Everything I Know About You Page 7

  “Sure,” Sonnet said ecstatically, scooching over toward me to make room for the three of them. Which meant she was now bumping her elbow into mine every time she picked up her fork.

  “So how’s the food?” Nadia asked.

  “Pretty good,” Sonnet said.

  “Shockingly delectable,” I answered with a full mouth. “I may go back for some of that mac and cheese.”

  “Really?” Nadia said. “Omigod, Tally. How much can you eat?”

  “A possibly infinite amount, especially after all those memorials. Although I have to say this apple pie isn’t one-fifth as good as my dad’s.”

  While I was saying this, Spider caught my eye, touching his lower lip a few times, which I took to mean, Tally, wipe your face. So I did, immediately realizing I had a speck of apple-pie crust on my chin.

  And then I noticed Ava’s plate. She’d taken a parallelogram of lasagna, a Red Delicious apple, and some salad without dressing. The funny thing was the lasagna, because noodles were carbs, weren’t they? Supposedly Ava didn’t do carbs. I considered pointing out to her the inconsistency of eating lasagna a few hours after refusing my dad’s carb-full Baked Goodies. But Ava took one small bite, chewed slowly, and pushed her plate away.

  “I don’t even know why I took all that stuff,” she said. “I’m really not the teeniest bit hungry.”

  “You always say that, Ava,” Nadia said.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “It can’t always be true. Not literally.”

  Ava’s face pinched. “Nadia, stop bugging me, all right? I’ll eat what I want.”

  “In other words, nothing.”

  “Want a french fry?” Sonnet offered. “You don’t have to be hungry to eat fries.”

  Ava smiled. “No thanks, Sonnet. I never eat fried food.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I have a sensitive stomach.”

  I took a fry from Sonnet’s plate. “Oh well, more for the rest of us, right?”

  “Not me,” Nadia said. “I have no self-control. If I eat one fry, I’ll eat the whole plate. Literally! Also the silverware. And the tablecloth.”

  “Come on, Nadia, you’re not even close to fat,” Haley said as she nibbled her hamburger.

  “But I could get fat. Fat is genetic, and omigod, you guys should see my mom’s butt.”

  Haley giggled. “I have seen it, and it’s a totally normal mom-sized butt. And seriously, if anyone should worry about getting fat, it’s me.”

  “You?” Sonnet said in disbelief. “You’re so skinny, Haley.”

  “That’s what you think. My thigh gap disappeared over the summer.”

  “What’s a thigh gap?” I asked.

  “What it sounds like,” Nadia snapped.

  Haley didn’t even look at me. “Seriously, you guys, I’m just squish. My arms are balloons, my hips bulge out, and my belly is, like, disgusting. This summer I had to throw out all my favorite skinny pants.”

  “Come on, I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Sonnet said.

  “You think so? I’ll show you in the room later, Sonnet. You’ll be horrified.”

  “When I do jumping jacks, everything jiggles,” I announced. “It’s pretty funny, actually.”

  “I’m sure it is, Tally,” Nadia said. She took a bite of hamburger.

  “Anyhow, what’s the big deal about butt size?” I continued. “I have a gigantic butt. Who cares?”

  No one said anything. Sonnet was pink, for some weird reason.

  “Okay, well, I’m off,” Spider muttered, looking only at me.

  “Wait, you’re leaving? Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Up to the room to watch TV,” he answered. “Or maybe read. Anyway. Bye.” He hurried off with his plate.

  “Poor Spider,” Haley said. “All that body talk must have freaked him out.”

  “Well, if he hangs out with girls all the time, what does he expect?” Nadia said.

  I was appalled. “Excuse me, Sonnet and I talk about plenty of things besides how fat we are. Which, if you ask me, is a bleeping boring topic.”

  Ava raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really, Tally? And what fascinating topics do you discuss?”

  “Regular things,” Sonnet answered quickly. “You know. People, school, movies, music—”

  “I’m sure you discuss fashion, right?” Nadia said, laughing as she eyed my remaining Band-Aids. By then, most had slid off with my sweat, but I still had one on my neck and another on my wrist.

  Haley started giggling again, but she tried to hide it behind her napkin.

  “I can assure you,” I said loudly, “that we never discuss fashion.”

  “I can assure you that I’m not surprised,” Nadia replied.

  “In fact, we discuss far more interesting topics than the ones Sonnet mentioned. Like math, for example.”

  “You talk about math?” Ava asked.

  “Not really,” Sonnet said.

  “Constantly,” I insisted. “For example, just the other day we were discussing the difference between a googol and a googolplex. Do you know what it is? You don’t? All right, I’ll tell you: A googol is a one with a hundred zeroes after it, and a googolplex is a one with a googol zeroes after it.”

  Dead silence.

  “Also pi, as opposed to apple pie,” I said. “Which I can currently recite to forty-six digits. My short-term goal is fifty-five, but I’m aiming for one hundred.”

  “Tally,” Nadia said, plucking a french fry off Sonnet’s plate, “you’re the all-time weirdest person in human history.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied, bowing my head. “Deepest thanks.”

  “Well, doesn’t that all look scrumptious.” Mrs. Seeley was standing by our table holding a plate heaped with salad. “May I squeeze in with you girls?”

  “Sure, there’s plenty of room,” Sonnet said, as if somehow she’d become the host. “Besides, Mrs. Seeley, you’re so skinny.”

  I gave Sonnet a look like: You did not just say that.

  Mrs. Seeley beamed as she took over Spider’s chair. “That’s so sweet of you, dear. But I didn’t used to be. Has Ava told you?”

  “Told us what?” Sonnet asked eagerly. I poked my elbow into her side, but she didn’t react.

  Ava put down her fork. “Mom used to be a little overweight,” she said.

  Mrs. Seeley chuckled. “You’re understating it, sweetheart. I was obese. But one day about five years ago, I decided to lose the weight and get healthy. Because the business world can be very harsh on women.” She pierced a cherry tomato with her fork.

  “That’s so cool,” Nadia said. “I wish my mom could be like you.”

  “Oh, she can be, honey. Tell her to call me anytime and I’ll do a free wardrobe critique, the works. Ava, you didn’t like your dinner?”

  Ava shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, you need to eat something after all that walking.”

  “Mom, I’ll eat later, okay?”

  “How? It’s not like you have access to a full refrigerator here.”

  “If I’m hungry later, that’s my problem,” Ava muttered.

  I looked up. Was I the only person who thought things at this table had turned a bit awkward, even more awkward than before? I couldn’t tell; no one would meet my eyes, not even Sonnet.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Sonnet was saying brightly. “What if you asked for a doggy bag, Ava? Then you could bring the food up to your room and just eat when you want.”

  “I guess,” Ava said, not enthusiastically.

  “Sonnet, that’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Seeley exclaimed. She sprung up from the table and returned a minute later with a plastic takeout container, the kind with a lid. Then she lifted the lasagna and the salad off Ava’s plate and arranged them carefully in the plastic container. If she’d had tiny hangers, she’d have used them, I bet.

  “There,” she said. “Perfect. Thanks for thinking of this, Sonnet.”

&nb
sp; “You’re welcome,” Sonnet said, smiling.

  Ava stood. “Okay, so I’ll take all this back to the room now, I guess. See you guys later.”

  “Wait, honey,” Mrs. Seeley said. “You’re going to drill your French adverbs tonight, right?”

  “Of course, Mom. Do I ever forget?”

  She air-kissed her mom’s cheek and fled the Thomas Jefferson.

  The Manicure

  THAT NIGHT I ENDED UP watching a movie with Nadia and Haley. I know how crazy that sounds, believe me—but it happened only because Haley invited Sonnet, and I could see that Sonnet desperately wanted to accept. But I knew she’d hang with me instead, out of loyalty, and I didn’t like thinking I was some kind of charity.

  So I pretended not to realize that Haley had snubbed me. “That sounds like a great idea!” I said. “What movie should we see?”

  Nadia and Haley gave each other a look, but they didn’t ban me from participation.

  We snatched some cookies from the dessert stand and snuck them upstairs to Haley and Sonnet’s room. Nadia grabbed the remote and started channel-surfing. Finally the three of them agreed on some ultra-insipid rom com called The Manicure, about a woman who falls in love with her male nail polisher for some reason I couldn’t follow.

  After about twenty minutes of watching this woman decide if she was going to ask Nail Polish Guy to some kind of fancy snobby business party, I gave up.

  “You know what this movie desperately needs?” I said. “A giant tub of greasy popcorn.”

  “Shh, Tally,” Haley said.

  “Well, sorry. But you can’t do movies without popcorn. It’s practically un-American.”

  “Un-Aztec,” Nadia reminded me.

  “Well, whoever invented popcorn, I can’t watch a movie without it,” I declared.

  “Then don’t,” Nadia said, staring at the TV.

  So I texted Spider: Hey how’s it going? I’m being subjected to movie torture. At first he didn’t answer, and I despaired that he was shampooing again.

  But about fifteen minutes later he texted: I’m fine & guess what, Marco uses bubble gum flavored mouthwash

  Me: EWW. For what?

  Spider: IDK, to fight tooth decay? Or to kill ants?

  Me: Bleh, poor ants. But it goes with the baby shampoo. Does Marco also wear diapers??

  I waited, but Spider didn’t text back. Which was odd. At ten, there was a knock on the door. Haley jumped off the bed to answer.

  It was Ms. Jordan, who poked her head into the room. “Good movie, girls?”

  “Oh, it’s great!” Haley said. “We’re watching The Manicure. Have you seen it?”

  “No, I guess I missed that one.” She grinned in a way that made me think she shared my opinion, at least of this one stupid movie. “Where’s Ava?”

  We all looked at each other. Ava had said she’d see us later, but I wondered if she even knew we were watching a movie. She’d left the restaurant before we’d made our plan for the evening. For all I knew, this whole time she’d been back in our room, studying French adverbs.

  “I’m guessing she went to bed early,” Haley said. “She seemed a little tired at dinner.”

  “And grumpy,” Nadia added. “Although she’s always grumpy lately.”

  “Okay, well, sorry to break this up, girls, but I’m afraid it’s lights-out time,” Ms. Jordan said.

  “Seriously?” Nadia scrunched her face in disbelief.

  “You don’t have to go to bed now, just go back to your rooms. But I’d strongly suggest getting some sleep—we need to be awake and downstairs having breakfast by seven. Full day of action!”

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” Haley asked.

  Ms. Jordan smiled. “The afternoon is the Capitol tour. We’re trying to arrange something special for the morning, but I don’t want to say until we know it’s for sure. Good night!” She waved and moved on to the next room.

  I rolled off the bed. “Ooh, I love mysteries. Better than rom coms, truthfully.”

  “Well, no one was forcing you to watch it with us, Tally,” Nadia said.

  I glanced at Sonnet, who was studying her cuticles.

  Counting

  I PUT THE KEY CARD in my door, expecting to see Ava propped up on her pillows with French-adverb flash cards. But the room was dark, and when I turned on the bathroom light, I could see that Ava’s bed was empty. Also completely undisturbed. There was no sign that she’d even come back to the room after leaving the restaurant—except for one thing: The plastic container of uneaten food was in the trash.

  Where was she? Possibly in her mom’s room, I thought—although after the way Ava had behaved at the table, it was hard to imagine her wanting to hang out with Mrs. Seeley all night. Maybe she’d gone to her mom’s room to apologize. Well, wherever she was, it was good to have the room to myself.

  The first thing I did was kick off my shoes, which happened to be cowboy boots. I did a few jumping jacks, watching myself jiggle in the mirror. Did I need a new bra? I guess I did; I’d mention it to Mom when I got home. She’d probably just buy me whatever kind was on sale at Kohl’s. I bet Mrs. Seeley bought Ava underwear at some fancy boutique in the city, the same sort of place where she bought all Ava’s clothes.

  And suddenly I felt a sort of prickle of curiosity about Ava’s clothes. If I was really still playing this spy game, I needed more data, didn’t I?

  I opened the top drawer of Ava’s dresser: A bunch of tees all lined up, shoulders touching. Two pairs of black biker shorts, folded exactly in half. And socks, rolled-up like unbaked croissants on a bakery shelf. What must it be like to be Ava, so careful and perfect, even about things that were supposed to be private? To be honest, I couldn’t imagine.

  Before I closed the drawer, I made sure nothing looked poked or rearranged; knowing Ava, she’d accuse me if even one sock was out of place. I wondered if Ava was naturally so crazy organized, or if she’d learned it from her mom. Maybe Mrs. Seeley did drawer inspections, and punished Ava if her underwear wasn’t alphabetized. It wouldn’t surprise me, truthfully. How could she live with a mom like that? I certainly couldn’t, that was for sure. For the first time ever, I thought it would be hard to be Ava Seeley.

  The drawer beneath was a teeny bit open, so I tugged on the knob. More of Ava’s stuff, mostly tops and sweaters. With the edges of my fingertips, I held up a pale blue-gray sweater Ava sometimes wore. It was softer than any of mine, maybe the softest thing I’d ever felt, if you didn’t count Spike’s ears. I checked the label: 100 percent cashmere. Whoa. Not a kid material. And definitely not something they sold at Kohl’s. No way would Mom buy me something like this. Or buy it for herself, come to think of it. The Seeleys had money to spend on fancy clothes. Well, woo-hoo for them.

  I held the sweater over my chest and looked in the mirror. On me it looked like a bib. I put it back.

  Underneath the sweater was a tank top the color of calamine lotion. Which looked pretty standard for clonegirl-wear, except it was made of some kind of superhero-costume material that stretched like Silly Putty. I mean, this tank fit Ava, obviously, but the way it stretched, I could tell it would probably fit me, too.

  I slipped it over my head and looked in the mirror. The tank squished my boobs, and didn’t even make it down to my belly button, but I was in it. That was me in the mirror. Wearing calamine-lotion pink, a color I never wore, ever.

  Talia Martin fits into Ava Seeley’s clothes, hahaha! Take that, all you snotty clonegirls!

  Still wearing the tank, I went into the bathroom. Ava had lined up her bottles on the edge of the sink: shampoo, after-shampoo lotion, pre-blow-drying conditioner, after-blow-drying conditioner. Egads, what a ritual—if I had to remember all those steps, I’d just shave my head and be done with it.

  Next to the bottles was a vinyl bag covered with yellow daisies. It had a million zippers, and all of them were closed; on the other hand, she’d left the bag out here in public. Well, this was a bathroom, so not in public—but if sh
e’d wanted to keep the bag ultra-private, she could have stuck it in a drawer or something, right? I mean, she knew I’d be using the bathroom. And there wasn’t a sign on the bag that said NO PEEKING.

  So I unzipped it. Every zipper.

  But it was mostly stuff you’d expect: a retainer, some lip gloss, ponytail holders, a nail file, bobby pins, zit wipes. The fact that she used zit wipes was a little bit spy-worthy; but maybe she had them in the unlikely event she had a breakout, which she never did. Although she also had a small tube of concealer—and why would you need concealer if you had nothing to conceal?

  Thinking of secret zits and then secrets in general, I remembered Ava’s tiny yellow notebook with all the numbers. Had she added any more? I left the bathroom and searched her bed, and under her pillow, the last place I’d seen it. But it wasn’t there. Maybe she’d stuck it on the nightstand, under her dumb fashion magazines. Or inside the drawer . . . ?

  Ta-da. There it was.

  I opened the notebook to the same page as before:

  65

  200?

  12

  approx 150

  25

  10

  Was Spider’s guess right—was it some kind of code? As a math person, I was usually good at picking up number patterns—but if there was a pattern here, I didn’t see it. All the numbers were divisible by five, except for the 12. And two of the numbers were divisible by ten, which made them seem rounded off; in fact, the 200 had a question mark, and the 150 had the abbreviation “approx.” So it was odd that the 12 was so specific. A dozen what?

  Another strange thing: Some days had more numbers than others, some pages were almost blank, every page had a date, and Ava hadn’t missed a day since last May.

  And that 10 was new—the first time I’d peeked, there’d been only five numbers, but now there were six. Did all the pages have six? I flipped through the notebook: Some pages had four numbers; some had seven or eight; a couple had two. One had none, but it had a gold star at the top. She’d given herself a gold star for what? Getting all her French adverbs right? Alphabetizing socks?

  A faint rustling sound was coming from the hallway outside the door. Was that Ava? Bleep.