By now, Olivia has literally stopped packing a lunch. Her parents no longer bought her food since she could buy her own, and my lunch was more than enough for her.
I knew that I would reduce my dieting soon, but that would probably mean eating more for supper and actually having a decent breakfast. Skipping lunch was now something that defined me.
Today is one of the few days without social studies, so I felt privileged to still have Mrs. Sanchez at my dancing practice. This time, I was focusing solely on my routine, with Mrs. Sanchez being more and more strict about my deviations from the plan.
After stopping me four times, irritated, she asked to take a break, spent a minute helping the other girls, and returned to me. She made it sit on the floor so we could talk.
"Ok, I'll give you the paradox of improvising a dance for a recital, Julie. And I want you to listen to me closely, because otherwise, we will both get frustrated and get nothing out of these practices."
"Sure Mrs. Sanchez."
She smiles and leans forward. "I think I prefer when we practice and you call me Gabriella, but it's not possible in school." I got the message loud and clear. She is a naturist, and like Mindy, she prefers naturism.
I know; I used to be one, and I am aiming to return to that mindset.
After a pause, she returns. "We improvised a routine together. We chained movements and so on. When we were doing that, it didn't matter, say, if you went left or right after the jump over the crate. But now, it does. You improvised going to the left, so in the decor, we will put an obstacle on the right. So if you make a mistake and go right, you will trip on it. You selected something complicated, so now we need perfection for the scene to work."
Well, to be fair, I proposed to mime, but I do prefer her idea. I signed on to it, so you can say I did select something complicated.
"I get that," I said.
"I am sure you do. But there is something you might not get. Muscle Memory. The more you do the routine in the same way, the more it will be ingrained into you."
"I know!"
"I don't think you do, because you make changes each time you do the routine."
"I'll try to do better."
"Well, don't try. Just do better."
"Ok, Yoda," I said, smiling.
She looked at me with almost murder in her eyes, but then she laughed. "I deserved that," she said.
But we tried again and again, and I was getting more consistent.
At the end, she told me. "Tomorrow, Julie, don't come here. Get to the auditorium. We will adjust the rig."
"The rig?"
"For the lasers."
"Oh, can that be the day after? I am not there tomorrow."
"Oh, it's the adoption? Of course, Julie. That's way more important. Let's do it the day after for sure. We don't have weeks, but we have days," she says, smiling.
I thanked her, we put on our clothes and our leotards, and I went on to my afternoon classes that fly by quickly.
Honestly? I am at the point where only about a third of the English classes and most of the social studies classes stimulate me. Math, well, technically algebra, is such a bore that my only satisfaction is that I can help other students sometimes. Science is mostly that I can help Olivia. And I purposefully never talk about Spanish class. Like, I am sure this comes as a surprise to foreign readers, but I have a Spanish class.
You might think since Gabriella's last name is Sanchez, I could practice my Spanish with her, but it's just her married name. It's Mateo's last name, and even he barely speaks Spanish.
Like most of my friends, we need to take Spanish classes and, after years of it, can't hold a conversation in it.
It's not that I don't like Spanish. It's that the classes are not frequent enough and not deep enough to gain any level of mastery in the language.
And honestly? I think that this badly made class, which many students have to take without ever mastering, is part of the hate of Latin American immigrants. Maybe not, but it feels like it.
I joined Olivia and Lyndon at his bus departure area. It's always a little hectic at the end of the day, but I make it alright.
I end up sitting with Olivia, but Lyndon is sitting on the bench next to us.
We went into a section of the city that I don't really know, and I noticed that the houses in this part of town seemed bigger. They were also further away from the street and had larger driveways.
Also, all of my friends have asphalt (or gravel for Mindi), but many of these houses had block paving, which seems a lot more expensive.
The bus was emptying, and after turning into a new sector, Lyndon told us it was the next stop.
We left his bus at a stop, and I looked around. The houses were a little smaller than those earlier on the road, but still big enough.
When we got to Lyndon's house, I was shocked. Not only did it have a garage door like the other houses in the area, but it had two of them!
None of my friends even have a single garage, and Lyndon's parents have two?
And there is a person door between the two garage doors, on which there is a keypad.
He punches a code, and we get inside what is, in the end, one huge garage.
It's smaller than our warehouse, of course it is, but it is large enough that our camper area could be inside his house, with enough space for our hot tub and the table we use to eat.
That is, if the Porsche currently parked on the right was taken out.
When I spoke to Mindy, I noticed that our family was a lot richer than hers. When I met Marge's family, I got the impression we had more money than they did. Of course, when I met Olivia at her house, I knew, before even making it inside the house, that we had a lot more money than they did, and the more I knew her, the bigger the impression.
But Lyndon humbled me. We didn't really have money, but his family did.
My parents worried about the economy, about the town going to shit, and about their clients closing. They worked to open new opportunities.
Owning a Porsche in a double garage screamed, "We don't care about the economy."
We make it to his living room.
"I can't bring girls in my bedroom, and my parents don't want me to study at the kitchen table. We can research here, and if it's not enough, we have a board game room in the basement with a table."
"Can I ask what your parents do, Lyndon? Mine have an import business."
"Oh, that's cool. My dad is an aerospace engineer, and my mom is a board member."
Olivia laughed. "That's a job?"
"Well, yeah. I don't fully get it, but like, she used to be the CEO of a company; they replaced her but kept her on the board. Other companies wanted her too, so she sits on the boards and is paid to vote on stuff? I don't fully get it. But I am happy I see her more often now."
We went to the living room, which was rather normal, except that instead of a 3-seat couch and a loveseat (two people) set like most people, it has two loveseats and a sofa chair. One similar to the one that Richard uses. It can recline and extend a sort of leg rest, but it's upholstered with leather. The two love seats too.
He gave us each a sort of foldable table, which he placed near one of the loveseats, and took one for himself for the other one.
The sofas were, let's say, cozy? As in, it's a good thing I lost weight because Olivia and I were just about pushed against each other.
I sat closer to Lyndon and had Olivia on my right.
I took out my laptop, but I don't think I ever described it until now. See, maybe you imagined a large thing, but it's just a 12-inch laptop. It's technically a notebook, but those mostly vanished, replaced by Chromebooks. Even then, Chromebooks were becoming popular, and many students in my class had them, but my laptop was bought when they were just starting out and weren't really good yet.
Lyndon gave me the Wi-Fi password, a series of random letters and numbers, which I now realize were hexadecimal. The letters were only from A to F, but I didn't know that format back then.
Now, I had Wi-Fi access to a potential future boyfriend's house...
I gave a list of my potential questions, always looking at Lyndon, and I realized that while he was giving us the report on his research, his eyes were locked on me.
This was a great sign.
Now, I only really met Lyndon this year, and I only began to know him after a lot of my weight loss. We really connected after I began wearing a leotard under my clothes.
All disconnected from one another, these seem like isolated things.
But the reality is that he only began to see me when I became a woman. He didn't know me as a prepubescent child, he didn't see me as an obese teenager, and he even got to meet me when I was wearing something under my clothes that makes my body really tight. And not in the sense of squeezing it.
Do I like it? Not yet. I am still losing weight, but I can't avoid the fact that the boys in my class sometimes look at me, something I never knew before.
Ok, I'll give you another point. I didn't want to, but I can't hide it now.
I sigh. Not me in 9th grade, me writing this.
During one of the practices that Mrs. Sanchez did with me, after the visit at the non-landed club, when we were alone, she got to talk to me about naturism.
"You know, and I know, that naturism is all about being real, ourselves. It's why when you saw me that evening, I didn't wear any makeup. But today, I do. Because I am in the textile world. I would rather teach nude with no makeup, but that's not something that society is willing to accept."
I laughed. No, it's not.
"But here is the thing. For the recital, you will need to put on makeup, and I think that you should get used to it. A little lipstick, perhaps some eyeliner, something subtle you put on each morning before school to get used to it."
It made sense. And when I told my mom about wanting to try makeup, she was over the moon! We went shopping that evening, and ever since, I have been wearing makeup to school. Like most of the girls, except, well, my friends. Edith didn't because she wanted to hide a little. Olivia didn't waste money on it, and her parents didn't have the money. Marge was in her own world, and Mindy, as far as I knew, was a naturist first and foremost.
So, Lyndon did know me without makeup, but he really got to know me once I began putting it on.
And that afternoon, I knew that his eyes always roamed on my body.
This made for a weird mix.
I kept looking at my potential future boyfriend; he kept looking over at me, his potential future girlfriend, but as we worked, Olivia, who worked on paper, had to move to find her material and kept brushing against me.
I could sometimes feel her butt pushing against mine when she searched in her bag, or she would hold my knee to pick up something she put on the floor.
It felt weird, because I was devoured by Lyndon's eyes like I had never been before, all while the cramped space meant that one of my friends ended up contacting my body more than at any other moment, even during a sleepover.
I am sure it was purely accidental. Had she worked on a laptop like Lyndon and I, we would have been fine.
I knew that the basement was an option, but Lyndon and I were often making eye contact, and I didn't want to risk losing that. Lyndon didn't seem to mind, and Olivia said nothing.
So we kept on working, and not only did we create a ton of new questions, but we anticipated a lot of them.
Lyndon, as it turns out, is spectacular at organizing data. I'll spoil it; he became a data engineer.
We made incredible progress until the front door opened, and Lyndon's father came back from work.
"Hello son."
"Hi Dad, this is Julie and Olivia. Girls, this is my father."
He came to shake our hands.
I gave him my name. "Oh, so you are Julie," which led Lyndon to say, "Dad, please."
"Nothing, I am just glad to put a face on the name. And that makes you Olivia. Nice to meet you."
Did that mean that Lyndon only spoke about me to his father? If so, did that mean that he had a crush on me or something? Why not talk about Olivia?
Sure, I texted him sometimes about school, so maybe he was eating supper and had to talk about me, whereas Olivia doesn't have a cell phone. That might be it.
"Did you offer the girls something to drink?" His father says.
"Oh, right. How rude of me," says Lyndon in a weird, proper accent, like his father, I guess. It wasn't as noticeable on his parent because, well, I never spoke to him. But I knew Lyndon well, and it struck me as different. "May I offer something to drink? We have a few juices: orange, apple, grape, and most soft drinks."
"We are out of 7-Up, son. Your mother might bring some tonight after her board meeting."
"Oh sorry, we are out of 7-Up."
Olivia went for an orange juice, but I just went for a glass of water. I didn't need the extra calories.
He got himself a Coca-Cola can, but only after serving us drinks, which we decided to take in the kitchen. We had notes and laptops...
The kitchen was simply gorgeous. There was a kitchen island, a trash compactor thing, the fridge was double-door with a water and ice dispenser, and the oven was separated from the range. Hell, the microwave was built in above the oven, and they shared the same touchscreen control panel.
Everything seemed so fancy.
His father had left us three alone, so we mostly talked about, well, nothing. You know, pleasantries. "It's a nice kitchen."
"Please excuse my dad; he is a little awkward," or "Is that a picture of your family?"
Right, there was a picture of his dad, younger, with a woman and a young girl.
"Oh, that's my half-sister and her mom."
"Wait, your dad has his ex-wife's picture in his house with his new wife?" Says Olivia.
"Oh, that's not really his ex-wife, though. He's not divorced, he's widowed," he says, sad.
"I am so sorry."
"It's okay. She died before I was born, obviously."
"And your half-sister?" I ask.
"She's 29 now. I have a nephew. He is 3 years old. But she's in another state. I only see her sometimes."
"Did your father raise her with your mom?"
"Yeah. And my sister helped raise me, you know?"
I don't know why, but it made me think of Edith. How we are taking the relay from her parents. Only, they are not dead, but from her point of view, they might as well be.
Once our glasses were emptied and put in a dishwasher, we continued working until his father asked us if we were eating with them, as he was about to start cooking supper.
I confirmed I would call my parent to pick us up.
I noticed how much older he is compared to the parents of my other friends. I hadn't noticed because he looks good. I can see where Lyndon gets his appeal from.
After another 30 minutes or so, my father texted me. He said that now would be a good time so I don't miss supper.
I admit that I considered telling him that I would eat at Lyndon so I could skip supper, but I had skipped breakfast and dinner, and yesterday, I had managed to eat very little.
I sometimes had to eat, even if I tended to snack more than eat a full meal at supper.
Olivia had asked me if it was normal that my lunch was bigger now, and I think that my mom just decided to put more in, thinking that I wasn't eating enough. I don't know; she certainly didn't comment, and each time she tried to ask if I was eating enough, I would deflect the conversation.
I was almost there; it wasn't time to change the plans. Any day now.
So I gave him the address that I got from Lyndon, and 15 minutes later, my father was in a conversation with Lyndon's father about his car in the driveway while Olivia and I were picking up our things.
"Can you text me when you get home so I know you are both safe?" Lyndon asks me.
"Sure," I say, finding his worry ridiculous.
We got in a car, and I realized that Lyndon's father has a BMW SUV. A big thing that visibly impressed my father. I decided not to tell him about the Porsche in the garage, in case he goes full-on fanboy mode and ruins my eventual chances with Lyndon.
In the car, Olivia was weirdly silent, but I could get why. She came from a very poor family. It must be hard seeing Lyndon from such a rich family. Or maybe it's the idea of seeing a picture of a dead person? She will tell me when she is ready to.
My father dropped her at her place, and she thanked him for the lift and me for the study session.
I was sad to have her return to misery, but I already saved Edith. I can't have my parents fill the house with rescue kids.
When I made it home, I texted Lyndon that I was ok.
He texted me back to thank me. But then wished me luck tomorrow with the adoption. I thanked him, but then he sent me a text that I had to read, like, 4 times.
"Can I invite you to go see a movie Friday, just you and me?"
I had spent weeks thinking that Lyndon might be my future boyfriend, and he was asking me on a date?
I texted him that right now, my mind was on the adoption, but that I might be interested to go once that is behind us.
He replied, "Of course, I understand. I'll save my evening for you, but I can reschedule if it's too emotional."
What a perfect gentleman.
Do I really need to tell you that I had a weird dream that night? I've been having more and more, but each time rather abstract. This time, however, I had a slightly clearer vision. I was on Lyndon's couch. I didn't have more. But it's like slowly, my dreams gained focus, as if my sexuality was booting up.