count. I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove. I mean, the papers are going to get signed and they are going to sell the apartment and no one’s going to tell me anything until it’s done.
“Hello?” I say when I pick up the phone.
“What are you doing right now?” Tally asks.
I look around the room for a moment before admitting the obvious. “Nothing.”
“Good,” she says. “Then grab your umbrella and get down here. I have something to show you.” The phone goes dead.
I’m not sure I’m up for being around other people right now. I think about calling her back. Think about making up some reason that I can’t go, but then my mother walks past on her way to the stove and she doesn’t even look in my direction.
“I’m going to Tally’s,” I say, my hand already on the back doorknob. She looks at me and nods, then considers the kettle in her hand. I pause for a moment with the door partly open. She looks so sad. I should say something. I want to say something, but I don’t know what. I start to ask if she would rather I stay, if she wants to talk or play chess or make cookies, but then she looks at me again, the frown back on her face.
“Close the door. You’re letting all the heat out.”
I shake my head, grab my windbreaker off the back hook, and put it on, pulling the hood over my head. I have to run all the way down to Tally’s to keep from getting drenched, but the cold feels good on my face. I let my hood fall away from my head and feel my hair whip behind. I wonder if Marcus feels like this when he runs. Like he’s able to get a couple of steps ahead of everything.
I can see the lights from Tally’s house up ahead. They seem to glow in the fog. I feel winded when I slow down in front of the stairs leading up to her house. As I climb the warped steps, I think about the problem with running from your trouble. The problem is in the stopping. The whole time you think you’re getting away from everything, the trouble is running like mad, too, trying to catch up with you. And it doesn’t slow down when you do—it keeps on sprinting. So when trouble finally reaches you, it hits you hard.
chapter twelve
You have got to see this,” Tally says, pulling the sleeve of my jacket and leading me to her computer. Almost the whole screen is filled with an image of a can of lard. Along the bottom are some of those before-and-after photos you see of women on infomercials. The first shows each woman in a too-small bathing suit, standing in bad lighting. The second shows them smiling, in full makeup, and pushed and pulled and tucked until they look fit. I push my damp hair out of my eyes and sit in the other chair in front of the screen. I think about Tally’s weird new eating habits.
“Tally, are you on a diet?” I ask. She pretends not to hear me and clicks the mouse. Another site pops up, this one much busier, with links for instruction manuals, videos, application forms, and something called “Domination.” Tally clicks the Play button on one of the videos. First it’s just a close-up of two pairs of hands in fists, then they do the triple up-and-down move. One hand opens into paper while the other forms scissors. “This is from last year’s championship in Seattle.” A girl who looks to be about our age is handed a trophy with three faux-bronze hands, one in each position. A guy behind her, wearing a Jedi costume, looks like he’s about to cry.
“What’s with Luke Skywalker?” I ask, pointing to him.
“There are all kinds of kooks who go to these things.” I can’t help but wonder what kind of kooks we are.
We watch the rest of the video as they run highlights from the competition. They actually have a reporter doing the voiceover, like it’s a real sport. Tally clicks through more videos and I half watch, half listen as she talks about more strategies and tricks. She clicks the window closed, and there’s the diet site again.
Beneath all the noise coming from the videos,
“Hello?” I say when I pick up the phone.
“What are you doing right now?” Tally asks.
I look around the room for a moment before admitting the obvious. “Nothing.”
“Good,” she says. “Then grab your umbrella and get down here. I have something to show you.” The phone goes dead.
I’m not sure I’m up for being around other people right now. I think about calling her back. Think about making up some reason that I can’t go, but then my mother walks past on her way to the stove and she doesn’t even look in my direction.
“I’m going to Tally’s,” I say, my hand already on the back doorknob. She looks at me and nods, then considers the kettle in her hand. I pause for a moment with the door partly open. She looks so sad. I should say something. I want to say something, but I don’t know what. I start to ask if she would rather I stay, if she wants to talk or play chess or make cookies, but then she looks at me again, the frown back on her face.
“Close the door. You’re letting all the heat out.”
I shake my head, grab my windbreaker off the back hook, and put it on, pulling the hood over my head. I have to run all the way down to Tally’s to keep from getting drenched, but the cold feels good on my face. I let my hood fall away from my head and feel my hair whip behind. I wonder if Marcus feels like this when he runs. Like he’s able to get a couple of steps ahead of everything.
I can see the lights from Tally’s house up ahead. They seem to glow in the fog. I feel winded when I slow down in front of the stairs leading up to her house. As I climb the warped steps, I think about the problem with running from your trouble. The problem is in the stopping. The whole time you think you’re getting away from everything, the trouble is running like mad, too, trying to catch up with you. And it doesn’t slow down when you do—it keeps on sprinting. So when trouble finally reaches you, it hits you hard.
chapter twelve
You have got to see this,” Tally says, pulling the sleeve of my jacket and leading me to her computer. Almost the whole screen is filled with an image of a can of lard. Along the bottom are some of those before-and-after photos you see of women on infomercials. The first shows each woman in a too-small bathing suit, standing in bad lighting. The second shows them smiling, in full makeup, and pushed and pulled and tucked until they look fit. I push my damp hair out of my eyes and sit in the other chair in front of the screen. I think about Tally’s weird new eating habits.
“Tally, are you on a diet?” I ask. She pretends not to hear me and clicks the mouse. Another site pops up, this one much busier, with links for instruction manuals, videos, application forms, and something called “Domination.” Tally clicks the Play button on one of the videos. First it’s just a close-up of two pairs of hands in fists, then they do the triple up-and-down move. One hand opens into paper while the other forms scissors. “This is from last year’s championship in Seattle.” A girl who looks to be about our age is handed a trophy with three faux-bronze hands, one in each position. A guy behind her, wearing a Jedi costume, looks like he’s about to cry.
“What’s with Luke Skywalker?” I ask, pointing to him.
“There are all kinds of kooks who go to these things.” I can’t help but wonder what kind of kooks we are.
We watch the rest of the video as they run highlights from the competition. They actually have a reporter doing the voiceover, like it’s a real sport. Tally clicks through more videos and I half watch, half listen as she talks about more strategies and tricks. She clicks the window closed, and there’s the diet site again.
Beneath all the noise coming from the videos,
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