3. Coast To Coast
That same morning, toward the eastern end of Long Island, Lourdes Hidalgo concentrated on the five girls around her as the volleyball arced over the net toward them. None of these girls were on the volleyball team, and yet, over the past month, they had become a curiosity in their phys-ed class, and had gained the attention of the volleyball coach—enough of his attention, that he helped schedule today’s challenge match against the real volleyball team of Hampton Bays High. No spectators were officially invited, but word of mouth had brought at least two dozen.
The ball cleared the net, and Andrea, the girl to Lourdes’s right got under it, passed it to Lourdes, who was the setter of their unofficial team. Lourdes passed it to Patrice in the front row, who spiked it to win yet another point. Cheers from the sidelines. The coach shook his head. “Incredible!”
Meanwhile the real volleyball team scowled in disbelief. “Who are you rooting for anyway?” shouted the team’s Amazonian captain.
Coach Kline scowled right back at her. “If you’re a team, then play like one.”
Lourdes smiled. Now she and her friends controlled the court like a team that had trained together for years. They functioned with the precision of a Swiss watch, as if they were all being controlled by a single will.
The truth is, they were.
As setter, Lourdes was the leader of the squad, but rather than merely positioning the ball for the net players to spike, Lourdes set the players themselves. She gripped each of them with her will, subtly pulling their strings and manipulating the movements of their bodies. She could adjust their metabolisms in microseconds, causing adrenaline to flow, and muscles to contract faster, with added energy, as if they were all part of a single being, with Lourdes at the center. It was a gift Lourdes was learning to brandish well.
She forced them to work as a perfect team, and as volleyball was ninety percent teamwork, no one could beat Lourdes’s machine.
Her team served, and the real volleyball players fought valiantly, returning the ball over the net in a powerful spike—but Lourdes was ready. She raised Patrice’s hands to save the ball, then got under it herself for the second tap. Next, she willed Andrea into position to slice it over for the final point. It couldn’t have been easier if all twelve hands, and all twelve feet, were hers.
The ball was still in the air when Lourdes got the mind-blast from Dillon Cole. Her head swam, her vision faded, as if she had stood up too quickly. He was calling for her—for all of them. He was being smothered by a crowd. . . . She felt faint, but only for a moment. When her vision cleared, the team on the other side of the net was suffering the agony of their humiliating defeat.
“That’s match,” said Coach Kline.
As the players cleared the court on both sides, the coach pulled Lourdes aside. She reigned in her frazzled thoughts and emotions, refusing to be befuddled in this moment of victory.
“I have to admit, Lourdes,” he said, with deep admiration, “you’ve really come into your own this year. You’ve come a long, long way.”
Lourdes had heard that a lot, but she never tired of being reminded. She had gone from being a 350-pound outcast, to one of the most admired girls in school, at half the weight. True, her figure wasn’t exactly that of a model—the large bones of her frame wouldn’t allow for that—but she was as slim as she needed to be. She felt comfortable in her clothes; her many chins had melted away; and when she looked in the mirror, she liked what she saw, from the front, and from the side. Ralphy Sherman told people that she had undergone a high-risk experimental liposuction technique at a Swedish clinic—and since no other explanation surfaced, people actually believed him. In any case, “fat” was not the word that came to people’s minds when they saw Lourdes Hidalgo these days. “Impressive,” maybe even “powerful,” but not “fat.”
“You’ve surprised me, Lourdes,” said the coach. “I never thought you’d turn out to be so . . . athletic.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” answered Lourdes. By now, even the defeated players began to gather around her. Such was her new gravity—it no longer attracted stray paper and lint as it had in the days when she was hideously fat. Now people were drawn to her instead. She was wildly popular, and everyone wanted to finagle their way into her circle of friends.
Well, almost everyone.
“Good for you, Lourdes,” said Cathy Burns, her insincerity painted on like lacquer. She had always been one of “the beautiful people,” and had watched the game from the sidelines with several of her debutante friends. “Hope you’ve enjoyed your fifteen minutes of fame,” she said, with a cutting snideness in her voice that had taken years to cultivate.
“I’m still in my first minute,” said Lourdes, not allowing the girl a moment of satisfaction. “Happy dieting.”
Cathy frowned and strode off with a flick of her hair, adjusting a belt on jeans that were growing too tight. Cathy and her friends were the few hold-out hatemongers, whose attitude of disdain was strong enough to resist Lourdes’s magnetic personality. They were social butterflies and beauty queens who longed for the good old days when tormenting Lourdes was a school pastime. Well, their reign wouldn’t last for long, because those girls had already found themselves gaining a pound a week, as Lourdes slowed down their metabolisms to a crawl. Soon they would know the social joys of obesity. For Lourdes, revenge wouldn’t be sweet; it would be fat.
In the aftermath of the volleyball game, her thoughts went back to Dillon, and the certainty that he—and maybe all of them—were in trouble once more. And yet the more she thought about it, the more she was excited by it—for she realized the opportunities it suddenly opened.
It was a chance to see Michael again.
Just thinking of him filled her with potent anticipation.
Michael had told her she was beautiful, even when her body was wrapped in dense rolls of flab. And when she had grown too large to move, he refused to leave her side, even when it would have meant his own death. But things had changed once they returned home—as if being in Hampton Bays brought back to Michael the old pain of his life there. Soon after, Michael and his father moved to the West Coast.
Perhaps Michael wanted to escape his old life, but Lourdes wasn’t interested in escape. She wanted to conquer, to become the victor of Hampton Bays High, instead of the victim—to be the one that everyone looked up to; the center of attention and admiration.
Certainly, as she reveled in the victory of today’s game, all eyes were on her; but it wasn’t enough, because Michael wasn’t there to share it with her, and she found herself longing for him more and more. Now Dillon was calling them all together again, and Lourdes was more than happy to go, if it meant Michael would be there, too.
“I’d like to start you and the other girls on a training program,” the coach told Lourdes. “I think you’d be great additions to the team.” Although Lourdes knew he meant “replacements” rather than “additions.” It was a tempting offer, as it was one more step in that conquest she so desired. But there were other considerations now.
“I can’t do it now,” she told him. “I’m going away for a while.”
“Not for long, I hope. You’re not leaving Hampton Bays High, are you?”
“No,” answered Lourdes. “Just a short trip.”
“To finish her treatment,” she heard Ralphy Sherman whisper to a friend.