Girl’s voice: “Hey, you staring at me?”
Mike sees Amber Alley, right next to him with her cinnamon smell.
Amber: “I can feel it, when people are staring at me.”
Mike: “Yeah, I know, you told me before.”
Amber: “Really? When?”
Mike: “At the flea market.”
Amber: “Oh, right! Did you end up buying a healing object?”
Mike: “Well… uh… I got a mirror.”
Amber: “Oh, that works.”
Mike doesn’t see it, that she understands things he doesn’t. Instead he’s wondering about her eyes again, why they look so glassy.
Mike: “Anyway, I’m not staring at you. I’m trying to figure out what to have for lunch. This stuff looks like garbage.”
Amber: “It is! Why don’t you have what I have? I get toast without butter. I had to tell the cafeteria ladies about a million times not to butter it. Also I got them to carry wheat bread, not the thick spongy white bread they used to have.” Pause. “You’re noticing that thing about my eyes, aren’t you?”
Mike (who was actually staring this time): “Yeah. Sorry.”
Amber: “I have a lot of white space below my irises. The colored parts of my eyes don’t reach my lower lids. See?”
That wasn’t what Mike meant, but he nods.
Amber: “It’s supposed to be a sign of sadness. But I’m not sad!”
Mike (blurting out): “My mom’s eyes are like that.”
Amber: “Is she sad?”
Mike isn’t sure if it’s any of her business.
You can be honest with Amber.
Mike: “Yeah, my mom’s pretty sad. I think she’s been sad for a while now.” He realizes the depth of this as he says it.
Amber: “Well, my mom’s a total bitch! You want to eat over by the window?”Mike has absolutely no intention of eating with Amber. He’d sooner eat in the boys’ locker room.
But Amber knows things. See how she found you the right thing to eat for lunch? What’s the harm, sitting at a table with her?
No way, Mike thinks; she’s weird.
No, she’s misunderstood. She wants to help you. How many people can you say that about?
Mike doesn’t exactly agree to join Amber for lunch, but when she leads him to a table near a window, where she usually sits, he pulls out a chair. The view is a brick wall. Mike thinks it’s sad, but it isn’t. A brick wall doesn’t interfere with your thoughts.
Mike’s lunch consists of Fiji water and two slices of unbuttered toast. He practically devours both slices in one bite.
Amber: “You shouldn’t eat so fast.” She breaks up her toast into tiny pieces and pops one into her mouth. She doesn’t chew it but lets it dissolve like a mint. “I like this season, don’t you? Have you noticed the leaves are dropping without turning color? It’s like they skipped a step.”
Mike cringes when he catches several kids looking at him and Amber. He sees Melissa Sacks, in particular, smirking with the Rubys.
Ignore them. Who’ll be smirking later, when you’re better than they are?
But Mike almost gets up. He doesn’t want to be seen here with Amber.
The mirror in your room helps you see yourself. Amber can help you know yourself.
Mike, not too happy, stays where he is.
Amber: “Want an Atomic FireBall?”
Mike: “Are they any good?”
Amber: “Yummy.”
Mike pops the red round thing into his mouth. He nearly gags. It tastes like cinnamon and Tabasco sauce. He spits it out and his tongue feels numb.
Amber: “I eat sixty of them a day.”
Mike: “You’re kidding.”
Amber: “They’re a little fiery at first, but you get used to it.”
Mike points to one of her slices of toast, untouched. “You going to eat that?”
Amber: “Nah. I ate a lot yesterday. I had some chicken broth—the cafeteria ladies threw packs of saltines on my tray. It made me so mad! They’re my weakness.”
Mike: “What’s wrong with saltines?”
Amber: “They’ve got partially hydrogenated oil.”
Mike: “Isn’t that the good kind?”
Amber: “Oh, God, no! It’s the worst! It’s poison. It means they have trans fats.”
Mike thinks she’s a little over-the-top. But at least she has intensity and devotion.
She has a wealth of information. All you have to do is ask.
Mike: “So, could you, you know, teach me how to know what foods are good and bad?”
Amber: “Well… we could go to a Food-A-Rama….”
Mike wonders if she’s blushing, but her skin’s so blotchy it’s hard to tell. I wonder if Amber has a crush on him. Either way I can tell Mike has zero interest.
Amber: “Not that you’d want to come with me to a Food-A-Rama or anything.”
Do it.
Mike (after a pause): “Why not?”
Amber (blinking at him): “Seriously?”
Mike: “Sure.”
This is progress, but all Mike can think about are her out-of-focus eyes.
Tamio is waiting for Mike outside the physics lab.
Mike: “You better go. You’ll be late for class.”
Tamio: “What the hell’s going on with you?”
Mike: “Nothing.”
That’s right. He doesn’t need to know.
Tamio: “I call you and you don’t answer—”
Mike: “Look. You always felt stuck with me. You should be happy. You’re not stuck anymore.”
Tamio: “Dude. What are you talking about?”
Mike: “Nothing. Just leave me alone.”
Mike goes into the physics lab. The bell rings. Tamio’s late for his last class. Maybe he’ll have to do detention, miss soccer practice. Mike wonders why he doesn’t feel bad about this.
You’ve outgrown Tamio, like a pair of old shoes your mom would throw out of an overstuffed closet.
He and Tamio were always together, hanging out, watching old movies, playing baseball.
You have more important things on your mind now.
Mike sees Valerie. She’s got her hair up, off her neck—ready for dance. She glances at Mike and quickly turns away. A wave of anger washes over him, but he can’t help thinking how pretty she looks.
The old saying is true—looks can be deceiving.
CHAPTER 11
MIKE CAN BE STUBBORN, AND ALMOST CHANGES HIS mind several times before going to Food-A-Rama with Amber. Why? She’s willing to teach him how to eat so that his body can attain the peak of strength; people probably pay hundreds of dollars to consult nutritionists. Of course, stubbornness isn’t all bad. In the right circumstances it can be useful.
Food-A-Rama is the only supermarket chain in Belle Heights. Mike’s in here a lot, now that his mom is so out of it. The stores are dimly lit, with cramped aisles; staticky, repetitive music; and long, slow lines. Amber, in her resourceful way, has uncovered the only attractive Food-A-Rama in Belle Heights, a hidden gem tucked away on Seventy-Ninth Drive, a dead-end street Mike never knew existed.
Amber: “I had to look all over to find this place. Isn’t it great? It’s like an art museum! Everything in it is like sculpture for you to analyze.”
Mike wonders what kind of museum would have “We Are the Champions” as background music. He thinks about how Ray Harryhausen loved museums, finding power and energy in cold, lifeless marble.
But anybody can find inspiration in a museum. Look at Amber—she finds it here, among the cereal boxes.
Mike sees a box of granola bars and figures they’re good because that’s what it says on the box—healthy, low fat—and sticks it into the wire basket he’s holding.
Amber: “Be careful!” She grabs the box and puts it back on the shelf like it’s radioactive. “It says low fat, but it isn’t. Each one of those bars has three and a half grams of fat.” She doesn’t have to look at the label. “You’d have to cut each bar into thirds and eat less than one piece.”
As they walk the aisles, Mike realizes that Amber doesn’t just know the fat content of granola bars. She knows everything about every item in the store. He finds it a little strange, but really, it’s impressive. She’s like a supermarket encyclopedia.
Mike: “How do you know so much?”
Amber: “I had some help. My best friend, Anna.”
Mike: “You mean Anna Kitzinger?” That’s the only Anna he knows. Not that he can picture Anna hanging out with Amber. Anna’s into drama—the kind on the stage.
Amber (shaking her head): “Different Anna. She doesn’t go to our school.” Pause. “I have a boyfriend, too—Eddie.”
Mike: “Yeah?”
Amber: “He’s great.”
This is surprising, not because Amber isn’t pretty enough to have a boyfriend, but because it’s fairly obvious she has something for Mike. No matter. He and Amber are becoming friends— reluctantly on Mike’s part, but friends nevertheless.
Amber: “And no, you don’t know him; he doesn’t go to our school, either.”
An hour later Mike ends up in line at the checkout counter, while Amber stares at an actress on a magazine cover with the caption “How Skinny Is Too Skinny?”
Amber: “It’s not fair! These women are beautiful. What about obesity? That’s a huge problem! Why isn’t that on the magazine covers instead of the same stupid story every week?”
Mike wishes she would stop shouting. But you have to admire her passion. Too many people have no fire.
Amber (lowering her voice): “Angelina Jolie has a tattoo. Do you know what it says?”
Mike: “Uh, no.”
Ambers says something in Latin and Mike asks her to repeat it.
Amber: “Quod me nutrit me destruit. ‘What nourishes me destroys me.’”
Mike: “What does that mean?”
Amber (distractedly): “I should get a tattoo. Right where my mom could see it.”
A woman ahead of them is asking the cashier where the 2-percent cottage cheese is. The cashier doesn’t know.
Amber: “Aisle four. Halfway down, opposite the frozen waffles. If you hit the frozen vegetables, you’ve gone too far.”
The cashier looks at Mike. He’s dying inside, wondering if the cashier thinks Amber is his girlfriend. Honestly, he shouldn’t worry so much about what other people think.
Outside, Amber scribbles something on a piece of paper.Hone>
Amber: “Here’s my number. If you have any questions about food or anything, you can call me.” She pulls at Mike’s arm. “Hey, let’s move. I don’t like the way that guy is staring at me.”
Mike: “What guy?”
Amber: “Don’t look!”
Mike sees a guy with a German shepherd.
Mike: “He’s just walking his dog.”
Amber: “You’re not a girl. You don’t know these things.” She leads Mike around the corner. “So, you know, call anytime, even if it’s the middle of the night.”
Mike: “Your boyfriend might get jealous.”
Amber: “Boyfriend? Oh, Eddie’s very mature, very understanding.”
Mike: “Yeah, well, I’d never call you in the middle of the night.”