Part 10 (1/2)

”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.