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Authors: Hilary T. Smith
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said.
Kaylee and Lindsay exchanged a look.
“Excuse me?” said Noe.
Steven giggled. “We subverted the dominant paradigm of gender-specific bladder relief.”
“We brought an antidisestablishmentarianist perspective to bear on the issue of male/female urination roles,” I said.
“O-kay,” Noe said. It was strange to see her like this, performing for Kaylee and Lindsay instead of joining in on our fun. It gave me a curious urge to poke her. The other day in gym practice, I’d overheard Noe telling them that she and Steven had come this close to doing it the last time she was at his house, which struck me as a pretty big elaboration considering what she had told me. Sometimes I forgot that Noe’s self-confidence had limits. When it came to other girls, she could be downright insecure.
“Speaking of gender roles,” Noe said to Steven, “you’re driving us to the movies at eight o’clock tonight.”
He seemed to sober up. “Yes, ma’am,” Steven said.
He fell into step beside her, hooking his pinky finger through hers like they always did. I groaned inwardly. Surely, Noe wasn’t worrying about what Lindsay and Kaylee thought of Steven. She was Noe . Who cared what anyone thought?
“You two are too cute,” said Lindsay Harris, she of the fallen-out tampon.
It was jarring to hear Lindsay Harris commenting on Noe and Steven in a familiar way, as if they belonged to her. What are you doing? I almost said. That’s mine .
As we walked down the hall, I found myself at the back of the group, and wondered how that had happened.
“Does anyone know what lunch is?” said Noe.
I tried to tell her it was spaghetti and slaughter balls, but everyone was talking so loudly I don’t think she heard.
22
BOB WAS LISTENING TO HIS audiobook again when I went in for my second appointment. He was doing something on the computer and didn’t notice me slip into the room until I’d been sitting in the Sorting Chair for almost five minutes. I didn’t try to catch his attention. I rested my head on my chin and listened to the story. It was pretty dumb—something about fairies and swords and people trapped in ice—but I found myself getting sucked in anyway. Bob realized I was there when we both laughed out loud at something the Jocular Wizard said.
“Annabeth!” said Bob. “When did you come in?”
“What book is that?” I said.
He blushed and rummaged in his desk for the CD case. He passed it to me. Kingdom of Stones . It had an unfortunate rendering of a bawdy wench on the front, with a landscape of cairns and crags behind her.
“Cool,” I said.
He reached for the CD player and clicked it off.
“Do you want to see my food journal?” I said.
Bob flipped through the lined pages and added a few things up on a chunky calculator that looked like it had been rescued from the 1980s.
“Wow,” he said. “Very thorough.”
I smiled, but I felt guilty. The truth is, I hadn’t really been keeping track of my food. It was too much trouble. Instead, Noe had helped me fill in the past month’s worth of columns yesterday afternoon in English.
“How about an omelet for Monday?” she’d said. “That’s protein-y.”
“Can I have hash browns too?”
Hash browns , Noe noted on the page.
“How about some toast?”
Toast, 2 pcs , Noe wrote.
“Oh, and green beans.”
“For breakfast?”
“I should have a vegetable, shouldn’t I?”
Noe shook her head. “He’ll smell a rat.”
“Are we almost finished?”
“Yup. Just need Tuesday lunch. I’m thinking a burrito, a salad, and a glass of milk.”
“You’re too good at this,” I’d said.
Noe cackled, and wrote down Rice Krispie square for good measure.
“The numbers look fine,” said the nutritionist. “I guess I can’t make you keep coming. But if there is ever something you feel like talking about, you’re welcome anytime.”
He smiled one of his sad smiles and gave me a pizza coupon.
I held it in my fingers, feeling like there
Kaylee and Lindsay exchanged a look.
“Excuse me?” said Noe.
Steven giggled. “We subverted the dominant paradigm of gender-specific bladder relief.”
“We brought an antidisestablishmentarianist perspective to bear on the issue of male/female urination roles,” I said.
“O-kay,” Noe said. It was strange to see her like this, performing for Kaylee and Lindsay instead of joining in on our fun. It gave me a curious urge to poke her. The other day in gym practice, I’d overheard Noe telling them that she and Steven had come this close to doing it the last time she was at his house, which struck me as a pretty big elaboration considering what she had told me. Sometimes I forgot that Noe’s self-confidence had limits. When it came to other girls, she could be downright insecure.
“Speaking of gender roles,” Noe said to Steven, “you’re driving us to the movies at eight o’clock tonight.”
He seemed to sober up. “Yes, ma’am,” Steven said.
He fell into step beside her, hooking his pinky finger through hers like they always did. I groaned inwardly. Surely, Noe wasn’t worrying about what Lindsay and Kaylee thought of Steven. She was Noe . Who cared what anyone thought?
“You two are too cute,” said Lindsay Harris, she of the fallen-out tampon.
It was jarring to hear Lindsay Harris commenting on Noe and Steven in a familiar way, as if they belonged to her. What are you doing? I almost said. That’s mine .
As we walked down the hall, I found myself at the back of the group, and wondered how that had happened.
“Does anyone know what lunch is?” said Noe.
I tried to tell her it was spaghetti and slaughter balls, but everyone was talking so loudly I don’t think she heard.
22
BOB WAS LISTENING TO HIS audiobook again when I went in for my second appointment. He was doing something on the computer and didn’t notice me slip into the room until I’d been sitting in the Sorting Chair for almost five minutes. I didn’t try to catch his attention. I rested my head on my chin and listened to the story. It was pretty dumb—something about fairies and swords and people trapped in ice—but I found myself getting sucked in anyway. Bob realized I was there when we both laughed out loud at something the Jocular Wizard said.
“Annabeth!” said Bob. “When did you come in?”
“What book is that?” I said.
He blushed and rummaged in his desk for the CD case. He passed it to me. Kingdom of Stones . It had an unfortunate rendering of a bawdy wench on the front, with a landscape of cairns and crags behind her.
“Cool,” I said.
He reached for the CD player and clicked it off.
“Do you want to see my food journal?” I said.
Bob flipped through the lined pages and added a few things up on a chunky calculator that looked like it had been rescued from the 1980s.
“Wow,” he said. “Very thorough.”
I smiled, but I felt guilty. The truth is, I hadn’t really been keeping track of my food. It was too much trouble. Instead, Noe had helped me fill in the past month’s worth of columns yesterday afternoon in English.
“How about an omelet for Monday?” she’d said. “That’s protein-y.”
“Can I have hash browns too?”
Hash browns , Noe noted on the page.
“How about some toast?”
Toast, 2 pcs , Noe wrote.
“Oh, and green beans.”
“For breakfast?”
“I should have a vegetable, shouldn’t I?”
Noe shook her head. “He’ll smell a rat.”
“Are we almost finished?”
“Yup. Just need Tuesday lunch. I’m thinking a burrito, a salad, and a glass of milk.”
“You’re too good at this,” I’d said.
Noe cackled, and wrote down Rice Krispie square for good measure.
“The numbers look fine,” said the nutritionist. “I guess I can’t make you keep coming. But if there is ever something you feel like talking about, you’re welcome anytime.”
He smiled one of his sad smiles and gave me a pizza coupon.
I held it in my fingers, feeling like there
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