The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

Chapter Twenty-Four Maya goes shopping

“Get away from me!” shrieks Molly. “Don’t touch me!” She kicks her legs and hides the cereal bar she was opening behind her back.

“Gott im Himmel, don’t be such a baby.” Maya can only hope that the club has more success educating the student body than she’s having educating the Baraberras. She pokes her head into the gap between the passenger’s and the driver’s seats. “I don’t want your stupid bar, Molly. I just want to see it.”

“Get your own!” screams Molly. “Mom! Mom! Make her leave me alone!”

Mrs Baraberra’s eyes stay on the road. “Leave Molly alone, Maya.” From the tone of her voice it seems likely that she has probably given this command before.

Maya faces the front again, thumping and harrumphing. You’d think that her mother would be thanking her for giving up a Saturday morning to help her with the shopping. Really, why couldn’t she have a family like Cody’s – aware, concerned and principled – instead of the one she has – unaware, unconcerned and with the principles of cold callers? “I only wanted to see what’s in it.”

Molly kicks her seat. “Cereal’s in it.”

The car seems almost to sigh as they turn into the parking lot. “By now you’d think you’d know what’s in it,” says Mrs Baraberra. For a woman known for her sunny disposition, she sounds a little bitter.

Maya’s conversation with Cody about the hidden contents of pea soup and bread rolls may have convinced Sicilee that even pretending to be vegan was too much like hard work, but for Maya it was a moment of revelation. She had never given a thought to what was in the soup or the roll or anything else before. She’d assumed that if something wasn’t dripping blood, it was meat-free. Now Maya reads all labels as if they are the Dead Sea Scrolls. She was surprised to discover just how many things that she assumed are vegetarian aren’t. Cody is right, you can’t be too careful. This is why Mrs Baraberra sounds a little bitter. It’s bad enough that Maya’s suddenly decided to reject things she’s always loved, like scrambled eggs and cheese and chicken casserole, but now she questions her mother about every single thing that comes into the house. But does it have whey? Does it have lactose? Oleic acid? Keratin? Was it processed with lard? With animal charcoal? With Isinglass? How much sugar’s in it? How many additives? Is it carcinogenic? Toxic? Is it from a sustainable source? Was it flown thousands of miles or is it locally sourced? Mrs Baraberra is beginning to feel as if Maya’s the Royal Inquisitor and she’s the heretic.

“You are what you eat, you know,” says Maya, though, in fact, she could assume that her mother does know this by now. “It’s really important that we watch what we put into our bodies.” Reading labels has proved to be not only addictive, but informative as well. “Especially older people like you and Dad. Arthritis and heart disease are only a part of the fate that could await you if you don’t have a healthy diet.”

Mrs Baraberra pulls into an empty space. “Your father and I appreciate your concern.”

The bitterness, now tinged with sarcasm, in her mother’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Maya. “I’m only trying to help, you know.”

“Don’t.” Mrs Baraberra turns off the engine. “You just worry about you, and I’ll take care of the rest of us.”

Once inside the supermarket, Mrs Baraberra and Molly go off to buy all the things that make Maya grimace and pretend to gag, and Maya goes to search for things that she can eat.

“We’ll meet you by the frozen foods in half an hour,” says Mrs Baraberra.

But half an hour later, she and Molly stand in front of the freezers of ice cream by themselves.

Maya, as it happens, has got no further than aisle B.

Her mother finally finds her scrutinizing the contents of a package of tortillas like Sherlock Holmes studying a pile of cigar ash. “For God’s sake, Maya. What are you doing? They’re just flour and water.”

“I told you, you can’t be too careful.” Maya holds out the tortillas. “Look. They have milk in them.”

Mrs Baraberra doesn’t look. “We don’t have all day, Maya. We’ll meet you by the bread in ten minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, Molly is sent as a scout. Maya has made it out of aisle B and is reading her twelfth box of cereal with the avidity of a gambler checking the racing results.

“Mom’s getting mad,” announces Molly. “She says you’d better hurry up.”

“Tell her that I need just five more minutes,” says Maya. “No, make that ten. I’m almost done.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Mrs Baraberra marches down aisle E to tell Maya what time it is.

“But it’s not my fault,” argues Maya. “This store doesn’t have any sugar that I can eat. It’s—”

“So don’t eat it. You’re the one who’s always telling us how bad it’s supposed to be.” Maya’s mother thrusts some notes into her hands. “Molly and I will be in the car. If you’re not out in fifteen minutes, we’re going home without you.”

It is possible that Maya has spent the longest amount of time selecting the smallest amount of goods in the history of Clifton Springs, but this isn’t only because she’s been hypnotized by the small print on wrappers, cans and boxes. Maya got up this morning with one of her hunches. I’m going to run into Cody Lightfoot today, she thought as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She could feel it in her bones. And there would be no Sicilee Kewe to interfere; no Sicilee Kewe trailing behind him like toxic fumes. He’d be all by himself. It would be just her and Cody. The way it’s meant to be.

So when Mrs Baraberra suggested that she come shopping with her and pick out her own stuff, Maya immediately recognized the finger of Fate, stirring up the waters of her life. Cody’ll be in the supermarket, Maya decided immediately. Shopping with his dad. She was ready to go before her mother had finished writing out her shopping list. And so she has lingered longer than she needed, giving Fate a chance to get Cody out of bed, out of the house and, at least metaphorically, into her arms – thinking that at any minute she would look up to find him beside her and they’d laugh together over what was in that box of crackers or can of soup. On the other hand, it’s a bitter winter’s day and Maya doesn’t want to have to walk home. She speeds through the last few aisles, grabbing things she already knows she can eat, and comes out in Baked Goods at the far side of the store.

She is checking the breads – pick one up and put it down, pick one up and put it down – when she becomes aware of someone behind her, so close that she can feel his breath against her cheek. Her heart flaps and flutters like a chicken surprised by a fox.

“What the hell are you doing, Maya? You look like you’re the bread inspector.”

She turns around. Fate has been toying with her again. She can hardly hide her disappointment.

“Just pick a loaf,” says Jason. “They’re all the same.”

Maya explains that this isn’t true. “Not if you’re vegan.”

“Vegan?” Usually, when he smiles like that, Maya thinks Jason looks really cute. Today, he just looks annoying. “You never told me about that.”

“Well, you knew I was a vegetarian,” says Maya. “It’s not that big a difference really. I didn’t feel it needed a public announcement.”

“No, I guess it didn’t.” He laughs. “But isn’t it kind of extreme?”

“Isn’t the death of the planet kind of extreme?” Maya has been doing her homework. “It’s not just about not eating meat, you know. The way we produce our meat not only pollutes the atmosphere, it pollutes the ground and water, too – and takes up tons of land that could be used in a more productive and sustainable way.”

“Oh, right. I guess that slipped my mind.” Jason looks as if he’s sorry he asked. “So how long has this been going on?”

She shrugs. “A while.”

Up until now, Jason’s expression has been perplexed but good-humoured. Now it becomes thoughtful in a wait-a-minute kind of way. “You mean since you joined the Saviours of Planet Earth, right?”

Like Sicilee’s friends, Maya’s are pretty much unanimous in thinking that she’s crazy for joining the Environmental Club. Mallory said that it was about as cool as wearing pantyhose. Shayla said that it was more like wearing surgical stockings. Finn wanted to know if she’d lost a bet. Shelby said that he, for one, had better things to do than fish tin cans out of the Pascasett River. Brion said he could think of better things to hug than trees. But it’s Jason who’s been the most sarcastic and scathing. Jason who said that, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she only joined because she had a crush on Clemens – and said it without any hint of a smile.

“Anybody who’s serious about what’s happening knows that going vegan is one of the best things you can do. Even the UN says so.”

Jason nods. “So that means your friend Cody Lightfoot’s vegan, right?”

Maya can feel herself starting to blush. “Cody? What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Jason gestures vaguely. “Maybe the fact that every other sentence out of your mouth is: Cody says this or Cody says that…”

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” says Maya, already starting to push her cart. “My mother’s waiting in the car.”