Before The Boys Say No Part 10

"The guys at my school don't like it, Mom. And no, I'm not going on some crazy diet or popping any pills. I like Italian food too much."

"Then, why? Why would you do this to yourself, Bea?"

I took another gulp of water. "There's a cute guy at school who's on the track team. I thought if I took up running, he might be interested in dating me."

"Oh, Bea," she laughed. "You don't have to take up running to attract a boy. Just be yourself, well, maybe a little less opinionated. You'll have no shortage of boys."

"Right," I said sarcastically. "I've got boys lined up to get a date with me."

"It's just hard in high school," she said sympathetically. "I think a little tweaking with your outspokenness, and you'll be just fine."

Outspokenness. That was a polite way of saying keep your big fat mouth quiet. Dang. I didn't know how I was going to control my tongue. When I started feeling comfortable around people, I spoke my mind. Italians understood that. Maybe I needed to find an Italian guy. Too late now. I'd already done my research on Michael Walters. And I had a plan. I wasn't going to let my mom get me off track.

"I know what I'm doing, Mom," I said firmly.

She shrugged and walked out of the kitchen without another word. I knew she would tell my father. And I knew he would give me the pep talk about when I got older, I would understand. Look for a guy to marry. Blah, blah, blah.

In the meantime, Winter Formal was exactly ten weeks away. Homecoming had come and gone. No surprise, Brody took Lanie and she won Homecoming queen. Brody was making quite a name for himself at school as starting quarterback. Everyone wanted to be around him.

I started getting up earlier to run before school. Pretty soon, I could run two blocks, then three. After three weeks, I could run around the neighborhood. I still hated running, but at least I didn't feel like I was going to pa.s.s out anymore.

Johanna started commenting on how my clothes were starting to fit looser. That was encouraging. I had dropped from a size twelve to a ten. I hadn't changed the way I ate. The running had helped. Johanna was trying to get me to start eating salads, but I refused. I like my pizza and calzones too much to give them up.

"All right, Bea," she said one day at lunch. "It's time to change your hair and get contacts. You're going to start running on the track after school."

"I don't know if I'm ready," I said hesitantly.

"You have less than two months till Winter Formal," she responded. "Two months, Bea. You've got to make your move before he asks someone else. According to my calculations, he will ask someone approximately four weeks before the dance. It's time."

I made a mental checklist on what I'd need for the transformation. The weather was getting colder, so I had started wearing old sweats for my early morning runs. I'd have to get some cute running clothes. And change my hair color. And get the blue contacts.

"How's it going with Dalton?" I asked.

"I have a hair appointment Friday. I'm going blonde."

I had no idea. "Wow. That's going to be a big change."

"Yeah," she agreed, "I was going to just add blonde highlights, but when I thought about it, Dalton only dates blondes. And cheerleaders. I don't know how to get around that."

"Can you get on the dance squad?" I asked. "That would be close to being a cheerleader."

She shook her head. "They've already had tryouts. Besides, I don't have time with Honor Society. I'm considering dropping Honor Society."

I was shocked. Johanna had been in Honor Society since freshman year. Was she really thinking of giving it up for a guy?

"Do you think that's really a good idea, Johanna? I mean, what if it doesn't work out with Dalton?"

"We have to be willing to make sacrifices, Bea."

"No way am I giving up debate," I said. "No date is worth it."

"Well, no one is asking you to," she said. "Besides, I'm just thinking about it. Dalton's type gets threatened by smart girls, so I may have to give it up."

We fell silent for the rest of lunch. Like clockwork, we saw Lanie and her friends approaching our table like the school lunch bullies. We got up and left before they got close. When we first started leaving our table, we heard the girls laughing triumphantly behind us as they took it over. Pretty soon, they stopped. I guess it wasn't any fun for them now.

I barely saw Brody any longer. He had caught sight of me in cla.s.s, but Ms. McEnroy was so strict she didn't allow any talking. Since he arrived so late, he was only able to give me a smile most days.

I also made it a point to be the first out of debate cla.s.s. That way, I avoided seeing Brody across the courtyard. I was trying to take away any excuse for Lanie to be mean to me. The less interaction I had with Brody, the easier my life was.

I had gotten so used to not working with Brody that it was a shock to walk into the restaurant one afternoon and see him in the kitchen. I had just gotten some brown lowlights added to my hair. I actually kind of liked them. They toned down the red and made my hair look less frizzy. Brody got a look of surprise on his face when he saw me.

"Wow, you look different," he said. "I miss your red hair. Why the change?"

"I just wanted to try something different," I told him.

"You're trying to look more Italian, like your handsome brother," Dean quipped from the grill.

"I am Italian, and I don't have a handsome brother," I teased back.

He laughed at the remark. Brody smiled at me, his eyes twinkling in the kitchen lights. I wondered if my blue contacts would make my eyes look like his?

"You want me to make pizza for us after work?" Brody asked with a grin.

"Your famous pesto pizza?" I asked.

He nodded. How could I refuse? Besides, Lanie wasn't around to see us. Why she would ever feel threatened by me was insane. She probably acted that way around any girl that Brody talked to.

"Hey, you gonna let me in on this?" Dean asked.

"Of course," Brody said.

I really didn't want Dean to join us. It was the one special time I'd had with Brody. Oh, well. It was probably better he did. That way, I wouldn't feel uncomfortable. Not that I really did with Brody, anyway.

Dad came into the restaurant just to chat with customers. He missed being away and tried to make every excuse to come in. He did a double take when he saw me on the floor.

"What's with the brown hair, Beatrice? You ashamed of your mother's beautiful red locks?"

"Come on, Dad," I whined. "I just wanted to try something else for fun."

"I don't like it," he said frankly.

"It's not that bad," I said, self-consciously touching my ponytail.

"I like the red better."

"I agree," said an older couple that I had waited on too many times to count. They always came in for the Tuesday night spaghetti special.

"Thank you, everyone, for giving me your opinion. I didn't ask for it though."

The couple just smiled at me. They were used to my outspokenness, as my mother called it. Dad frowned and shook his head. At least he dropped it.

I had to put up with the comments on my hair for the rest of the evening. I was so ready to flip the sign on the door to show we were closed. Brody had already started on his pesto pizza. I could smell it out on the floor. Dean cleaned the kitchen as I scrubbed the floors.

A sharp rapping on the gla.s.s startled me from my day dreaming. I looked up to see Lanie's face peering through the window. My heart sank. I wanted to pretend like I hadn't seen her, but we had already had eye contact. I reluctantly crossed to the door to open it.

"I need Brody," she said in a snotty voice, crossing her arms and thrusting out her hip.

"Brody," I called. "Someone's here to see you."

I crossed back to the mop bucket and tried to ignore her as I continued mopping. Brody came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He was surprised to see Lanie.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a slight frown.

"Look, I know you're mad at me, but we need to talk. Aren't you off work?" Lanie asked.

"Yeah, but I'm going to be at least another hour," he told her.

"Are you kidding? You're the quarter back. You can get off anytime you want."

That made Brody laugh. "I'm at work, Lanie, not playing football."

"Still, it counts for something. He can get off, right, Cinderella?"

I realized she was talking to me. I was trying to mind my own business, but that was just rude. I took a deep breath and turned to face her c.o.c.ky toss of her head.

"Sure, Brody can leave. Dean can clean up the kitchen."

"See? I told you," Lanie said with a smug smile.

"Go on, Brody," I urged. "You're the quarterback. That's got to count for something."

I couldn't help myself. The words just came out of my mouth. Brody grinned really big, but Lanie glared at me.

"Wait a second, are you making fun of me?" she asked in a low voice.

"Stop, Lanie," Brody said, pushing her toward the door.

"I won't stop. That heifer is making fun of me--"

"She wasn't making fun of you," Brody said rea.s.suringly. "She was agreeing with you."

She stopped at the door and looked suspiciously at both of us. She was too dumb to realize that, yes, I was making fun of her, and that Brody was trying to smooth my remark to prevent her from getting angry.

He whispered something to her and pushed her through the door, closing it behind her with a snap. He met my eyes with a big apology written all over his face.

"Can we take a raincheck on the pizza?" he asked sheepishly.

"Of course," I said, pretending that I wasn't bothered. "Sounds like you two need to talk."

"Yeah. Just a misunderstanding, that's all," he said quietly.

"Oh, you're fine, Brody. Go on. Dean will understand."

Brody hesitated then strode into the kitchen. He emerged a couple of minutes later with his jacket in his hand.

"I have the pizza in the oven. You and Dean enjoy," he said before letting himself out the door.

I felt a wave of disappointment wash over me. The restaurant suddenly felt very empty and lonely. I slumped down on a chair, too deflated to even continue mopping.

"You gotta toughen up, Bea. Don't let that girl scare you."

Dean was standing at the register, watching me. I smoothed down my ponytail and stood back up. I'd gotten good at pretending the big girl jokes didn't bother me. I threw Dean a brave smile and picked up my mop to continue.

"You want some of Brody's pizza?" he asked.

"You can have it," I said quietly.

Dean left me alone to mop. I moved into the bathrooms to clean and caught my reflection in the mirror. Something about the brown hair made me feel more serious. Perhaps those blue contacts wouldn't look so bad after all.

CHAPTER 9.

Running was not meant for girls with big b.o.o.bs. I thought I was doing good in the neighborhood where I jogged at a snail's pace. On the track, it was a different story. Some of the track team were running laps, so I tentatively made my first presence on the rubber track since P.E. in tenth grade.

Mom had taken me shopping for some running clothes so I wouldn't look like a dork around the real runners. I got everything in black in an effort to look more slim. One pair of running pants even had a white strip running down the sides, which appeared to take at least two inches off my hips.

The kids ran fast on the track. I tried to quicken my pace, but my b.o.o.bs started heaving up and down with each movement. I'd have to try wearing three bras, I decided. Thankfully, my jacket hid the movement.

I couldn't even make it around the track once since I tried to increase my pace. I had to stop and walk, trying not to bend over like an amateur. Once I caught my breath, I tried to run again. This time, I kept my snail's pace. I really felt a sense of accomplishment when I finished running a mile. I never thought I would run a mile. Willingly, anyway.

Then I saw him. Michael Walters. He had just gotten onto the track and was running with two other guys. I moved to the inside of the track so they could pa.s.s. They didn't even throw me a second glance. I reminded myself to be patient.

Johanna was supposed to meet me at the track when she finished with the yearbook meeting. I looked in the bleachers, and there she was, freshly blonde and bundled in a white coat to stay warm. She gave me a wave when I saw her. I moved off the track and climbed the bleachers to her.

"I'm so proud of you, Bea. You're doing it."

"Barely," I said, taking a deep breath. "Did you see Michael? He didn't even notice me."

"Oh, he will," she said with a knowing smile. "You got your contacts yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm having problems getting them in my eyes."

"Keep practicing," she ordered. "You're going to start wearing them tomorrow. I think it's also time you start talking with Michael. Off the track, of course."