our next important topic of conversation," my mother said, eyeing me as I used the biscotti that
came with her espresso to sop up some of my caramel sauce. "The Zumbergs have invited us—"
I groaned audibly. The Zumbergs have invited us was never an auspicious beginning to a sentence. They were the most intense socialites of all my parents' friends. I got a
headache just trying to keep up with my parents' stories of traveling with them. Dinner with the Pacinos, a safari with Karl
Lagerfeld—the list went on and on.
"Don't groan. We're all taking an island getaway. The Zumbergs have arranged a fabulous trip to Nevis. They've booked bungalows
for fifty people all along the beach! Why don't you bring one of your new friends and we can all get to know each other better
in paradise? It's exactly our kind of Thanksgiving, Flan," she said, flashing me a grin. "No cooking!"
"You're right." I had to agree, spearing the last of the bread pudding and imagining myself zoning out on the beach, without
a scarf and hat and gloves for a change. "It sounds great."
"Then it's settled. Good Lord, Flan, did you finish that entire dessert already? I knew you'd grown since I last saw you,
and now I can see why."
"What do you mean?" I asked. She'd only been gone a few weeks. How could I have grown that much?
She stood up and pushed in her chair. "Come on, Flan, Idol comes on in twenty minutes. I haven't seen it since Jennifer Hudson was eliminated." She stopped. "Flan, you're a giant!"
"Mom!" I said.
"It's just, I was so distracted by the kitchen disaster before. Now that I'm looking at you standing, you've shot up like
a beanstalk. You must be what, five-foot ten?"
"Mom, I'm five-foot seven."
"Fm five-foot seven. You, dear, are now at least three inches taller than me. Don't stop growing either, Flanny. You'll be a model
yet! So long and lean. That I know you inherited from my side."
But I didn't feel like a model. Looking down at my feet, which suddenly looked really far away, I felt like a stork in too-short
jeans. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed this before. And suddenly, as I followed my mom out of the restaurant, I started
to worry. If I couldn't even figure out why none of my clothes seemed to fit anymore, how could I trust myself to make major
life decisions about what school, what friends, and what life was best for me?
Chapter 2
DOWN THE RABBIT'S HOLE
T he next day after school, Judith and I were hanging at Alice's Tea Cup, waiting for Meredith to join us. Alice's Tea Cup is
this fantastic cafe on the Upper West Side where the pastries are to die for and the decor rule of thumb is that anything
goes as long as it's pink and plucked from some shabby chic antique store in the city. Gathering here was one of our standard
Friday unwinding rituals.
We always sat at the middle table, right in the center of all the action. We debriefed each other on the week that had passed
and planned fun outings for the weekend ahead. At the beginning of the year, when there were tons of new boys at Stuy to discuss,
evaluate, and prioritize, we spent so much time talking about guys that Meredith started calling our meetings at the cafe
"Boy Circle," and the name just stuck.
Usually, I really looked forward to Boy Circle. But today, instead of chilling out and enjoying my favorite Rooibos tea blend
while we waited for Mer to arrive so we could dish, I felt more like I was having an Alice in Wonderland moment of my own.
For one thing, Judith kept muttering about Meredith's "perpetual inability to arrive anywhere on time." If she'd been wearing
a top hat instead of her woven lavender wool beret, I might have mistaken her for the Mad Hatter. Even her standard hair flipping
habit had been aggravated by Meredith's tardiness, and I was trying to stay out of range of her flying blond locks. She was
wearing a white oxford shirt, and a cute little blue tie peaked out of her Bendel's cashmere V-neck. The
came with her espresso to sop up some of my caramel sauce. "The Zumbergs have invited us—"
I groaned audibly. The Zumbergs have invited us was never an auspicious beginning to a sentence. They were the most intense socialites of all my parents' friends. I got a
headache just trying to keep up with my parents' stories of traveling with them. Dinner with the Pacinos, a safari with Karl
Lagerfeld—the list went on and on.
"Don't groan. We're all taking an island getaway. The Zumbergs have arranged a fabulous trip to Nevis. They've booked bungalows
for fifty people all along the beach! Why don't you bring one of your new friends and we can all get to know each other better
in paradise? It's exactly our kind of Thanksgiving, Flan," she said, flashing me a grin. "No cooking!"
"You're right." I had to agree, spearing the last of the bread pudding and imagining myself zoning out on the beach, without
a scarf and hat and gloves for a change. "It sounds great."
"Then it's settled. Good Lord, Flan, did you finish that entire dessert already? I knew you'd grown since I last saw you,
and now I can see why."
"What do you mean?" I asked. She'd only been gone a few weeks. How could I have grown that much?
She stood up and pushed in her chair. "Come on, Flan, Idol comes on in twenty minutes. I haven't seen it since Jennifer Hudson was eliminated." She stopped. "Flan, you're a giant!"
"Mom!" I said.
"It's just, I was so distracted by the kitchen disaster before. Now that I'm looking at you standing, you've shot up like
a beanstalk. You must be what, five-foot ten?"
"Mom, I'm five-foot seven."
"Fm five-foot seven. You, dear, are now at least three inches taller than me. Don't stop growing either, Flanny. You'll be a model
yet! So long and lean. That I know you inherited from my side."
But I didn't feel like a model. Looking down at my feet, which suddenly looked really far away, I felt like a stork in too-short
jeans. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed this before. And suddenly, as I followed my mom out of the restaurant, I started
to worry. If I couldn't even figure out why none of my clothes seemed to fit anymore, how could I trust myself to make major
life decisions about what school, what friends, and what life was best for me?
Chapter 2
DOWN THE RABBIT'S HOLE
T he next day after school, Judith and I were hanging at Alice's Tea Cup, waiting for Meredith to join us. Alice's Tea Cup is
this fantastic cafe on the Upper West Side where the pastries are to die for and the decor rule of thumb is that anything
goes as long as it's pink and plucked from some shabby chic antique store in the city. Gathering here was one of our standard
Friday unwinding rituals.
We always sat at the middle table, right in the center of all the action. We debriefed each other on the week that had passed
and planned fun outings for the weekend ahead. At the beginning of the year, when there were tons of new boys at Stuy to discuss,
evaluate, and prioritize, we spent so much time talking about guys that Meredith started calling our meetings at the cafe
"Boy Circle," and the name just stuck.
Usually, I really looked forward to Boy Circle. But today, instead of chilling out and enjoying my favorite Rooibos tea blend
while we waited for Mer to arrive so we could dish, I felt more like I was having an Alice in Wonderland moment of my own.
For one thing, Judith kept muttering about Meredith's "perpetual inability to arrive anywhere on time." If she'd been wearing
a top hat instead of her woven lavender wool beret, I might have mistaken her for the Mad Hatter. Even her standard hair flipping
habit had been aggravated by Meredith's tardiness, and I was trying to stay out of range of her flying blond locks. She was
wearing a white oxford shirt, and a cute little blue tie peaked out of her Bendel's cashmere V-neck. The
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