CHAPTER TEN
HUNGER STRIKE. NECKTIES. MEGA-BITCH. THE BEGINNING OF YOUR LIFE.
(CLAUDIA)

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

"Oh, ew," muttered Stacey, as I dropped three caramel-filled Hershey Kisses, one by one, into the piping hot mug of coffee sitting on the counter in front of me. "Do you have any idea how many calories you just added to that?"

"Four million," I retorted, giving the concoction a thorough stir. The chocolate and caramel spiraled around the steaming black liquid as it melted, finally giving way to a murky brown composite. There was something almost...artistic about it.

Smiling to myself, I gathered up the little gold candy wrappers and crammed them haphazardly into the front pocket of my black and pink pinstripe capris. I dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into the mug for good measure and transferred it to my seat at the kitchen table next to Stacey (who had ended up spending the night), along with the one surviving slice of cheesecake from my "graduation" party the day before.

"I guess I can't kvetch about the cake," Stacey admitted (although it didn't stop her from eying it warily). "What can I say, I'm an enabler." She poked at her toast halfheartedly. "I just don't understand why you haven't blimped out to three hundred pounds yet."

"She may eventually," interjected Janine, as she joined us in the kitchen. "In fact, I read a study just the other day stating that around the age of twenty, one's basal metabolic rate begins to decrease by roughly two percent every year."

"That's fascinating, Janine," I remarked through a mouthful of cheesecake. "I think my basals are pretty metaholic at the moment, but you're more than welcome to check back with me again in two years."

Janine's eyes grew wide behind her glasses. "That was actually incredibly clever, Claudia." She turned to Stacey conspiratorially and stage-whispered, "I suspect it was unintentional."

Stacey shrugged. "I just can't figure it out," she persisted. "I mean, Claud's eaten nothing but junk food since I've known her, and she never gains an ounce. I haven't come within five feet of a candy bar in five years, and..." She trailed off mid-sentence, but the unhappy glance she cast at her waistline told the rest of the story.

Janine looked thoughtful. "The human body is an astoundingly complex machine." She paused. "Your...diabetes binds you to a very rigorous diet, am I correct?"

Stacey nodded. "It isn't that, though. Apparently, I developed some weird insulin resistance. I guess it isn't all that uncommon--we've got it straightened out now--and I have finally stopped gaining, but..." She shrugged helplessly.

Janine nodded as if she understood. (She probably did.) "But the damage is already done," she said gently.

Stacey nodded miserably. "I can't cut calories. So I guess I'm stuck with the body of Porky Pig. Th-th-th-that's all folks," she quipped bitterly. (I had to smile in spite of myself; Stacey hadn't done that impersonation in years.)

"No, you can't cut calories," agreed Janine. "But," she mused, "you can expend them."

"How?" I couldn't help but asking. (I've always reasoned, myself, that the joy junk food brings me simply creates enough extra energy in my body to burn any calories I happen to take in. I like to call it the "Kishi Scientific Ener-joy Theory.")

"Exercise," Janine answered simply.

"That's what Dr. Werner said," Stacey confirmed. Idly, she picked at the crust of her toast, pulling it off one flake at a time and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger until an entire side had been reduced to a little pile of crumbs. I'd never seen Stacey play with her food like that--for a second, I wondered if she really was eating enough. "And I've been trying, I really have," she insisted, dragging me back out of my thoughts. "I even dug out my mom's old Tae Bo tapes. But they're so hard! Not to sound conceited or anything--I mean, I've had to watch what I eat for as long as I can remember--but I've never, ever had to worry about my weight. It just...really sucks that I have to do both now, y'know?"

"I'd imagine it would be rather difficult," reasoned Janine, "particularly since you're unable to create a significant calorie deficit through diet in summation." She paused for a moment, then continued. "I believe, mathematically, that you would have to burn about thirty-five hundred extra calories for every pound of body fat you wish to lose."

"Thirty five hundred?!" I choked. "That's..."

"About four hours of Tae Bo," interrupted Stacey brusquely. "For one measly pound. Now multiply that by thirty," she snapped.

Her words stung, although I knew that she hadn't really meant for them to. I looked down at my empty plate (save for a minuscule smudge of cheesecake near the edge) as a strange, disassociated feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. I wondered how long Stacey would have to exercise to burn off the calories I'd just mindlessly consumed. I wondered what it would be like to have to actually worry about it...not in the offhand, once-in-a-while way that so many people do, but every second of every day. Suddenly, I saw--and admired--Stacey in a way that I'd never been able to before. Here was this girl...this intelligent, strong, beautiful girl, who hadn't let so much as a Fun-size Snickers bar pass her lips since the day I'd met her--who was now being forced to work her butt off to reclaim the body she rightfully deserved. It didn't seem fair.

I knew what I had to do.

"I'm going on a hunger strike," I blurted out.

Stacey and Janine just stared at me.

"I mean it," I continued earnestly. "Let's see. Thirty times four. That's...uh..."

"One hundred twenty," volunteered Janine. "But I can't possibly see what..."

"Okay," I interrupted. "One hundred twenty hours is...um...how many days?"

"Five," Stacey supplied. "Why?"

"You'll see," I reassured her. I unearthed a Snickers bar from my purse (which was hanging from the back of Stacey's chair) and set it on the table in front of me. I placed my left hand over the candy bar and raised my right hand, oath-style. "I, Claudia Kishi, do solemnly swear off of junk food for the next five days, in support of my good friend Stacey McGill," I announced. And with that, I picked up the Snickers bar, strode over to the trash can, and dropped it in.

"It's certainly a noble endeavor," acknowledged Janine a few minutes later. Stacey had gone upstairs to shower and change, leaving Janine and I alone in the kitchen. (She'd also left about half of her breakfast, which I'd chosen--for the moment, at least--not to comment on.) "But I must admit, the significance is completely lost on me."

I stared at her blankly.

"Why five days?" she prompted. "What, precisely, do you intend for this to represent?"

I rolled my eyes. For a genius, Janine can be awfully dense sometimes. "You guys gave me the numbers. I just...applied them to something useful. Isn't that what you're supposed to do with math?" (I have to admit; I felt kind of proud of myself for that one.)

"Well, of course, but..."

"Okay. Stacey has to do her Tae Bo tape for, like, four hours each time she wants to lose a pound, right? She said herself to multiply that by thirty...I guess that's how many pounds she wants to lose," I reasoned. I stopped for a moment, letting the gravity of what I'd just said hit me. Thirty pounds seemed like an awful lot. I pressed on. "So, to lose thirty pounds, she'd pretty much have to do Tae Bo for five days straight, right?" I continued.

"Theoretically speaking, yes. But, obviously, it would be physically impossible to..."

"I know it's impossible!" I exploded, throwing up my hands in exasperation. "This is symbolic."

"So, you intend for this self-induced deprivation to symbolize the magnitude of Stacey's forthcoming weight-reduction struggle," concluded Janine.

"Uh, sure...I guess."

"Claudia...?"

"What?"

"The circumstances in which you opt to apply the more favorable aspects of your intellect never cease to amaze me."

"Thanks Janine," I replied. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"As were my intentions," she said primly.

"Hey, Stace?"

"Yo!"

"Pink or white?" I held up two neckties, then modeled each of them in front of my black ribbed tank top. The white tie had fat black diagonal stripes running across it; the pink tie featured humongous black stars.

"Let me see the pink one again." I held it in front of me obediently. "Nope," she advised. "Definitely white."

"You think?" I glanced down at both of the ties. "I kind of like the way the pink offsets the pinstriping in my capris."

Stacey shook her head. "It's too loud," she pronounced.

I raised my eyebrow. "Since when have I ever worried about that little detail?"

"Just trust me on this one, Claud. The white tie creates the perfect subtle diversion from the black shirt and pants. The pink tie, on the other hand, becomes too much of a focal point."

"That's what it's supposed to be," I argued. As much as I respect Stacey's fashion sense, sometimes I think she puts a little too much thought into it. Honestly, she treats throwing together an outfit as if it's some sort of complex algebra equation. I mean...I'm accessorizing, not solving for "x".

Stacey shook her head again, more adamantly this time. "You don't need a focal point. It takes too much away from your hair, which is where the focus should be."

"On my hair?" I questioned, instinctively running my fingers through it. I'd worn it long my entire life, but recently, I'd had it cut to just above my shoulders, in a flippy, razored style. As ready as I'd been for a change, I quickly realized that I missed the versatility I'd had with longer hair. (As anyone who knows me will tell you, I'll rarely ever wear my hair the same way twice.) So, not even a week later, I went back to the salon on a whim and had the tips colored hot pink. Believe me, it took a lot of processing to go from jet black to pink -- so much, in fact, that if I don't condition it like crazy, it gets kind of frizzy-looking. But I absolutely adore it...and I figure, if nothing else, I can at least change up the color every couple of weeks or so to keep things interesting.

"Fine," I relented, tossing the pink tie on my bed and knotting the white one around my neck.

"Trust me, Claud. Just let the tie do its job...you'll thank me later."

Shrugging to myself, I proceeded to crawl under the bed in search of my pink-and-black checkered slip-on Vans (which I was certain I'd kicked under there the last time I'd worn them), and discovered the top half of a black two-piece bathing suit I hadn't worn since middle school. "Hey," I called out. "Whaa suuju pack?"

"Beg pardon?"

I inched out from under the bed, brushed a dust bunny off of my shoulder, and repeated myself. "What suit did you pack?"

"Claudia, we're going to Sea City, not Sea World," she snapped. "No one wants to see Shamu the two-ton beached whale in a string bikini."

"You're not taking a bathing suit to Sea City?" I asked incredulously. "What are you going to do?"

"Sit on the porch and watch the waves break, order a salad at Gurber Garden, play Parcheesi with Byron Pike, I don't know, okay?" she snarled.

I felt about two inches tall. I understood that Stacey was feeling self-conscious about her body, but I didn't understand why she kept taking it out on me.

"Stace," I started. "You look fine. I swear. I mean...I barely even noticed you'd put on weight until you pointed it out yourself."

Stacey opened her mouth to say something, but my mom chose that exact second to poke her head in the door. "Girls?" she interrupted. "Kristy and Mary Anne are here."

"Uh, tell them we'll be down in five," I replied.

"Actually, I think I'll go keep them company," volunteered Stacey. She turned to me. "I really don't mean to keep snapping at you," she admitted. "I know you're just trying to help." She managed a small smile. "Your whole 'hunger strike' campaign is completely dorky...but it's pretty much the coolest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"It's okay..." I began.

"No, it's not," she interrupted. "You know, this will be my fourth trip to Sea City. And it's like...every time I go, I turn into this mega-bitch." (I'm sorry, but it's true. I've only been with her once, but she pretty much spent the entire trip moping around and crabbing at everyone. And Mary Anne has told us that she picked fights with her both of the times they'd been there together as mothers' helpers.) "So, I guess I'm just getting a jump-start on my track record," she concluded bitterly.

"There's still time to turn it around," I suggested gently.

Stacey sighed. "You're right. I'm just...really having a hard time with all of this. But...I'm not going to make everyone else's trip miserable because of it," she said decisively. "I'll let you finish packing--I'm going to go hang with Mary Anne and Kristy for a few."

"All set?"

"Pretty much," I replied. My mom had wandered into the room a moment after Stacey had left, and was now surveying the small-scale disaster I'd created in an effort to pack (and actually be able to close) my suitcase.

"You know, I had half a mind not to let you go after that little stunt you pulled last night."

Uh-oh. I turned to look at her. "Mom, I'm sorry, but you guys kind of put me on the spot."

"That may be the case," she argued, "but it certainly wasn't intentional. Your reaction was something I would have expected out of Lynn, not from a high-school graduate."

I hung my head. "Can we maybe talk about this later?" I asked hopefully.

"Without a doubt," she responded. "But I want you to use this little--getaway from reality, shall we say--to do some serious thinking about what you intend to do with your life."

That seemed fair enough. "I will," I reassured her.

"Claudia, there are plenty of perfectly good colleges willing to accept you despite your...er, academic track record. All your father and I want is for you to think about giving one of them a chance. After all, they're willing to give you one," she pointed out.

"I know, Mom. It's just that...I've never been good at school. I mean, I wasn't even good at kindergarten. College isn't going to be any different...I just hate to see you and Dad wasting all that money when I'll probably just end up flunking out."

"Honey, we want what's best for you. We want to see you succeed in life...but, most importantly, we want you to be happy. Maybe you're right...maybe college isn't right for you, but don't let the fear of failure--or your concerns over our pocketbook--hold you back. If you realize partway through that it isn't where you want to be, we won't hold it against you--but I strongly advise you to come up with a backup plan if you're so certain that will be the case."

I nodded. "I know. But it's like...I finally got through high school, and it's still not enough. Now it's 'Claudia, what are you going to do about college? What are you going to do with your life?' It never ends!" I cried.

"No, it doesn't," my mom agreed. "Claudia, this is just the beginning of your life as an adult. And for the first time, what happens next is entirely up to you."

"Is it...weird that I'm not ready to decide that yet?" I asked uneasily.

"Of course not. But I'd advise you to start putting some serious consideration into it." I nodded again, feeling a bit like one of those bobble-head dolls people stick in the back windows of their cars. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?" she asked.

"Not...that I can think of, really."

"Well, in that case," she smiled, "you'd better not keep your friends waiting any longer."

"Aughhh!"

"What?"

"Claudia, we're practically wearing the same outfit!"

I gave Mary Anne a quick once-over. She was wearing black capris, black flip-flop sandals, and a grey ribbed tank top patterned with little black hearts. Okay, I could see a teensy similarity on the most basic level...but that was all. "Do you want me to run back home and change?" she whispered, blushing furiously.

"Oh come on, M.A.," chided Kristy, thumping her on the shoulder. "We're already running late. I'm sure, in time, Claudia will forgive you for ripping off her outfit."

"Kristy," warned Stacey. "She's fine. We're going to the beach. I'm sure there will be lots of people there wearing tank tops and capris."

And bathing suits, I thought to myself.

Mary Anne relaxed ever so slightly, and I took a moment to look at her a little more closely. I'd only seen her once or twice since graduation; she'd mostly kept to herself over the summer. She looked thinner, somehow, and even more pale than usual. Her hair, which she'd worn short since middle school, had started to grow out, and--oddly--looked slightly darker than I remembered it being. I doubted she'd colored it--it wasn't really the sort of thing her father would have approved of. Maybe her pallid skin just made it seem darker in contrast. Even her demeanor seemed slightly "off," somehow--as if the shyness she'd worked so hard to overcome had returned in full force. (I have to admit...it was a little surreal for all four of us to be in the same room together. Mary Anne has always been incredibly sensitive to that sort of thing; she was probably just picking up on the vibe.) Either way, I decided not to worry about it for the time being.

"You guys ready?" I asked. Three heads nodded in response.

"We've already got our bags and stuff in the trunk," Kristy supplied. "So, as long as we can cram that behemoth in there," she gestured to my suitcase, "we're good to go." I gave her a Look, and she shrugged. "I'm just saying, Claud. You're not exactly notorious for travelling light."

After saying goodbye to my parents and Janine for what seemed like an eternity, we finally made our way out to Stacey's car. (She swore up and down for years that her first car would be a red convertible, but claimed that it was "love at first shift" when her father let her test-drive a new black Mustang GT, and was more than willing to "compromise on the color" if he allowed her to take it home on the spot.)

"Not much room in the trunk," appraised Kristy, as she attempted to shoehorn my suitcase in. "But, it's still a step up from the old Junk Bucket," she admitted. "Y'know, Stace, the first time Sam saw this little beauty parked in front of your house, he wouldn't shut up about it for days. Hell, I think he probably would have come over and had sex with it, if he could have figured out how."

"Kristy!" admonished Mary Anne.

"I'm just saying, M.A." Kristy replied nonchalantly. (That seemed to be her new favorite expression.) Stacey, on the other hand, looked as if someone had slapped her.

"He'd nail my car," she said glumly, "but I bet he wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole these days."

"You wouldn't want him to," announced Kristy cheerfuly. "He's a college guy now. He's like, an STD vending machine."

"Uh, what if we move this to the backseat?" I suggested, pulling a brown paper bag out of the trunk.

"Hey, gimme that!" cried Kristy, snatching it out of my hands and setting it gently back in its place.

"Whoa, sorry!" I held my hands up in a "truce"-type gesture. "What's in there, anyway?"

"It's a surprise," Kristy replied curtly.

I shrugged. "Okay. Whatever. Sorry."

"Here," Mary Anne volunteered, pulling her own duffel bag out of the trunk. "Mine's the smallest. If we put it on the floor of the backseat, there should be plenty of room for Claud's suitcase in the trunk." After a bit of shuffling around, we finally managed to fit everything (and everyone) into the car somewhat comfortably.

A wave of excitement rushed through me as we backed out of the driveway and onto the street. We were off to Sea City!

Author's Note: My apologies, to those of you who have been following this story, for the length of time I've gone without updating. The longer this story sits around in my head, the more epic I realize it's going to have to be. I have a feeling that our girls are going to be in for one long night in Sea City. Although I realize the plot has been fairly uneventful thus far, this is the chapter (for me, anyway) where everything really had to start coming together.

With that said, I'd like to mention that, while I'm not new to the craft of writing, this is my first foray into the world of fanfiction, as well as my first time publishing a story in installments. There are so many things I'm dying to go back and rework in the first couple of chapters... tiny, subtle things that would do little more than shade plot points to come. But I suppose that's a lesson to be learned, which is why I've really tried to take my time on the past couple of chapters. I've gone from 500-word chapters to 3500-word chapters; this one in particular was next to impossible to cut off at a reasonable length. Expect more of that in the future.

Thanks so much to those who have read and reviewed... although I have a kind of internal obligation (to the BSC, if no one else) to finish this little tale, the reviews have really been what's motivated me to try and do so in a somewhat timely manner. For that, I thank you.