Perfect (5 page)

Ashley tossed her hair over one shoulder. She crossed
her eyes and smiled at the same time.

As I was walking down the hall toward my locker, it
occurred to me that Ashley Barnum and I had just shared
A Moment.

At lunch, I sat with Nola and Georgine as usual. This
new girl, Paula Harbinger from Cleveland, sat with us.
Given the choice Paula would probably rather sit at a different table. With the cheerleaders, for instance. Or with
the soccer team girls. But you can't just sit anywhere you
want in the cafeteria. You have to get asked to sit at certain tables.

"Is that all you're eating?" Paula asked when I pulled
out my lunch. Two hard-boiled eggs and some carrot
sticks.

I shrugged. "I don't really like lunch."

Nola and Georgie laugh-smiled at each other.

"Isabelle is a weird eater," Nola said. "You'll get used
to it."

"Yeah," said Georgie. "She hardly eats a thing."

"I noticed," Paula said, in a kind of snotty way, which
made me want to chuck an egg at her.

"But we love her anyway," Nola added, which made
me want to hug her.

Paula and Georgie were both eating the school
lunch-some kind of chicken and rice with gravy, and
green beans. For dessert it was cut-up peaches from a can,
floating in syrup.

Nola was eating the same exact lunch she eats every day: two peanut butter sandwiches on pumpernickel
bread and two chocolate milks. Nola could eat peanut
butter and chocolate all day long and not gain an ounce.
She has the skinniest, palest little body you ever saw.
Whenever she gets cold-which is a lot-her skin turns
blue and marhley all over.

My stomach rumbled as I looked at everyone's food. I
could have eaten all three of their lunches and still have
been hungry, but the truth is I can't stand eating in the
cafeteria with everyone watching me. If people are going
to look at me, I'd rather eat too little than too much.

I took a bite of carrot stick and sprinkled salt on my
hard-boiled eggs. I thought about everything I would eat
later, when no one was around.

Georgie started talking about soap operas, as usual.
She is borderline obsessed with soap operas. I mean, she
will not miss two of them, which she secretly tapes during
the day so she can watch them at night when her crazy
mother is asleep. Nola and I are casual watchers, meaning
we know all the characters, but we will not go into cardiac
arrest if we miss an episode.

Paula wasn't even pretending to follow our conversation. Her eyes kept wandering over to the center table.
Ashley's table. You could tell Paula wished she was sitting
there more than anything.

Lotsa luck, toots. Basically if you're not on the field
hockey team, and you don't have long shiny hair and a
toothpaste smile and perfectly broken-in size zero jeans,
you can forget it.

At the center table Ashley Barnum was busy smiling
and tossing her hair while talking to Heather Jellerette. Eli Bronstein, the cutest guy in Our grade, came up behind
her, pretending to dump ginger ale on her head. Ashley
squealed so loud, everyone in the room turned around.
"No, Eli! Don't!" Finally Eli picked her up and tossed
her over his shoulder, sack o' potatoes style, while she
whacked him on the butt with a lunch tray. Everyone at
the table started clapping and cheering. Eli lowered Ashley into a chair. She sat up smiling, with pink cheeks and
flyaway hair. "Eli!"

"God," said Paula. "Could they he any louder?" She
was trying to act annoyed, but you could tell she was
thinking, Okay, here's the plan: I'm going to grow' out my
bangs and buy some cooler jeans, and then maybe .. .

Nola just smiled and took a sip of chocolate milk.
"They are kinda loud. You'll get used to it though."

Nola doesn't care about things like who's sitting at
which table. Neither does Georgie.

I guess that's the difference between us.

WHEN I GOT HOME FROM SCHOOL mymotherwas
on the phone with my Aunt Wee:y. They're twins, but you
wouldn't know it from looking at them. Sure, they have
the same curly black hair and blue eyes, but Wee:y wears
makeup and clothes from Ann Taylor. She goes to kickboxing and gets her nails done. My mother looks like she
just rolled out of bed and put on the first thing she could
find, usually sweatpants.

It didn't used to he that way. Mom used to dress Col,
with nice black slacks and funky jewelry. Not any more
though. These days she doesn't even care it she matches.

Right now, she is spread-eagle on the kitchen floor, a
ratty old skirt hunched up around her waist, flashing her
panties to the world. On the linoleum between her legs
sits a saucepan of boiled potatoes ready to he mashed. She
is holding one of the potatoes in the sane hand that is
holding the phone and is actually nibbling at it while she
chats. Some dignity, please!

Mom and Aunt Weezy talk at least twice it day. I call
that ridiculous. Mom calls it a twin thing. Umbilical cord,
phone cord. I'm glad Weezy lives an hour away from us, or
she'd probably he over here twice a day too.

"How's Nini?" Mom was saying, scratching her thigh
with the potato masher. She looked up and saw me in the
doorway, waved.

I waved back.

"Really?" Mom said. "Awww.... How did you find
out? ... Uh-huh.... She came to you first? ..."

My mother covered the receiver with one hand and
whispered to me that Nini got her period! Yesterday!

Whoop-dee-doo. I've had my period since I was eleven. It's supposed to he this big deal, like you're all of a
sudden a woman the minute it happens. And now, if you
wanted to, you could get pregnant. Oooooo. Trust me,
when you get it, it's not all that magical. lieu don't feel
more grown-up or anything. Just crampy. And fat.

Anyway, I don't know why my mother xN ould get herself so worked up over Nini. I mean, who cares.'

My cousin Janine Barrett may be my age, but she is my
polar opposite in every way. First of all, she is four-foot-sixpractically a dwarf. And she's a gymnast, which means she
competes all over the country and weighs about seventy five pounds, leotard included. She thinks anything over
eighty pounds is fat.

"Is Nini home yet!" my mother said. "I want to talk to
her. I want to say congratulations."

I grabbed a few grapes from the hunch on the kitchen
table and ran upstairs before my mother could make me
get on the phone with Nini and congratulate her.

The last time I saw Nini, which was Thanksgiving, she
made a comment I will never, ever forget. We were up in
my room getting ready for bed, and we were standing in
front of the mirror brushing our hair. I remember because
it was the first time I'd ever seen Nini wearing a bra. She
still didn't look like she needed one, but there it was. It
had a little yellow butterfly in the center.

We were standing around in our underwear like we'd
done a million times before, since we were two years old.
No big deal. And then, she said it. "Wow, Isabelle. You're
getting big."

"What?" I said. I wasn't sure I'd heard her right.

Nini kept right on brushing her hair. "What size are
you now, anyway.'"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I don't know. My
moI11 buys my bras."

"Not your hooks, dummy. I mean, what size are you?"

I opened my mouth to say none of your business, but no
words came out.

Nini put her brush down on the bureau and turned to
face me. "What do you weigh now, Belly? Like one-ten.'"

I grabbed the closest thing to me, which was Nini's
sleeping hag, and wrapped it around my body. I bit my lip
hard, so I wouldn't cry.

True story. See why I'm not planning on talking to her
anytime soon?

Upstairs, I lay down on Mom's bed and listened in on
the phone conversation. This is not as hard as you would
think. All you have to do is pick up the receiver really
carefully and try not to make any sudden movements.
Also, you should cover the mouthpiece with your hand in
case you feel the urge to sneeze.

"You're not getting any younger, Beth," I could hear
Aunt Weezy saying. "I hate to break it to you, but the big
four-five is just around the corner."

My mother said, "For you too."

"True," Weezy said. "But, well ... have you thought
about kicking up your heels a little? Getting your hair
foiled, maybe? Something?"

My mother snorted.

"Well?" said Weezy.

My mother said, "No, I haven't thought about it." And
then she turned things around. "Have you thought about
getting your hair foiled?"

Aunt Weezy didn't answer.

"Well?"

"Honey," my aunt said quietly.

"What?" said my mom.

There was a pause.

"What, Louise? Just say it."

"Bethy," Weezy said, her voice soft. "Won't you even
think about starting to date again?"

I could feel my stomach contract, squeezing in on
itself.

"Beth?"

My mother wasn't saying a thing, but I wanted to
scream into the phone NO!!! She won't think about starting
to date again!

"I know this is hard for you to hear," Weezy continued.
"I know it's painful. But, honey, there comes a time when
you have to ... you know ... life does go on."

"Louise," Mom said. She took a breath. "I'm fine.
We're all ... fine. Life is going on, in its way."

"Okay," said Weezy.

"Can you understand.'"

"Yes. But this conversation is always ... I mean, nothing is really ... well ... Bethy, it's been two years."

I wanted to scream into the phone, One year and eight
months, you idiot!

When my mother spoke, her voice sounded like gravel. "What is it that you want me to do, exactly?"

"I don't know," said my aunt. "I don't know, honey. I'm
sorry. I just ... I hate seeing you so ..."

"I'm fine. Really. We're all fine." In case you haven't
noticed, fine is my mother's favorite word. I'm fine, we're
fine, everything's fine.

"I know," Weezy said. "I know that."

"Okay'"

My aunt sighed. "Okay," she said. But you could tell
she didn't mean it. She just had enough sense not to
keep going.

I waited awhile before going downstairs. When I got there
Mom was still lying on the kitchen floor, eyes closed, skirt
hunched up. She and the potatoes hadn't moved in an hour.

I stood in the doorway watching her. I tried to imagine my mother on a date, sitting in a dark movie theater
somewhere, wearing one of Aunt Weezy's Ann Taylor outfits. A purple sweater set maybe, with pearls. Next to her,
some older guy in a blazer, gray hair gelled back into a helmet, one arm circling her shoulders. Next to him, on the
other side, was me. Punching him in the face.

I cleared my throat, loud. "What's for dinner?"

Mom opened her eyes, which were red. "Oh, honey.
Hi. I didn't see you there." She got up to walk the potato pan over to the counter. Her skirt was tucked into
her underwear, and it looked so ridiculous I wanted to
scream.

"If you think I'm eating your crotch potatoes," I said,
"you're crazy."

Mom turned around. "Excuse me?"

"If you're going to make mashed potatoes sitting on
the kitchen floor with the pan between your legs, I'm not
going to eat them. Crotch potatoes."

"Cute, Isabelle," my mother said. "Very cute. Anyway,
I'm making us a healthy meal. There's baked chicken.
Skinless. Salad. Corn on the cob."

"I can't have corn on the cob," I said.

"Why not?"

"Hello?" I pointed to my mouth. "Braces?" Sometimes
I wonder if my mother knows anything about me.

"Right," she said. "Well, you can cut it off the cob if
you want, with a knife. It's easy."

"Whatever."

"I also got fresh strawberries for dessert. Okay? Everything healthy."

"Whatever."

"Isabelle. Enough with the whateters, okay.'"

"Fine," I said, picking up a few more grapes and walking toward the stairs. "And anyway, all I want for dinner is
a salad."