Fat Cat

Fat Cat by Robin Brande Page B

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Authors: Robin Brande
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night--he'd been competing, too--and I couldn't imagine why my best friend in the whole world hadn't come over to congratulate me the way I'd done all the years when he won.
    So I went looking for him. Amanda came, too. I'd just started being friends with her a few months before when she got switched into my English class. I thought she was so funny and nice and talented, and we ended up hanging out a lot during school. All the rest of my free time I still spent with Matt.
    So there Amanda and I were, happily walking along, me so excited to share the night with Matt. But then we got closer to his booth, and suddenly my whole life changed.
    We didn't mean to eavesdrop. We came around the corner of hisbooth and I saw Matt talking to this despicable guy named Willie, and I slowed down and backed up and that's when I overheard them.
    I still wish I hadn't.
    But the truth is the truth. And science deals in truth.
    And the truth is what Matt said stabbed me in the heart.

18
    I was deep into calculus after dinner tonight when there was a knock at my door.
    "Cat?" Peter called. "Can I come in?"
    That was kind of odd, but I said, "Sure."
    I get along with my little brother just fine, but we don't really have a habit of stopping by each other's rooms to chat. His hair was wet from the shower and he was already wearing his sleep T-shirt and shorts.
    He sat on the floor just inside my door, like he was afraid to come all the way in. "Can I ask you something?"
    Uh-oh. For a minute I thought he was going to continue grilling me about why I'd hung up my spatula.
    But I played it cool. "Sure. I'm ready for a break."
    "Um ... you know the cafe thing you and Amanda used to do?"
    "Yeah."
    Peter picked at my carpeting. "Is she ... gonna come back? You know, and be your waitress?"
    "I doubt it," I said. "She has a real job now. And I doubt I could pay her what the restaurant does."
    "How much ... would you pay?" Peter asked, not meeting my eye. So now we were getting to the real issue.
    "Why do you ask?" I said, smiling to myself in relief.
    Peter had been talking mostly to the floor, but now he lifted his eyes. "Could I be your waiter?"
    "Sure--you really want to?"
    Peter nodded.
    "Okay, you're hired," I said, holding out my hand. I left it there until he pushed off the floor and came all the way over to me.
    "How much?" he asked, taking my hand.
    I thought about it for a moment. "Three dollars a week?"
    Peter obviously learned his negotiating skills from our mother. "Ten?"
    I sucked in a breath. "That's pretty steep--Mom and Dad aren't really paying me that much."
    "Five?"
    We shook on it.
    "You'll have to dress up," I added, just for my own amusement. "You have to look like a real waiter."
    "Okay," Peter said very seriously. As soon as he left and shut the door, I snorted to myself. What a funny little kid--so weirdly earnest sometimes, like he's already in his forties or something.
    I wanted to call Amanda so badly. Or at least send her a quick text: uv bn rplacd .
    I know it's only been three days, but can I just say how much I miss my phone? And my music and IM'ing and my blow-dryer and makeup and junk food and normal life and everything that goes with it?
    Am I really going to do this for 204 more days?

19
Day 5, Monday, August 25
Breakfast: Oatmeal, banana, walnuts, honey.
Technology avoided: Last night I experimented with using candles instead of electric light. It takes five candles to provide sufficient light for homework--only three if I'm using the computer. Used the computer this weekend for homework only. Resisted checking e-mail or playing music or cruising any of my usual Internet sites. In some ways those things feel even harder to give up than chips and candy.
    And just on a personal note, I'm beginning to see what Nancy meant about my digestive system--"interesting" is right. Yow. But it actually feels really good--like I'm getting rid of a lot of gunk. I just don't think that's the kind of thing Mr. Fizer or the judges need

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