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Dawn shifted a few times in her seat. "Um ... if I want to lose ten pounds by Christmas? I should try this new soup diet." She held up a picture of a model doing stomach crunches with a bowl of soup resting on her abs.
"Good," said Trish. "Good.... What else? Lila? Any thoughts?"
Lila was sitting alone in the corner, with her sweater pulled over her knees. As usual, her fingertips were tap, tap, tapping against her kneecaps. She didn't respond to Trish's question, she just stared at the carpet.
"Okay, Lila," Trish said, walking over to touch her on the shoulder. "Okay ..."
"Trish?" Ashley was speaking, and I was surprised. She hardly ever says anything in Group.
Trish turned around and smiled. "Yes, Ashley?"
Ashley used her hands to help her talk, just like she does in English class. "Well, these girls, in these magazines. They all look so perfect, right? But maybe underneath all that . . . perfect . . . it's not so great for them. Like what if they got a had grade, or they got in a fight with their friends? Or their parents are getting a divorce, or something. You know? You can't always tell, just from looking."
Trish nodded. "Good, Ashley."
It's amazing how Ashley knows just what to say in every situation. Where does she come up with this stuff? I know what she'd say if I asked her. I read a lot, Isabelle.
"Okay," Trish said, looking around at us. "Let's think about this. What about this idea that we have two sidesone that we show to the outside world, and one that we keep in, maybe even hide? Are there things people wouldn't necessarily know about you, just from looking?"
I pretended to be busy biting off a hangnail, but I was really thinking, Yeah. Lots of things.
Nobody said anything.
Trish put her fingers together in a steeple. "I know," she said. "This can be hard stuff to talk about. Why don't we get out our journals?"
Except for the first two pages, my journal is completely blank. Trish wants us to write in them at home, whenever we feel what she calls HALT feelings, which means hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. A couple of times I tried to make myself sit down and write, but nothing happened. I just ended up chewing on my pencil and staring at the empty page.
It was like when I used to try to talk to my mom after Daddy died. I would start telling her how sad I was, how much I missed him, but right away she would cut me off. "No, Isabelle. We're not going to do this. I can't do this." Pretty soon I knew not to bring him up. I made my mind blank instead.
The same thing was happening now. Lila, Dawn, Mathilde, and Ashley were write, write, writing away. What was I doing? Blanking out. Drawing miniature vines and tiny footprints.
As I doodled though, Trish's question started bouncing around my brain like a pinball. What wouldn't people know about me, just from looking? What wouldn't people know about me, just from looking?
Pretty soon the answer started bouncing around too. They wouldn't know my dad is dead. They wouldn't know how much I miss him.
Sometimes thinking something is just as hard as writing it.
When Group was over Trish stopped me on my way out the door. "Isabelle?" she said. "Got a minute?"
I paused in the doorway, backpack half on. One step ahead of me, Ashley paused too. She turned, caught my eye, raised one eyebrow. I shrugged back.
"Uh, Trish?" I said. "I've got to catch a bus, so ...'
Trish smiled. "This won't take long."
Why do I feel like I'm in trouble? Am I in trouble? Trish is going to yell at me for doodling when I should have been writing.
I looked at Ashley. She was already walking backward down the hall, holding her hand to her ear like it was a phone.
I nodded and watched her backpedal down the hall, around the corner to the elevator. I thought about running after her, making a break for it.
"Isabelle." Trish touched my arm. "You're not in trouble."
"I know," I said.
"Would you like to sit?"
"That's okay," I said. "I like standing." I shifted my backpack so it was all the way on. I kept one hand on the doorknob.
Trish hoisted herself up onto the back of the couch and let her feet dangle. I noticed she was wearing the same kind of sneakers my mother wears, plain white with blue bottoms. "How are you finding Group, Isabelle?"
"It's okay," I said, focusing on a stain in the middle of the orange carpet. The more I squinted at it, the more the stain looked like a yawning dog.
"Good," Trish said. "What would you think about finding another time to meet with me? Just the two of us."
"What?" My head jerked up like a yo-vo. "Are you kicking me out?"
Trish shook her head slowly. "No. Our one-on-one time would be in addition to Group, not a substitute."
"Why!"
"Why a one-on-one?" Trish said. "Or why am I asking you, as opposed to someone else in the Group?"
"I don't know. Both, I guess."
"Those are good questions, Isabelle. First, I'd like to get to know you better. And second, everyone in Group will be working with me privately at some point. It's part of the process."
I shifted my gaze hack to the yawning dog.
"I'm asking you now because I think there's a lot on your mind. And I think you may feel more comfortable sharing some of your thoughts and feelings when there aren't so many eyes on you. What do you think?"
It was hard to shrug my shoulders with a backpack on, but I tried.
Trish didn't say anything for a minute. Neither did I.
Then she said softly, "Is there someone else you'd rather talk to, Isabelle? Another adult? Someone you trust? A teacher maybe, or a relative. It doesn't have to be me."
I thought about Aunt Weezy. Last night on the phone she asked, "How are you sweetheart!" just like she always does. And I said, "Fine," just like I always do. What am I supposed to say when Weezy doesn't even know about Group? She and Mom talk twice a day, but Mom never tells her anything that matters.
"Isabelle?" Trish said. "Can you think of anyone you'd prefer to talk to?"
I shook my head no.
"How about meeting with me, then? Thursday at four?"
"I can't."
"Thursdays don't work for you? Do you have another commitment?"
I said the first thing that popped into my head. "I'm on student government." Even though I haven't been to a student government meeting since sixth grade. I used to do a lot of different things after school. Now I pretty much just go home.
"Student government," Trish repeated. "I didn't know that. That's great. How about Tuesdays then?"
I didn't say anything.
"Isabelle.? Tuesdays at four? Does that work for you?"
I shifted my gaze from the yawning dog to the tips of Trish's sneakers. "I guess. I have to check with my mom."
"Do that," Trish said. "And then give me a call."
Trish reached into the breast pocket of her shirt and took out a little white card with some phone numbers on it. "You can call either number, any time."
I shoved the card in the back pocket of my jeans.
"We'll start next Tuesday, Isabelle," Trish said.
Next Tuesday. Yippee.
14
ON SATURDAY MORNING Ashley and I went to Jessie's Place, this diner in her neighborhood. "I'm starving," Ashley said. "I could eat one of everything."
"I know," I said, even though my stomach was still churning. When I stay over at Ashley's all we do is eat. Last night her parents were gone again, so we ate half the kitchen.
"I hope they have chocolate chip pancakes today," Ashley said. "Sometimes they run out."
"I've never had chocolate chip pancakes," I said. "Only blueberry."
"Chocolate chip are way better. Trust me. Sweet and salty at the same time."
The waitress, bleached blonde and skinny, stopped at our table. She handed us waters and menus and took our drink orders: two large hot chocolates and two large OJ's. Then she moved on to the next booth.
Ashley looked at her menu fo
r about two seconds. "Want to get chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, and a Belgian waffle, and split?
"Yeah," I said. "And a corn muffin."
"Yeah."
It's funny. When we first started hanging out I didn't want Ashley to think I was a pig, so I was careful not to eat too much in front of her. I ate, just not as much as I would eat alone. Now, I don't even think about it. I eat whatever I want and so does she.
Ashley took a sip of water, settled hack in the booth.
"So," she said, running one finger along the ring of her glass. "I'm going to Colorado over winter break."
"Really?" I said. "Colorado?"
"Yeah. Aspen. My family takes a ski trip to a different place every year. Last year it was Jackson Hole. I skied black diamonds with my dad and brothers the whole time and didn't wipe out once."
"Good for you," I said. I have never skied before, so I didn't know what else to say.
"Yeah," said Ashley.
"What about your mom?"
"Oh, she hates to ski," said Ashley. "She spends all day at the spa. Or shops in the ski shop for stuff we don't need. She doesn't like to spend any more time with my dad than she has to."
"Yeah," I said. As if I knew exactly what she was talking about.
"What are you doing?"
"What? For winter break?"
Ashley nodded.
I took a swallow of water, put down my glass. "I don't know yet."
I did a little imaginative run-through in my head: me and Mom and April sitting around the kitchen table for two weeks straight, trying not to look at Daddy's chair. Everyone else is opening presents and hugging and playing in the snow, but there we are. Staring at a chair. Stuck.
We used to celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah. Christmas for Mom, Hanukkah for Daddy. The best of both holidays: tree, menorah, presents, candles, turkey, latkes. Now we just do Christmas. But not really. I mean, we don't jump up and down for joy or anything. Because, what's to celebrate?
I took another sip of water and looked up to see Ashley staring at me.
"What?" I said. I hate when people stare at me.
"Nothing. You just looked sad or something."
I thought about telling Ashley the truth. I imagined the look on her face when I said, You'd be sad too if you didn't have a dad. But I couldn't get the words out. "I'm not sad," I said. "I'm hungry."
"Yeah. Me too. Starved."
When the food came, it had a greasy sheen. You could tell by looking at it that the butter would melt onto your tongue and the syrup would slide like a sweet river down your throat.
Here we were, just two girls with lovely manners, sharing a meal.
"Could you please pass me a napkin?" I said.
"More salt?" asked Ashley. "Ketchup for your eggs?"
Before you knew it, we were both using our hands. Mopping, shoveling, stuffing. We must have finished everything in about sixty seconds. A record.
In back of the diner, we stood on crates and threw up next to each other into a dumpster.
When we were finished, Ashley wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her white turtleneck. "So. What do you want to do today?"
"I don't know," I said.
"We could go to the mall."
"True." I thought about what Nola and Georgie would be doing today. Going to the aquarium with their mothers, probably. For the millionth time. Or the stupid science museum.
I smiled at Ashley. "Let me go call my mom."
We walked down the block to the payphone. It was the kind with a door, so Ashley waited outside while I called.
"Lee residence," a woman's voice answered, surprising me.
"Aunt Weezy?"
"Isabelle? Is that you?"
"Yeah. What are you doing there?"
"Just a visit. I had to return some sofa cushions at Lowmans, so I thought I'd stop by and see my favorite girls."
She always calls us that: me, Mom, and April. Her favorite girls. I wonder what that makes Nini.
"How are you, sweetheart?" Aunt Weezy asked.
"Fine."
"Everything okay at school?"
"Yeah."
"At home?"
"Uh-huh."
Aunt Weezy lowered her voice. "And what about your mom? How do you think she's doing?"
For that one, I just let the little robot in me answer. "Fine," I said. "Everything's fine. So is she there, illy 1110111 ?"
"In the shower, sweetie. I'm taking her out to lunch. And your sister. And you, if you're interested."
I told her no, that's why I was calling. I was on my way to the mall with my friend Ashley. Could she please ask my mother to pick me up in front of the movie theater, at say four?
"Is Ashley's mother going with you?" Aunt Weezy asked.
"Yeah," I said. As if she'd ever know the difference.
Weezy said all right. She'd tell my mom to pick me up at four.
"Thanks," I said.
"You're welcome," she said. "And, Isabelle?"
"Yeah?"
"Have a good time."
I hung up the phone and gave Ashley the thumbs-up sign. I was glad to get off the phone with Aunt Weezy. She asks too many questions.
Ashley walked the aisles of Lord & Taylor while I followed. We stopped at the one of the fragrance counters and tried on perfume. Ashley held up a bottle of something. "Hold out your wrist," she said, so I did. She gave me a big squirt. "Like it? It's Desire."
I took a whiff and tried not to gag. "Not bad."
"We'll take this," Ashley said to the lady behind the counter. "The biggest size you have, please."
The total came to eighty-six dollars. For perfume!
Ashley slid her father's credit card across the counter and smiled at me. "We'll wear this in Minx's class and drive him crazy."
Next we went to lingerie and tried on bras. Standing next to Ashley in the tiny dressing room, I finally didn't have any choice but to look at her up close.
Now I could see that she really is perfect. Her breasts are smaller than mine, but very round, and her stomach is flat as a board even after everything we ate. Her skin is light, light tan all over, the color of cream soda.
I tried not to stare at her, but I couldn't help sneaking little peeks. The sight of my own fat stomach and thighs in the mirror next to her made me want to cry. I kept trying to cover parts of myself up so Ashley wouldn't have to see all of me at once.
"That looks good on you," Ashley said, not even looking at the pink satin bra I had on. "You should definitely get it."
Ashley was wearing a matched set of white lace bra and bikini bottom, looking like a model. She was adjusting the straps and frowning at herself in the mirror, from every possible angle. Now she was pinching her thighs, hard enough to leave marks. "Gross," she said.
All I could do was shake my head. Did she really not know how pretty she was, or was she just trying to make me feel bad?
Finally Ashley said, "I don't care what I look like, I'm getting it. I'm getting it in every color they have."
After shopping, we went straight to Baskin-Robbins for sundaes.
"You know," Ashley said, her mouth full of whipped cream, "this is fun. We should do this more often."
"Yes," I said, not knowing whether she meant the shopping or the ice cream. "We really should."
In the woods behind the bus stop, we stood side by side, watching our sundaes come back up in reverse order. Ice cream first, then hot fudge, whipped cream, nuts, and finally, that red dot of cherry I swallowed whole.
When Ashley finished, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. It came back smeared with red.
"Ashley," I said. "I think you're bleeding."
"Am I?" said Ashley and spit into her palm. Blood. "Huh," she said.
"Are you okay?"
She looked at me and smiled. "Yeah! It doesn't hurt or anything."
"Okay," I said.
Ashley wiped her hand on her jeans. "It's no big deal, Isabelle. It just happens sometimes."
15
IT WASN'T MY MOTHER who picked me up, it was Aunt Weezy. I spent fifteen minutes looking for a red Toyota when I should have been looking for a green Volvo. I wasn't sure why she was there instead of Mom, but I wasn't about to ask. I just got in and buckled my seathelt.
"It's good to see you, sweetie," Aunt Weezy said, leaning over to kiss my cheek.
"You too."
"Your mom's got a lot of grading to do, so I offered to pick you up."
"Oka " Y•
Aunt Weezy looked pretty. Hair fluffed, lipstick, little drop earrings. This is what my mother could look like if she tried.
"Hey," Weezy said. "Are you hungry? I told your mom we'd pick something up for dinner. April wants pizza. How does that sound?"
I shrugged. "Okay, I guess."
"Pizza it is, then."
Aunt Weezy's car is like her, clean and neat. She listens to only one thing when she's driving and that's country music. She calls it food for the soul.
Weezy went to college in Montana. Her husband, my uncle Jack, is from there. Missoula, the town is called. He speaks with an accent. He also has a heard and wears Wrangler jeans. I like him, even if he is Nini's father. Nini doesn't deserve him.
When we pulled into the parking lot of Illiano's Aunt Weeny unbuckled her seatbelt, but she didn't get out of the car. She sat with her hands on the wheel for a minute. Then she turned in her seat to look at me.
"Isabelle." She paused. Out came the same question she asked on the phone earlier. "How do you think your mom's doing?"
I fiddled with a button on my coat. "What do you mean?" If Aunt Weezy said one word about my mom and dating I was getting out of the car. I didn't care if I had to walk home.
"I don't know," she said. "I can't figure out what's going on. She just doesn't seem like herself. She's ... distracted."
I pulled on my seathelt, stretched it out in front of me, and let it snap hack in again. "Well, she's busy. You know. She has a lot of grading to do and everything."
Aunt Weezy frowned. "I don't know. Maybe she's working too hard."
"Maybe," I said, even though I knew Mom was only working part-time now, teaching only two courses. Aunt Weezy wasn't supposed to know.
"I don't know," she said again, shaking her head. "Maybe she should go and talk to someone. I tried to get her to go, after your dad died, but ..."