what if I just don't want to? I know that sounds petty and immature, but why does it have to always be me? Is it wrong to like being in the position of power for once? To have someone make the effort with me? To have someone else be the one trying to get me to like him?

Okay, so I admit that both Greg and Nick kind of liked me--or at least pursued me--more than I did them. So in a way, I've already had a taste of that. But the fact that it's Matt, and I've built up all this justifiable anger toward him over the years, and now just because I
find out maybe he's not so completely evil after all doesn't mean I'm ready to give up all my resentment and go back to being buddies.

Besides, I've moved on. Amanda was there to take over the role of best friend, and I have a very fulfilling life hanging out with her and Jordan. And I have plenty to fill my time otherwise, between school and work and my various chef duties and now swimming and all my homework--so why do I need to make friends with Matt again?

But the worst of it is the idea of having to go to him now and say I misjudged him or I'm sorry or anything like that. Because I'm not sorry. He was wrong, and he admits it.

But maybe there's more to this story than I've been willing to believe.

Maybe Amanda's right. Maybe I should at least let him try.

73

Day 159, Monday, January 26

Breakfast:
The usual.

Lunch:
My pride.

I wrote my note during lunch. Short and to the point:
Can we try that again?

At the start of Mr. Fizer's class I walked right up to Matt and handed it to him. He didn't look at me, but he took it. He shoved it in his backpack without even reading it.

But he must have read it at some point when I wasn't looking, because by the end of class he had a note for me. One word:
Tomorrow
.

It's weird how my heart flipped a little at that. I think part of it was nerves, because now I have a whole night and day to think about what I'm going to say to him and what he might say back.

I'll have to take the afternoon off work at Poison Control, but it's worth it. If I could take time off from the cafe to go on some makeout date to the Winter Formal (not that I knew that at the time), I can take time off from poisonings to go look at primates with the guy who told Greg Beecher he didn't deserve me.

But that brings up an interesting point. Why did Matt say all those mean things about me to Nick Langan? About me loving and leaving. If Matt didn't think Greg deserved me, then why is he acting like I did something wrong by dumping him?

I guess I'll find out everything tomorrow.

Maybe I should make a list. This may be my last chance to ask Matt all the questions I've been wondering about for the past four years. Like why he continued to bother me and joke around with me when it was clear I hated him. And what sort of things he said to Nick behind my back. And why did he say them? Maybe Amanda is right and he was just jealous and wanted to interfere. But why not ask him? What do I have to lose? I'd also like to know why he thinks showing me a cage of apes is supposed to make up for stabbing me in the heart. Just a few questions, really.

There's the matter of what to wear, of course. I'm thinking Nick's pink scarf might come in handy. It looks good against my skin, and it would be my little secret about who gave it to me. I'll have to clear that with my dresser, of course. She's coming over after I swim tonight.

No wonder so many famous scientists have been loners. All this human interaction takes up
way
too much time.

74

Day 160, Tuesday, January 27

Breakfast:
Forget it. Too nervous.

"Why are you so dressed up?" Peter asked when we set out this morning.

"I'm not
so
dressed up."

"Uh-huh. You never wear a dress to school."

"It's a skirt. I borrowed it from Amanda. Do you like it?"

"I don't know."

Stupid question to ask an eleven-year-old boy.

But Amanda and I agree it's the hottest thing I've worn all year. She loved the outfit so much when we finished putting it together last night, she made me let her take my picture.

Black boots, brown tights, a black-and-brown-checked skirt that
falls just above my knee. Amanda's red turtleneck. Which means I couldn't wear the pink scarf because pink and red? Amanda says no. At least not this particular red and that particular pink.

I feel like I have a lot to learn. I never used to care about fashion--
at all
--but now that I'm actually starting to like the way I look in clothes, I can see getting into it a little more. Is that shallow? Probably. But as long as I stay at the top of my class, maybe people will overlook it.

"So what's going on with Trina?" I said her name just the way I think of her--unpleasantly.

"I don't know," Peter said.

"Is she being nice to you at all?"

He shrugged.

"Let me rephrase that: has she stopped saying mean things about you to other people?"

"I don't know."

"Is that your answer for everything today?"

Peter grinned. "I don't know."

Maybe because I was about to meet with the guy who was once the eleven-year-old boy in my life, I felt like doling out a little more advice to my brother than usual.

"You know," I said, "the only people you can really trust in life are the ones who treat you the same no matter what you look like. Like Amanda--she's been my friend since seventh grade. And I was heavy for a long time, and she never once made fun of me or talked meanly about me behind my back. That's why we're still friends. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"My point is," I felt it necessary to say, "I don't think this Trina
girl is worth even a moment of your time. Do you really want to be friends with someone who likes you only if you're skinny?"

Peter didn't answer. So I just kept going.

"And let's say one day you're my age, and you look really
hot
, and every girl in the school is drooling over you--"

Peter snorted at that.

"--and suddenly there's Trina saying, 'Oh, Petey, would you please go with me to the prom?' I hope you'll tell her that there are plenty of nice girls out there you'd rather take instead. Will you promise me that?"

Peter shrugged. Which told me he must have it bad for this girl.

I stopped and made him look at me. "It's not worth it. Trust me--I've been doing this a lot longer than you have. People who only like you when you look good are
worthless
. Understand?"

And suddenly I didn't care if he understood at all. Because
I did
.

How could I be so
stupid?
It was staring me right in the face. How could I have been so blind?

I cannot
wait
for this afternoon.

75

S
chool got out at three
, the zoo closes at four. I caught a ride from Amanda. The sky was charcoal gray, and the wind had picked up since lunch. Something was blowing in. "You can't walk home," Amanda said. "I'm going to wait."

"No, I'll be fine. Go home and take your nap."

"That's what backseats are for."

We pulled into the parking lot. Amanda turned off the car and then checked me over one more time to make sure everything looked perfect.

"I think you're wrong," she said as I was getting out, and I said, "I know I'm right," and that's where we left it.

I felt
so
good. Because as far as I was concerned, the mystery was solved, and I was going to get to relive my childhood betrayal and this time stand up for myself.

Matt was already waiting for me out front. I could tell he was checking me out as I walked toward him. Good. Perfect.

"Hi," I said pleasantly. I wasn't going to give away how I really felt. I wanted to set the trap. "Been waiting long?"

"No. Thanks ... for your note."

"Well, I realized afterward I was a little too hard on you the other day. You were right--I should have given you a chance to make it up to me. So go ahead. Tell me all about your project." This was going to be easy. He had no idea what was coming.

I let him pay for me again, and we went back to the gibbon cage. Same three little guys--or maybe they were girls--climbing the chain link and swinging on the tire.

"Here's my picture," Matt said. He opened his research notebook and showed me.

I meant to be above it all and not really care in the least, but once he showed me that picture, there was no way. You'd have to be made of stone.

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.