Fat Cat Page 3

  "No." As if it were any of his business. And I could tell he wanted me to ask if he liked his picture, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

  "Okay," he said, "see ya," and I didn't say anything back. I swear, it's been like that since junior high. He knows I don't want to talk to him, but he keeps on bothering me. I think it gives him some kind of sick pleasure just to get on my nerves.

  But then for some reason it clicked: Jordan and Matt talking after class, Matt pretending to be all friendly just now, Amanda saying Jordan wanted to fix me up with someone from the swim team.

  I would have texted Amanda right that second if I could, but our cells are off-limits on campus. So I had to sit through Homeroom, Lunch, and Piano before I could finally get to the bottom of it. Who cares about arpeggios when your best friend's boyfriend has just betrayed you to the enemy?

  The rule in Sign Language is that the minute you cross the threshold of the classroom, you have to sign everything you say--even if you're just talking to your friend. Amanda was already in there. My hands started flying right away.

  "Jordan try make me go Matt?" That's what my hands said while my lips formed the full sentence, "Is Jordan trying to make me go out with Matt?"

  Amanda wrinkled her brows and scratched her index finger down the palm of her other hand. "What?"

  "You said," I began, then paused. I had to think about how to phrase it, based on the words I know how to sign. The two of us only started taking American Sign Language last year, so my vocabulary isn't terribly huge. Amanda, on the other hand, was obviously born with some kind of language chip in her brain, because she picks this stuff up so easily it's shocking. After just a semester of freshman Spanish, they booted her up to advanced. This year she's taking AP Spanish with the seniors in addition to our second-year Sign Language class.

  I went with, "Jordan ask Matt eat tonight?"

  "No," she answered. "Why?" She keeps her sentences easy for me so I can understand them. It's only when I see her signing with our teacher that I get a true flavor for how exceptional Amanda's skills really are.

  "Not friend you said?" I finger-spelled, "Date?"

  Amanda's eyes widened. Then she laughed. Her hand gave an emphatic, "No!"

  "Okay." I wiped imaginary sweat off my brow. Ms. Wilch likes us to be a little dramatic to help get our meaning across.

  "You're crazy," Amanda signed, dancing two crooked fingers across her face.

  I nodded my fist once, then made a small circle with it on my chest. "Yes. Sorry."

  Once class started, Ms. Wilch had us break into groups of three to practice telling each other what we did over the summer. The combination of trying to figure out how to express yourself while having to move your hands and remember to mouth the words at the same time can be really exhausting. Almost as mentally challenging as calculus, in its way.

  After class Amanda handed me a Tootsie Pop and unwrapped one for herself. I ate like it was the last morsel on earth.

  "You sure you want to give these up?" Amanda looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Cave Girl?"

  "Right now a cave sounds great," I said. "I just want to crawl into a dark hole and sleep."

  "Now you know why I always have to nap after school."

  It's true--Amanda is fiercely devoted to her naps.

  I actually dozed for a few minutes while she drove me to work. But then that nagging issue woke me up. I didn't really want to ask, but I was too curious to let it pass.

  "So who was the guy supposed to be tonight?" I asked. "I mean, if it wasn't Matt?"

  "Oh. Greg something-or-other. I've never met him."

  "Excuse me? You're not pre-screening these people?"

  "Kit Cat, if I thought there was even the slightest chance you'd go on a date, I would have run a full FBI check on the guy--you know that. All you have to do is say the word."

  "Some other time," I said.

  "You swear?"

  "No."

  I almost left it at that, but I needed to make absolutely sure that we understood each other. "You ... never told Jordan anything, right? About Matt?"

  "Of course not. It's in the vault."

  "And if he ever even suggested that Matt and I--"

  "Not to worry," she said. "Matt McKinney will never get within twenty paces of you if I have anything to do with it. I'll defend you to the death, even against my boyfriend, no matter how irresistible he is."

  "Thank you."

  "My pleasure."

  She pulled up to the hospital. I dragged my sleepy self out of her car.

  "Sure you don't want to come out to dinner tonight?" Amanda asked. "It'll just be the three of us--I promise."

  "Thanks," I said, "but I'm in deep, deep trouble here. I have no idea what I'm going to do about Fizer's."

  "Poor little Kitty Cat," she said. "I'm so sorry. I mean, I still think the project is insane, but you know you're going to pull it off, right? You always do. Have some faith."

  I gave her a feeble smile. "Thanks."

  "And you're going to kick Matt McKinney's sorry little behind, aren't you?"

  I shrugged. "Hope so."

  But that was this afternoon. And what a difference nine hours of fear and frustration and incessant research can make. It's after midnight, and it's possible I've found the answer I need, but I just don't know. And that's led to a craving like I haven't had in such a long time.

  It's not a craving for ice cream--I've already had two bowls. Not for chips and salsa, either--already had those, too. Not even for sleep, even though right now that sounds sweeter than anything.

  I understand the point of Mr. Fizer's secrecy rule--we're supposed to prove that we can think for ourselves and not depend on anyone else's opinions or help. I get that.

  But I swear if I had just one wish in the world right now, it would be that things were different and I could just pick up the phone and talk to him. Ask him what he thinks. Tell him I've been having a hard time, and hear him say it's going to be all right--that I'm a great scientist and I'll be able to figure this out. Because Matt McKinney is still the smartest person I've ever known, and it's nights like this when I miss my former best friend the most.

  But things aren't different, and that's just how it is. Matt showed me who he is, and I can't forget that.

  But I still wish it weren't true.

  7

  Catherine Locke

  Special Topics in Research Science

  CAN MODERN HUMANS BENEFIT FROM RETURNING TO THE EATING AND LIFESTYLE HABITS OF THE EARLY HOMININS?

  PROPOSAL: Over the course of seven months (207 days), researcher will act as own test subject and attempt to duplicate as closely as possible the living conditions of early hominins.

  METHODS:

  A. Rules:

  1. Subject may eat only foods that would have been available to early hominins. This means nothing processed, manufactured, chemically altered, or preserved;

  2. Subject must refrain from using any modern conveniences wherever possible. These include motorized transportation, appliances, and electronic equipment.

  B. Exceptions:

  1. Where safety is involved (subject may use motorized transportation after dark or for great distances, may carry cell phone in case of emergency, etc.);

  2. Where hygiene is involved (subject may use toothpaste, soap, shampoo, etc.);

  3. Where technology is necessary for school or employment (can use computer for school and job only);

  4. Where there is no reasonable alternative to the modern method or equipment (can use running water, stove, and oven but not microwave to duplicate cooking over fire, etc.);

  5. Where someone else would be adversely affected by the above rules (may drive someone to hospital, answer emergency call on telephone, etc.).

  ANTICIPATED RESULT: Returning to the simple diet and lifestyle habits of our early ancestors will result in better health for the subject and will return body to its "natural state."

  ANT
ICIPATED RISKS: Altering diet and other habits may be physically and psychologically difficult.

  8

  I added my proposal to the stack of others on Mr. Fizer's desk. As soon as the bell rang, he scooped up the papers and began flipping through them while we all waited, silent and on edge.

  Finally he spoke. "Farah Halaby, acceptable."

  Farah looked like a doctor had just told her she was going to live.

  "Nick Langan, see me. Matthew McKinney, acceptable. Catherine Locke, see me. Alyssa Thompson--"

  I didn't hear anything else. See me. That was it. It was over. I was going to have to walk out of there, a failure before I'd even begun. Matt would get the scholarships, Matt would get the glory, Matt would know he was always the superior scientist and I was nothing.

  And there my eyeballs were again, moving to the right against my will. Why do they have to do that? Who's in charge here? I fought them as hard as I could, but they wouldn't be satisfied until they locked onto Matt's face and saw for themselves what he thought about the whole situation--was he laughing? Was he sorry for us? Did he even care?

  All I knew was that he was looking at me. I caught that flash of brown iris and then got my eyeballs out of there as fast as I could.

  Meanwhile Mr. Fizer had finished reading his verdicts. He told the acceptable people to begin work--at the computers, in the research files, wherever they chose--while the unacceptables (just Nick and me) should come up when called.

  "Mr. Langan?" He took Nick outside. Not good. They were out in the hall for at least ten minutes, and when Nick came back he looked even paler than a blond guy with blond eyebrows can normally look. Really not good.

  "Miss Locke?" Mr. Fizer called from the doorway.

  I took the long walk across the room. Managed not to look at Matt along the way, even though he was sitting at one of the computers near the door.

  There was nothing to say. I just stood there in the hall and prepared to take it.

  "Have your parents agreed to this?" Mr. Fizer asked.

  That wasn't what I was expecting. "Um, yes, sir." Which wasn't technically true--my parents knew about it, but so far they hadn't exactly endorsed the plan.

  "An interesting idea," he said. "And ambitious."

  Ambitious sounded good. I think. Still, little beads of sweat broke out on my nose.

  "However, I do question a few of your items. 'Rule number one,'" he read from my paper. "'Subject may eat only foods that would have been available to early hominins.'" He studied me over the top of his glasses. "Are you certain you want to take that position?"

  "Um ... I think so."

  "Interesting. I assume by now you've researched what they ate?"

  "Yes, sir." Sweat was starting to bubble all over my skin. I had the feeling this could go very, very badly.

  "And what do you believe they subsisted on?" he asked. "Primarily?"

  I swallowed. There was no point in lying--he could look it up as well as I could. "Rotten meat and tubers."

  "I see. How do you propose duplicating their diet?" He held out his hand to stop me from answering yet. "In a way your parents will approve of?"

  "Oh. Well, I wasn't really going to eat bad meat--I don't even like meat all that much. I was mostly going to stick with the plant foods they ate--you know, potatoes for tubers, lettuce instead of grass ... vegetables ... berries ... stuff like that...."

  I sounded like I hadn't thought it through for even five minutes. This wasn't going well.

  "I think you need to reconsider that first requirement," Mr. Fizer told me. "Live with it for a few days. Poor parameters make for poor science."

  Not going well at all. "Yes, sir."

  He referred to my proposal again. "Now, for the second half of that rule: No processed, manufactured, chemically altered, or preserved foods. That seems more attainable, doesn't it?"

  Finally, something he liked. "Yes, sir." But I was wrong.

  "I think you'll actually find it quite difficult to attain," he said. "There's an astonishing amount of chemical adulteration in our food supply. You'll be surprised once you begin investigating it. But I'll leave that to you to research more fully."

  "Yes, sir." I didn't even want to listen anymore. Clearly Mr. Fizer hated my project. I was starting to think I might hate it, too.

  "Next item," he continued. "Exception number four, giving you the use of a stove and oven to duplicate fire--"

  "Oh, okay," I interrupted before he could say any more. "Then I guess I could just use our outdoor grill, or maybe build a fire pit--"

  "The problem is more basic than that," Mr. Fizer said. "You seem to think Homo erectus cooked his food. Are you aware many scientists would disagree with you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  And right there my heart sort of lifted. Because I was actually prepared for this conversation. This was the piece of the puzzle I discovered last night--the part that makes the whole thing workable.

  "I know a lot of people think we didn't have fire until about 500,000 years ago--"

  "Less than that," Mr. Fizer said. "Some say it's very new--only 250,000 years. But in any case, certainly not 1.8 million years ago."

  I took a deep breath. I needed to make my case.

  "There's a group of biologists," I said. "They just came out with this theory a few years ago, and even though a lot of scientists think they're wrong, I think what they're saying makes sense."

  "Do you?" I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or if he was genuinely interested in my opinion. But I just forged ahead.

  "They noticed that there was this big change in anatomy by the time Homo erectus came along--suddenly their jaws were smaller, their teeth were smaller--even their rib cages weren't so distended, so their bellies must have been smaller, too."

  "Which means?" he asked.

  "It means they didn't have to work so hard to chew their food. Or to digest it. There must have been some big dramatic change that allowed their bodies to adapt in a short period of time--to go from having teeth and jaws like apes' to having ones more like humans'. So I think the biologists are right. I think the difference was ... fire."

  Mr. Fizer was silent for a moment. He gazed at the poster across the hall announcing that the new lunch cards were on sale. Then he looked at me over the top of his half-glasses and said, "Very good, Miss Locke. I'm aware of that research."

  Score! "And so if I can cook," I told him, "that means I can make my own food out of whatever ingredients they had back then, and that way I can keep it all as pure as possible."

  He nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting."

  I almost started to relax. But he wasn't done with me yet.

  "I do have one last concern," Mr. Fizer said.

  It felt like we'd already been out there an hour. "Yes, sir?"

  "Your project seems ... monocentric."

  "Mono--"

  "You're relying exclusively on one source of data--personal experimentation. I think the judges would prefer to see a broader range of information--perhaps an analysis of the various diets and lifestyles throughout time and across cultures. Show us how our choices have impacted the human form."

  Actually, that sounded like a really good idea. "Okay, I can do that."

  "Good," Mr. Fizer said. "Then proceed."

  And that was it. Proceed.

  When we walked back in the classroom, I was so happy and relieved I could barely keep a straight face. I'd survived. Not only that, Mr. Fizer actually seemed to think my project might be a good idea. Ambitious. I'll take ambitious.

  Before class was over Mr. Fizer handed me a few forms my parents have to sign. Since I'm using a human subject--me--I need their permission before I can do any experiments. But that shouldn't be a problem--especially once I tell my parents how enthusiastic Mr. Fizer is about my idea. Well, maybe not enthusiastic, but at least he approved it. That has to count for a lot.

  So now I can begin. This is going to be the most radical experiment I've ever done in my life. It
's better than the fig wasps, better than any of my other science fair projects--and better than whatever Matt thinks he's trotting out for the judges. I'm going to win this time and get Mr. Fizer's college recommendation. Everyone's going to know what I can do once I put my heart and mind into something.

  I can't wait to get started.

  And I'm not the only one who's excited.

  9

  I gave Amanda the thumbs-up as I left the classroom.

  She grinned and hopped in place. "Told you!"

  Then Matt came out, and we had to play it cool. But once he was gone, I escorted Amanda to the vending machines and bought us both one last round of chocolate in celebration. "Today's the last day I can get a ride," I told her. "The whole thing starts tomorrow."

  As we drove to work, I filled her in on everything that had happened, including some of the nuances of my plan.

  "I'm going to have to start making everything from scratch," I told her. "I can't just eat stuff from the store anymore. So I'm probably going to have to--ow!"

  It's a good thing we were at a stoplight, or we might have gotten into an accident. Because Amanda had taken both hands off the steering wheel to dig her pointy little fingers into my arm. "Do NOT tease me," she said. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you actually going back to cooking? Oh, PLEASE say yes!"

  I laughed. "Yes. I have to."

  Amanda did a little dance in her seat despite the fact that the light had changed and she was holding up traffic. "Yes! She's back! Chef Cat, Chef Cat, where have you been--"

  Before she could launch into a new poem, the guy behind us honked and made her drive on.

  "I'll have to be careful about the ingredients," I said. "Nothing modern--it all has to be as natural as possible. Only foods they would have been able to find back then."

  "I think I saw on the Discovery Channel that cavemen used to make sopapillas," Amanda said. "And cheesecake--lots of cheesecake. With cherries on top."

  "Oh, really."

  "Mm, and chocolate chip cookies," Amanda said. "You can make those, right? You make them from scratch."