She’s still at the keyboard. Sitting. Her brow is all wrinkled.
When she sees me, she smiles. But I’m not fooled.
Something’s wrong.
I wait until snack break to approach her. By that time, we’ve settled into rehearsal and played through a few songs.
While everyone is pigging out, Maggie’s off in a corner with a bottle of spring water.
I ask her if she’s OK.
Fine, fine.
I want to say something about her eating, but this isn’t the right time. So I remark that she seems to be ignoring Justin.
She shrugs. She says they’re still friends, just her crush on him is over. No big deal.
We sit. She sips.
Finally I ask how she feels about the Homecoming Bash.
Her face tightens up. “Great news,” she says quietly.
“Don’t knock me over with your excitement,” I say.
I mean it as a joke. But Maggie doesn’t smile. She tells me the date is too soon. She doesn’t feel ready.
I remind her she knows the numbers cold.
She tells me it’s not just a question of knowing. The songs need rewriting. The bridge to “Slow Down,” the second
verse of this, the third verse of that…
I assure her they’re fine and no one will notice.
“I notice,” she replies. “They’re my words. I can’t sing them if they stink. I have enough trouble singing anything these days. I’m straining above middle C. Maybe I’m getting a node on my throat. I’ll be lucky if I have a voice by the Homecoming Bash.”
“Maggie, you just need to relax,” I say.
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to make a fool of yourself before the whole school. You’re not tired all the time because you can’t eat right. You don’t have to worry about looking fat—”
“You’re not fat!”
Once again, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG thing to say.
“It’s too much pressure, Amalia. Okay?”
Justin and Bruce are looking at us now.
Maggie storms away.
I pretend to be busy with my set list.
Well, Maggie comes back and plays the rest of the rehearsal. She’s such a good actress. She doesn’t let her bad mood show at all.
On her way out after rehearsal she apologizes to me. Then she disappears into the waiting limo.
I try to be UP, but I feel awful.
At home, I call Dawn and tell her what happened. She thinks Maggie will get over it. She reminds me that anorexia is about low self-esteem, and maybe the Bash will be just the thing to turn it around for Maggie.
Maybe.
Unless it goes the other way.
All night long I’m worrying that she’s backsliding.
That’s another thing I learned on the Internet. Sometimes an anorexic’s recovery can be like a roller coaster—the condition can get worse just when it seems to be getting better.
After I talked to Dawn tonight, I almost called Maggie. But it was already too late.
Or so I thought.
I was stupid.
I should have called her.
It’s definitely out of the question now.
Way to go, Vargas.
Night
Or morning
Hard to tell
NOTE FOR Tomorrow:
¡¡DR. FUENTES!!
That’s the name of the therapist.
Ask Mami about her.
Tues., 9/29
Homeroom
Plan of attack action:
Push the idea of Dr. Fuentes. But don’t push too hard.
Just tell the truth. Say what Mami said. Dr. F is one of the coolest women on the planet. She’s young. She’s a great listener. She’s a pro. She doesn’t talk down to kids. She’s practically one of us.
You can’t get a better recommendation than that.
Study hall
Lots to tell.
The minor news first.
I see James before school. He doesn’t look at me.
I see him after homeroom. He walks the other way.
Maybe he’s given up.
Hooray.
OK, enough ink wasted on that.
The important news:
Morning. Before school. Lockers.
First, Christina rushes up to me and asks about Vanish’s decision.
When I tell her yes, she’s thrilled. And guess what? She already has a presigned check for $500 and she gives it to me ON THE SPOT.
I’m staring at the check as Christina leaves. Like it’s radioactive. I have never held so much $$!
Both Dawn and Maggie are making faces. Like, what a big shot.
I calmly tell them I’m going to take the money and go to Mexico tonight.
I’m joking, but you know, Nbook, it wouldn’t be a bad idea…
Anyway, that’s not the real important news.
That happens next.
I’m noticing Maggie’s in a better mood. She apologizes again for what she said at rehearsal last night. She says she was so mad at herself, she went home and cried herself to
sleep.
I forgive her.
Dawn’s very sympathetic: “The Homecoming Bash is a big deal…no wonder you were tense…it’s a lot of pressure…” etc.
Maggie says she’s thinking of taking a yoga class. To ease the stress.
I decide to open the Big Subject. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Anything,” Maggie says.
I say I’ve thought of a great person for her to talk to. I tell her about Dr. Fuentes.
Dawn’s nodding, trying to look positive.
But Maggie’s not saying a thing.
So I figure she’s feeling pushed. Drop back and punt, or whatever that saying is. Time to change the subject.
Only I can’t think of another subject to change to, and I can see the panic starting to creep into Dawn’s face—
And suddenly the bell rings.
“I’ll think about it,” Maggie says.
We run off to class.
Uh-uh. It’s not over.
Next time I see her, it’s lunch.
Dawn and I sit at her table. She’s picking at a salad.
She starts firing questions—where does Dr. Fuentes live, how old is she, what are her credentials, etc.
My heart is sinking. I know Maggie. She’s looking for a flaw. One strike and Dr. Fuentes is out.
I answer every-thing and then Maggie falls silent again.
“It’s worth a try,” Dawn says meekly. “Isn’t it?”
“This therapist doesn’t know me,” Maggie finally replies. “Or my teachers or my family.”
“But that’s good,” Dawn insists.
I give her a look that means, Go easy on her.
But Maggie says, “I know it’s good. That’s what I meant. She’s a stranger. You pay her to listen and she keeps your secrets.”
I don’t expect to hear this.
Neither does Dawn.
“I could call her,” I say tentatively. “You know, set up an appointment…”
Maggie sighs. “I guess…”
Don’t worry, Nbook. I don’t jump up and dance on the table.
But I want to.
Language Arts
Even more news. Late-breaking headline:
Well, a little. He’s VERY shy.
But today I had this conversation with him. After study hall.
He’s in the hallway, looking kind of lost. I feel sorry for him. I say hi. No big deal.
He actually blushes.
Anyway, we’re going the same direction, so we start walking together. I’m doing most of the talking (surprise, surprise). We get to the topic of the Homecoming Bash, and of course I put in a plug for you-know-who.
“My group is playing,” I say.
Brendan lights up. Big smile. Nice one too. “Are you a singer?”
“Only in the shower.”
Oops. Brendan is embarrassed again. I di
dn’t know blood could rush to a face so fast. It’s kind of adorable in a way. I almost break out laughing.
“I’m the manager,” I say with a straight face.
“Cool,” he says. “Hard job, huh? Do all the work, get none of the credit.”
Smart too.
I like that.
Not that it matters.
He is, after all, a guy.
Tonight, if I have time, I’ll make him a copy of the tape I made at rehearsal.
8:19 P.M.
I call Dr. Fuentes as soon as I get home. She can see Maggie after school tomorrow. I set up the appointment.
Right away I call Maggie. She’s very quiet. One-word answers.
OK, I’m not expecting her to gush, but still, I can’t tell how she’s feeling. Is she mad at me? Is she changing her mind?
“It’s the right thing,” I say.
“Okay.”
“You’ll be glad you did it.”
“I guess.”
“You still want to, right?”
“Sure, sure. Look, I can’t really talk now. There are people around. Plus, I have to finish the social studies report and clean the mess in my room. And my dad needs me to fax him some papers. So we’ll talk later, OK?”
“OK. See you.”
“’Bye.”
She’s incredible, Nbook. So hard-working. And so good at everything—piano, singing, poetry, schoolwork, songwriting. She’s a good person. A good friend. A good daughter and sister.
But you know what the problem is? She’s not perfect. And that bothers her.
I’ve been trying to tell her she’s great just the way she is. So has Dawn.
But she’s so lost in her own feelings. I don’t think she really hears.
Which is exactly why she needs a pro. Someone who’s trained to listen and say the right thing.
I hope Dr. Fuentes is all she’s cracked up to be.
Wed. 9/30
Homeroom
Way cool.
I am totally blown away.
The Homecoming Bash posters are up. Already.
When did Christina do this? After school yesterday, I guess.
The girl does NOT let grass grow under her feet.
Nbook, they’re gorgeous. And Vanish’s name is splashed across the bottom, in HUGE letters like this:
This morning, in the lobby, everyone’s gathering around it. Rico is going nuts. Bruce and Patti are trying to be cool about it, but I can tell they’re thrilled. Even Maggie has a smile on her face.
I am so PROUD.
I mean, just yesterday we’re this garage band, Nbook. Playing music for fun. Hanging out. Nobody to hear us but ourselves.
Then comes the Battle of the Bands. And now this. We’re pros!
What next? THE SKY’S THE LIMIT!
Soc. Stud.
I visit the poster again after homeroom.
Maggie’s there too. We gush. Kids are passing by, saying they’re happy that Vanish is playing. All very good for the ego.
Then Maggie’s smile does a slow fade.
From behind me, I hear Justin’s voice saying, “Hey, cool” or something.
He’s nodding.
I nod.
Maggie nods.
We look like strange tropical birds in the zoo.
After some small talk, we all go off to class.
I have a hunch, Nbook.
He still likes her. She still likes him.
But something’s off. They need to work it out.
Maybe Dr. Fuentes does couples therapy.
Math
Today at lunch Maggie’s even more nervous than usual.
She’s having second thoughts. About Dr. Fuentes.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asks.
Dawn and I exchange a look.
I repeat what Mami has said about Dr. Fuentes.
“But what if it’s not that big a problem?” Maggie asks. “What if I can solve it myself? If I go to the therapist, I might be making the whole thing bigger than it is. And then it could take longer to get over it.”
“Well, uh…” What can I say, Nbook? I know she needs this. But I don’t want to force her to do something she’s not ready for.
“I’m sure you’ll make the right decision,” Dawn says.
Thank you, Dawn.
She’s absolutely right.
Maggie needs to decide, not me.
She better decide right.
If she cancels, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Science
After math, just outside of class, Cece pulls me aside and asks what’s the matter. She says I’m looking depressed.
We start walking. I begin to tell her what’s happening—without mentioning Maggie’s name.
Then she elbows me in the ribs. Just because Brendan is heading toward us.
He says hi. I say hi.
He falls into step with us.
I reach into my pocket. I pull out the copy of the Vanish rehearsal tape I made last night, and I give it to him.
He lights up. “Cool. I’ll give it back tomorrow.”
“It’s yours,” I say.
“Thanks.”
He’s genuinely excited.
Cece’s raising her eyebrows. “A gift,” she says meaningfully.
Brendan and I politely ignore her. We talk music.
And then I see HIM.
James the Unruly.
He’s standing against the wall. Giving me the eye.
Guess he’s decided to remember who I am after all. Funny how he only does that whenever I’m with another guy.
He’s jealous. It’s obvious.
If it weren’t James, I might be flattered.
I mean, jealousy means someone cares about you, right?
Not with James. He thinks that once I’ve been his girlfriend, I couldn’t possibly be attracted to anyone else.
Like I care about Brendan, anyway.
Like I care at all.
Study hall
Maggie the yo-yo.
Just now, in the hallway, she tells me she’s been thinking about the session all day.
“Are you going?” I ask.
She gives me a funny look. “I never said I wasn’t.”
Yes.
“So…I’ll meet you after school?” I ask.
“Yeah. See you.”
She looks so sad as she walks off, Nbook. As if I’m taking her to a funeral.
Have I forced her into this?
Now even I’m starting to have doubts.
9:14 P.M.
I’m exhausted.
But I have to write this down, Nbook. Even if it takes me all night.
OK. I’m in the hallway after school. Waiting for Maggie. I see Ducky. He offers me a ride home.
I don’t want to tell him where I’m going, which would lead to why. So I say no.
Then Maggie shows up. She’s looking all glum and tortured. I can tell she’s afraid. Still second-guessing.
“Girl, what’s with you?” Ducky asks.
“Nothing,” Maggie mumbles.
Please please please don’t pry, I’m thinking.
Next thing you know, we’re all in his car. Me in the back, them in the front.
“Maggie first,” I say. I call out Dr. Fuentes’s address.
Ducky, of course, is Ducky. He knows that’s not where Maggie lives, and he can’t stop asking questions. Who are you visiting? Anyone I know?
Maggie’s giving him short answers. Changing the subject.
Ducky’s saying, A doctor? A dentist? A spiritual healer? A boyfriend?
I’m cringing.
Finally Maggie says, “A therapist,
all right? I’m going to see a therapist. But that’s between us three and Dawn.”
“Oh.” Ducky nods. “Cool beans.”
Nobody says anything for awhile. Good old Ducky has sized up the situation. He knows he needs to back off.
Finally he says, “It would be great to know about a new the
rapist.”
Maggie looks concerned. “Are you having problems too?”
“No,” Ducky says. “I’m fine. It’s for Alex. For future reference. He’s been playing musical therapists. One of these days he’ll find someone who works. So I’m collecting names.”
I’m thinking, Hey, I should be a referral service.
We pull up to Dr. Fuentes’s house. It’s medium-size. Nice. The office is in a small wing off to the side.
Maggie steps out. Ducky and I wish her good luck.
“We’ll pick you up,” Ducky volunteers. “How long’s the session?”
“Forty-five minutes,” I say.
Maggie’s staring at me. She looks scared. “You’re not leaving.”
A statement. Not a question.
“I’m not?”
“No way, Amalia. I need you.”
I know I should drive off with Ducky. For Maggie’s own good. This is her life, her session. She’ll be stronger if she faces her problems on her own. She may want to admit things to Dr. Fuentes that she wouldn’t admit to me.
But panic is shooting across her face. Panic and fear and surprise. As if I’m betraying her. Abandoning her.
I can’t bear to leave her like that.
So I stay.
We wave to Ducky as he drives off.
We walk up the path, through the office door, and into a small waiting room.
No one else is there. Just a stack of magazines on a coffee table. Off to the side, behind a closed door, we hear muffled voices. A white-noise machine is hissing on the floor, but it doesn’t block out all the sound.
Maggie paces.
I sit and pretend to read magazines.
Soon Dr. Fuentes’s patient leaves. A few moments later, Dr. Fuentes leans out of her office door. She’s dressed in a rust-and-gold silk patterned skirt and a billowy white blouse. Her eyes are big and still and brown, her smile warm and wide.
She asks Maggie in, making sure to say hi to me. Then she begins to close the door.
“Uh, can she come in too?” Maggie asks.
“Perhaps you’d feel freer if you were alone,” Dr. Fuentes says.
“No,” Maggie answers. “I won’t. I know it.”
Dr. Fuentes looks at me.
I’m standing there, duh.