Everything I Know About You Page 8

  I yanked off the tank, stuffed it under my pillow, tossed Ava’s notebook back in the drawer, and started jumping.

  Ava dragged herself into the room, looking sweaty and red-faced. She was wearing a big, loose tee and gray sweatpants that said PENN STATE UNIVERSITY down one leg. “Hey,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “Jumping jacks,” I said breathlessly. “Where were you?”

  “In the hotel gym.”

  “This whole time?”

  “Yeah. Why? Is that a problem?”

  “For me? No.” I stopped jumping; my boobs were hurting. Yeah, I definitely did need a new bra. I put my top back on and sat on the bed, my heart thumping. “We were wondering what happened to you.”

  “ ‘We’?”

  “Haley, Nadia, Sonnet. And I.”

  She blinked. “You were all together?”

  “Uh-huh. Why? Is that so shocking?”

  “Yeah, actually. It is.” Ava sat on the floor, her chin on her knees. Then she lay down and took a deep breath. “Haley and Nadia aren’t your friends, you know.”

  I decided to ignore that. “Well, we were watching a movie in Sonnet’s room. And Haley’s. It was really dumb.”

  “Sorry I missed it, then. I love bad movies.” She started doing sit-ups.

  “Why are you doing sit-ups?” I asked.

  “Because I always do before bed.”

  “But aren’t you tired after the gym?”

  “Shut up, Tally, okay? I’m counting.”

  I watched her for a while. Perfect sit-up form, of course. Perfect rhythm. If you were graded for sit-ups, she’d get a gold star.

  Then something occurred to me. “Do you always count?”

  “The sit-ups? Yeah.”

  “How many do you do?”

  “Usually one hundred, but it varies. Why?”

  “Just wondering. And you did other exercises in the gym just now?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s usually what you do in a gym, isn’t it?”

  “And you counted those, too?”

  “Tally, why do you always have so many questions?”

  “Sorry. I just never knew anyone so . . . organized.”

  “I assume you mean that as an insult.”

  “No. Not at all. Why is that an insult?”

  “Because you’d never say it to me otherwise.” She finished, finally, so she stood, panting. “I’m taking a shower now. Are you done in the bathroom?”

  I hadn’t even brushed my teeth, but I was stung by her comment. I’d insulted Ava? She’d insulted me. “Sure, go ahead,” I said.

  I said it nicely, in a friendly voice, but she still slammed the bathroom door behind her.

  The Numbers

  I WENT TO SLEEP DISAPPOINTED. Because the mystery of the tiny yellow notebook had been solved: Obviously, Ava had been recording her exercises, how many reps she’d done. Although I wondered why some numbers were only “approx” or followed by question marks. It was hard to believe, knowing her, that she’d lost count of her sit-ups. And what did it mean that she’d given herself a gold star on a blank page? Good job for not exercising? What sense did that make?

  Even with all these questions, I was convinced I now knew the meaning of the numbers. It wasn’t fascinating, but at least I had spy stuff to report to Spider and Sonnet. I set the alarm on my phone for six a.m. so I could take a shower, and I fell asleep before Ava finished in the bathroom.

  The next morning, when my phone buzzed, Ava was already awake, doing more sit-ups. She had earbuds on, and I guessed she hadn’t heard my alarm. And probably the exercise zoned her out, because when I said good morning, she kind of flinched. So I apologized.

  “It’s fine,” she muttered. “I just always do these in private.”

  “Every single morning?” I yawned loudly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Wow. All those exercises at night and then you wake up and do more?”

  “Yep.”

  “How come?”

  “Because they’re good for my body. Ever since I quit gymnastics, I’ve become a fat slug.”

  I had to laugh. “I’m sorry, you?”

  “And they make me feel better, okay? Seriously, Tally. Are you going to start questioning me all the time now, like Nadia?”

  “No. I mean, I didn’t know Nadia was questioning you.”

  “Well, she is, and it’s incredibly annoying. Although, truthfully, I think she’s just jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “My weight. Because she’s pre-fat. Don’t tell anyone I said so.”

  “Of course not. Why would I?”

  “Just making sure. Now will you please stop talking, so I can concentrate?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Concentrate all you like.”

  Then, for the first time since we’d walked into the hotel room—for the first time ever, really—I took a close-up look at Ava’s body. She’d changed out of her pj’s or whatever she’d slept in, into a snug cami and biker shorts. And it took my brain an extra second to process what I was seeing.

  Whenever girls talk about how skinny or fat they are, I always zone out, because it’s the kind of clonegirl talk that makes me want to throw heavy objects off rooftops. Because, seriously, who the bleep cares? I never secretly weigh other people; it would never occur to me to go, Oh, she’s way too fat to wear those jeans or that sweater or whatever.

  As for me, I never obsessed about my body, which was just this thing I got from Bio-mom. (Bio-dad too, obviously, whatever he looked like.)

  And I knew that some people were just born skinny, and stayed that way, no matter what they ate—like Fiona, for example. But Ava’s kind of skinny was a whole different category. With her just a few feet away from me on the hotel carpeting, straining to touch her elbows to her knees, I could see that she wasn’t “slim” or “thin” or “petite,” any of the normal words people used to describe bodies. The word for her was “emaciated,” like Spike before I rescued her from the animal shelter.

  Under her cami, Ava’s ribs stuck out. When she did a sit-up, you could see every bone in her spine. Her arms looked like twigs, and her legs had a hollowed-out, diamond-shaped space between them—the “thigh gap” Haley was talking about, I guessed. Except this wasn’t just a gap. It was a space as big as a cantaloupe.

  What I’m saying is that Ava was scary skinny. Was I the only person who saw it? Did any of her friends realize how she looked underneath clothes? If Nadia did, she couldn’t possibly be “jealous.” And did Mrs. Seeley see? Who was her mom, so if she saw (and I couldn’t imagine how she couldn’t), why didn’t she do something? Take Ava to a doctor, at the very least.

  Although maybe she had. Maybe Ava had some Terrible Disease that was making her look like this, and it was incurable, and there was nothing Mrs. Seeley could do but watch her daughter waste away.

  But if Ava did have a Terrible Disease, how could she be doing all these sit-ups? Plus all that other stuff at the gym. Every day. Morning and night.

  Was something wrong with Ava Seeley?

  But there couldn’t be. She had too much energy. And too much meanness.

  “One hundred,” Ava announced. She stayed on the carpeting for a minute, panting. Then she got up slowly, her face sweaty and pale. “Dibs on the shower.”

  “Go for it,” I said. I rubbed my eyes to suggest they hadn’t been focused, that I hadn’t noticed how she looked just now. Hadn’t been spying on her at all.

  Angel

  AVA CLOSED THE BATHROOM DOOR behind her. When I heard her turn on the shower, I grabbed the tank top from underneath my pillow, smoothed it out, folded it, opened Ava’s drawer, and slipped it underneath the cashmere sweater.

  Then I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to think. Maybe I should say something to her. Like what? Knowing Ava, she’d never listen to me, anyway. And telling my friends what I’d seen just felt wrong: This wasn’t just more data for the spy game, which suddenly felt stupid and immature.

 
I told myself: It’s crazy to worry about someone who hates you! And why was I always taking care of other people? Sometimes they didn’t even appreciate it. Sometimes it even made them embarrassed, or annoyed. Seriously, I should be focusing on me for a change!

  I got out my treasure box. Just looking at Grandma Wendy’s old stuff cheered me up a little, as I considered what to wear for the day’s Mystery Activity. Finally I decided on the mustache earrings and Grandma Wendy’s green cat’s-eye glasses with the rhinestones. The glasses felt a little slippery on my nose, which is why I never wore them. But seriously, they were supercool, I thought, as I checked myself out in the big mirror. Although they needed something else to complete the look. The purple newsboy cap? Maybe a scarf?

  “Tally, what’s that on your face?” Ava was standing in the room wrapped in a white hotel towel, dripping.

  “You like?” I batted my eyes at her.

  She laughed uncertainly. “Are you joking?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I dress to amuse myself.”

  “Yeah, well. Glad you think you’re so funny. But don’t you care that everyone else is laughing at you?”

  “I’m laughing at me. So they are irrelevant.”

  “If you say so.”

  She opened her drawers and pulled out a beige sweater. For a second I panicked: Could she tell I’d been in there, snooping? But she didn’t seem suspicious at all. She shut herself back in the bathroom to get dressed.

  A few minutes later she came out wearing a short flowery skirt that showed her twiggy legs, and the beige sweater that let you almost see how skinny she was. Almost.

  “Nice outfit,” I said.

  “Thanks,” she replied airily. “Your turn in the bathroom.”

  I took a quick shower. The funny thing was, when I came back out into the bedroom, Ava was still in the room.

  “Sorry I said that before,” she muttered, as if someone were forcing her to apologize.

  “Said what?” I asked innocently.

  “You know. That people were laughing at you.”

  “No worries,” I replied. “You dress like you, and I dress like me.”

  She watched me towel-dry my hair. I hadn’t shampooed in the shower, but I had so much hair that it got itself wet.

  “You want to borrow my blow-dryer? For your hair?” she asked.

  “Nah. Never use one. But thanks,” I added, wondering why she was offering. Maybe she felt guilty about what she’d said, but the thing was, she’d said stuff to me before that was way nastier. And it wasn’t like I didn’t know people were laughing at me. Really, I was kind of daring them to laugh.

  She watched as I buttoned a big purple bowling shirt I’d discovered at someone’s tag sale last summer. It had the word Angel on the pocket in a fancy script, which I knew was just some guy’s name in Spanish—but I liked to imagine this was really an angel’s shirt. If an angel went bowling.

  “Okay, but you’re not really going to wear that today, are you?” Ava said.

  I blinked away some water droplets on my eyelashes. “Why not?”

  “Because we’ve got the Capitol tour, and something else, possibly. Didn’t you read the schedule?”

  “Nope.” I put on the mustache earrings.

  “Well, at the bottom on page two there’s an asterisk. And it says ‘Please plan to dress appropriately.’ ”

  “Appropriately for what? A solar eclipse? A zombie attack?”

  Ava groaned. “Forget it, Tally. You’re not going to listen to me, whatever I say. Isn’t that right?”

  “No, not necessarily,” I said. “I mean, if you wanted to tell me something really important . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe something personal.” I met her eyes.

  She looked away. “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know,” I repeated. “But I’d listen. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Three sharp raps on the door. “Girls, you all set for breakfast?”

  It was Mrs. Seeley’s voice, so Ava opened the door. At six thirty in the morning, Ava’s mom looked wide awake and ready for business—navy blazer, white top, flowered scarf, gray skirt, gold jewelry, makeup.

  “Good morning!” she shouted. “Ava, you look lovely. But I’m not too sure about that sweater.”

  Ava looked at her sweater. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “For one thing, it’s wool, so you’ll be too warm.”

  “No, I won’t. And this hotel is freezing.”

  “You’re cold? Really?” Mrs. Seeley frowned as if she doubted Ava’s internal thermostat. “Well, the beige just washes you out.”

  “In my opinion, that sweater looks very nice on her,” I announced.

  Ava stared at me.

  “Your opinion?” Mrs. Seeley smiled, flashing white straight teeth. “Tally, dear, are those real glasses, or a costume?”

  “They’re actual frames. Just not actual lenses.”

  “Then why are you wearing them?”

  “Because they’re hilarious. Don’t you think they are?”

  “No, dear, to be honest. And I don’t think they’re appropriate for today’s activities.”

  “Anyhow,” Ava cut in loudly, “it’s the only sweater I brought.”

  “Not true!” Mrs. Seeley protested. “You have plenty of others, plus that beautiful gray hoodie I hung in the closet—” Her phone rang. She checked the name and got excited. “Girls, I need to take this. I’ll meet you downstairs at breakfast. Go on ahead.”

  She walked down the hall for better reception. “Yes, hi! So wonderful to hear from you!”

  Then a strange thing happened.

  Ava began walking toward the elevator. When I didn’t follow, she turned around. “So are you coming, Tally?”

  I hesitated. Why was she asking me? Because I’d stood up to her mom about the sweater?

  “Don’t you want to text your friends? So you can have breakfast together?” I asked. Instead of with me, I meant.

  “That’s okay. I’ll see them downstairs,” Ava said. “I’m starving. And it’s a buffet, so if we’re early, we get dibs.”

  I thought about how she’d tossed her dinner in the garbage last night. No wonder she was starving, especially after all that exercise. And I could wait to have breakfast with Sonnet, but knowing Sonnet, she’d be sleeping until the last possible second. Spider hadn’t answered my text from last night, which meant he was sleeping too. Or shampooing. And I couldn’t go bang on his door, obviously.

  Besides, it was just breakfast. No sense making a big deal about it. Or being rude.

  I got in the elevator with Ava.

  The Muffin

  AT HOME BREAKFAST WAS ALWAYS Dad’s leftover goodies from the bakery: muffins, breads, scones, sometimes his own personal recipe for granola. I loved everything he baked, I really did, but it was a treat to get something different. And since breakfast at the hotel was buffet style, I heaped all sorts of breakfasty items on my plate: scrambled eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, waffles. Also a cinnamon-looking muffin, so I could report back to Dad, whose first question when we returned from anywhere was always: How was the baking? Followed by questions about the ingredients, the crust, the portion size.

  When I’d filled my plate, I joined Ava at the table she’d chosen. She was sitting in front of a container of vanilla yogurt and a small bowl of fruit salad.

  “I thought you were hungry,” I said.

  Ava narrowed her eyes as she took a half teaspoon of yogurt. “You know, I’m sick of everyone commenting on my food all the time.”

  “Who’s everyone?”

  “Nadia, my mom. Everyone. I just have this stomach thing, okay?”

  “Sure.” I munched on some maple-flavored bacon. “What kind of stomach thing?”

  She groaned. “It’s really none of your business.”

  “No, actually, I think it is. If we’re eating together.”

  “God, Tally. You really have to argue about ever
ything!”

  “True.” I chewed a blob of scrambled egg. “That’s why Ms. Jordan loves me so much.”

  Ava smiled at that. “She does think you’re kind of annoying. So do a lot of other people, frankly.”

  “I’m shattered.”

  “Well, but you should care what people think about you. It’s immature not to, you know? And you should also care how you look, how you dress—”

  “Hey, I care how I dress.”

  “Yeah, that’s really obvious.” She rolled her eyes.

  “No, I do care,” I protested. “I care passionately about not following some brainless fashion trend, or being ‘appropriate,’ or worrying about my body type—whatever that’s supposed to mean, anyway. I care about being creative, having fun with my outfits, expressing myself—”

  “You care about acting like rules don’t apply to you, so that way nobody can judge you. On anything but math.”

  “What?” I said it so forcefully my chest bumped into the table, spilling some of my OJ. “Ava, for your information—”

  “Because the truth is, you’re scared of people’s opinions, aren’t you, Tally. Deep down. You tell yourself you aren’t, you act like you aren’t, but secretly you’re terrified.”

  I put down my fork and stared at her. “Ava, where did you get that from?”

  “Just from everything I know about you. And watching you up close since we got here. Stuff like how you look at yourself in the mirror, or don’t look. And how you stop exercising the second I walk into the room. I used to think you were just self-conscious about your size. And when you said you were adopted, I thought: Okay, so maybe that explains why you always need attention. But now I’ve changed my mind.”

  I was barely breathing. “You have?”

  She nodded. “You’re afraid everyone will think you’re weird. Because that’s just how you are. So you act obnoxious and dress that way to give people a specific reason— Oh, hey, Mom’s here.” She waved at Mrs. Seeley, who was talking to a bonnet-wearing woman with a full-length apron.

  By that time, about half our grade was in the Thomas Jefferson, and I even saw Sonnet standing over at the bagels with Haley and Nadia. But I couldn’t think of a way to get up from this table, especially now that Mrs. Seeley had seen us.