stimulating. But at least we talk about stuff besides what so-and-so was wearing at whoever’s party, and whether or not the Tasti D-Lite at the Penguin really is fat-free.
But Cara’s convinced she’s missing out on something, so she tries and tries to get the popular people to accept her into their group, buying all the right clothes, wearing her hair the right way. . . .
But right for who? Not for Cara. Sure, she owned the exact same capris as Courtney Deckard. But she didn’t look good in them—at least, not the way Courtney did in hers. Not even close.
And, sure, her hair was the same color as Courtney's, honey blond (courtesy of the same salon, even). But honey blond looks much better on girls like Courtney than it does on a girl like Cara.
Cara looked so bad, in fact, in the clothes and hairstyles that Courtney and her set insisted everyone needed to wear in order to be cool that the very people she was trying to impress could do nothing but smirk at her.
Or moo at her, actually.
It would have been one thing if she just hadn’t cared what other people thought about her. I mean, there are lots of overweight people at Clayton. But the only one who ever gets any grief about it is Cara.
And Cara’s reaction to the mooing just makes the mooing more fun for the mooers. People actually moo harder when Cara begs them to stop. I don’t see why Cara doesn’t see this. I've told her enough times . . . well, Ask Annie has, anyway.
But Cara can never do anything like a normal person. Instead of just taking her tray and going to sit down somewhere, out of the line of fire, Cara whirled around and around, trying to pinpoint exactly where the mooing was coming from.
"Stop it!" she shrieked. "I said, stop it!"
Finally, as inevitably happened most days, someone threw a food item at Cara’s head. This time it was a baked potato. It hit her square in the forehead, causing Cara to drop her tray—sending lettuce leaves and ranch dressing everywhere—and flee for the ladies’ room, sobbing.
"Aw, geez," I said, because I knew this was my cue to get up and go try to comfort her.
"What the hell," Luke said, looking around, an indignant expression on his face, "is wrong with those people?"
"Oh, don’t worry about Cara," Geri Lynn said. "Jen’ll fix her up in time for the bell."
"Jen'll—" Luke looked at me like I was the visitor from the other planet, and not Cara. "This has happened before?"
Trina rolled her eyes. "Before? Every day, more like it."
I gave Luke a polite smile, then got up and headed after Cara.
I found Mr. Steele, the biology teacher who’d had the misfortune to pull lunchroom duty that day, standing just outside the ladies’ room door, calling, "Cara, it’s going to be all right. Why don’t you just come out and tell me why you’re so upset—"
As soon as he saw me, Mr. Steele’s face crumpled with relief.
"Oh, Jenny," he said. "Thank God you’re here. Could you make sure Cara’s all right? I would, but, you know, it’s the girls’ room—"
"Sure thing, Mr. S.," I said.
"Thanks," he said. "You kids are the best."
I was kind of startled by the "you kids." I didn’t realize, until I looked behind me, that I wasn’t the only one from my table who’d exited the cafeteria. Luke was standing right behind me.
Thinking he was taking the whole shadowing me thing kind of seriously, I said, "Uh, I’ll be out in a minute," and started to go inside after Cara.
But to my surprise, Luke took me by the arm and, dragging me out of earshot of Mr. Steele, went, "What
was
that back there?"
"What was what?" I really didn’t know what he was talking about.
"
That
back there. That mooing thing." Luke actually looked a little upset. Well, maybe
upset
is too strong a word for it. What he looked was annoyed. "You know, when I volunteered for this thing, I didn’t exactly expect it to be like the schoolroom on
Little House on the Prairie
. But I didn’t think it would be like a cell block in some
But Cara’s convinced she’s missing out on something, so she tries and tries to get the popular people to accept her into their group, buying all the right clothes, wearing her hair the right way. . . .
But right for who? Not for Cara. Sure, she owned the exact same capris as Courtney Deckard. But she didn’t look good in them—at least, not the way Courtney did in hers. Not even close.
And, sure, her hair was the same color as Courtney's, honey blond (courtesy of the same salon, even). But honey blond looks much better on girls like Courtney than it does on a girl like Cara.
Cara looked so bad, in fact, in the clothes and hairstyles that Courtney and her set insisted everyone needed to wear in order to be cool that the very people she was trying to impress could do nothing but smirk at her.
Or moo at her, actually.
It would have been one thing if she just hadn’t cared what other people thought about her. I mean, there are lots of overweight people at Clayton. But the only one who ever gets any grief about it is Cara.
And Cara’s reaction to the mooing just makes the mooing more fun for the mooers. People actually moo harder when Cara begs them to stop. I don’t see why Cara doesn’t see this. I've told her enough times . . . well, Ask Annie has, anyway.
But Cara can never do anything like a normal person. Instead of just taking her tray and going to sit down somewhere, out of the line of fire, Cara whirled around and around, trying to pinpoint exactly where the mooing was coming from.
"Stop it!" she shrieked. "I said, stop it!"
Finally, as inevitably happened most days, someone threw a food item at Cara’s head. This time it was a baked potato. It hit her square in the forehead, causing Cara to drop her tray—sending lettuce leaves and ranch dressing everywhere—and flee for the ladies’ room, sobbing.
"Aw, geez," I said, because I knew this was my cue to get up and go try to comfort her.
"What the hell," Luke said, looking around, an indignant expression on his face, "is wrong with those people?"
"Oh, don’t worry about Cara," Geri Lynn said. "Jen’ll fix her up in time for the bell."
"Jen'll—" Luke looked at me like I was the visitor from the other planet, and not Cara. "This has happened before?"
Trina rolled her eyes. "Before? Every day, more like it."
I gave Luke a polite smile, then got up and headed after Cara.
I found Mr. Steele, the biology teacher who’d had the misfortune to pull lunchroom duty that day, standing just outside the ladies’ room door, calling, "Cara, it’s going to be all right. Why don’t you just come out and tell me why you’re so upset—"
As soon as he saw me, Mr. Steele’s face crumpled with relief.
"Oh, Jenny," he said. "Thank God you’re here. Could you make sure Cara’s all right? I would, but, you know, it’s the girls’ room—"
"Sure thing, Mr. S.," I said.
"Thanks," he said. "You kids are the best."
I was kind of startled by the "you kids." I didn’t realize, until I looked behind me, that I wasn’t the only one from my table who’d exited the cafeteria. Luke was standing right behind me.
Thinking he was taking the whole shadowing me thing kind of seriously, I said, "Uh, I’ll be out in a minute," and started to go inside after Cara.
But to my surprise, Luke took me by the arm and, dragging me out of earshot of Mr. Steele, went, "What
was
that back there?"
"What was what?" I really didn’t know what he was talking about.
"
That
back there. That mooing thing." Luke actually looked a little upset. Well, maybe
upset
is too strong a word for it. What he looked was annoyed. "You know, when I volunteered for this thing, I didn’t exactly expect it to be like the schoolroom on
Little House on the Prairie
. But I didn’t think it would be like a cell block in some
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