Help! I'm Trapped in a Supermodel's Body Page 2

  "Jake, can I have your autograph?" he asked. Andy frowned "What do you want Jake's autograph for?"

  "He's famous," said the kid.

  I signed my name with a flourish.

  "Gee, thanks!" the kid said. "This is so cool! Wait till my friends see!"

  My friends and I continued down the hall. "Would someone please explain to me what makes you famous?" Josh asked.

  "I guess if you know somebody superfamous, it must make you famous," I said.

  "Reality check," Josh said. "You don't know Lanny Shanks. You've never even met her. And believe me, she doesn't even know you exist."

  "Okay, fine, then I'm just semifamous," I said.

  "What does that mean?" Andy asked.

  "Well, if you're famous when you know someone who's superfamous, then you're semifamous when you don't know them," I said.

  "Then everyone's semifamous," Josh argued. "No," I said. "You can only be semifamous if you're going to know someone superfamous."

  Josh and Andy glanced at each other.

  "Do you want to kill him, or should I?" Josh asked.

  "We don't have to." Andy nodded down the hall. "Amanda's going to do it for us."

  8

  At the end of the hall, just outside the cafetorium doors, Amanda was standing on a chair and taping up a poster that said:

  MEDIA STEREOTYPES CAUSE LOW SELF-ESTEEM IN WOMEN

  Already up on the wall were posters that said:

  THE FACTS ABOUT EATING DISORDERS and THE FACTS ABOUT BODY IMAGE and WHAT APPEARANCE MESSAGES MEAN TO YOU

  My friends and I stopped as Amanda climbed down from the chair.

  "What's this all about?" Josh asked.

  "It's about the warped way that people expect women to look," Amanda replied. "Especially you, Jake Sherman."

  "Why me?" I asked.

  Snork! Amanda made that sound. "Because you've bought into the whole model-as-perfect woman package."

  "I have?" I said.

  "You've been brainwashed by . . . Snork! . . . the media to believe in unrealistic body types," Amanda announced.

  "I have?" I said.

  "You entered that . . . Snork! . . . contest to be a supermodel's assistant, didn't you?" Amanda asked.

  "Not really," I said, then pointed at my friends. "These two bozos entered me."

  Josh pointed at Andy. "It was him."

  Andy pointed back at Josh. "No, it was him." "You're such a liar," said Josh.

  "You're the liar," Andy said. "And you've got an eating disorder. You can't stop eating."

  "Well, you've got an appearance disorder," Josh shot back. "You can't stop being ugly."

  "Oh, yeah? Your mother has an appearance disorder," Andy said. "A Halloween pumpkin has more teeth than her."

  "Your father has a brain disorder," Josh yelled. "He walks you to school because you're in the same grade."

  "Your mother has a brain disorder," Andy shouted back. "She's so stupid she sits on the TV and watches the couch!"

  "Stop it!" Amanda screamed.

  Andy and Josh stopped and stared at her. I'm not sure any of us had ever heard Amanda yell so loudly.

  "Snork! . . . You've all got disorders," Amanda

  announced. "You all think that . . . Snork! . . . women have to be thin and shapely and beautiful."

  My friends and I shared puzzled looks. The truth was, except for the occasional MTV babe, I don't think we ever really thought about thin, shapely, or beautiful.

  "You are the problem," Amanda said.

  "Wait a minute," said Josh. "Don't you and your mom have a huge Barbie collection?"

  "So?" Amanda said.

  "Talk about an unrealistic body type," said Josh.

  "But she's . . . Snork! . . . a doll," argued Amanda.

  "A doll almost every little girl plays with," I said.

  "Don't you think little girls wish they could look like Barbie someday?" Josh asked.

  "Forget about Bad-Breath Barbie and Belly-Lint Barbie," said Andy. "They ought to have Unrealistic-Body-type Barbie."

  "But that would be every Barbie," I said.

  Amanda's eyes began to well up with tears. "Stop it! This has . . . Snork! . . . nothing to do . . . Snork! . . . with Barbie! You . . . Snork! . . leave her out of this!"

  "You think if Barbie was shaped like Jabba the Hutt she'd be the best-selling doll in history?" Josh asked.

  "Forget it," said Andy. "You wouldn't even be able to give her away."

  "Why . . . Snork! . . . do you always . . . Snork! . . . have to pick on Barbie?" Amanda wailed.

  "We're just trying to show you that the reason you like Barbie dolls is because they have the exact kind of bodies you say we shouldn't like," I said.

  "No!" Amanda cried.

  "Oh, yeah?" said Andy. "Then where's your Potbelly Barbie?"

  "They never .. . Snork! . . . made one!" Amanda sobbed.

  "How about Cellulite Barbie?" suggested Josh. "Wide-Bottom Barbie," I said.

  "Love-Handle Barbie," said Andy.

  "Big-Butt Barbie," said Josh.

  Amanda clamped her hands over her ears and screamed, "Stop it! Just . . . Snork! . . . stop it!" Then she ran away down the hall.

  "Tsk, tsk." Andy shook his head. "The truth hurts."

  9

  The rest of the day was pure Supermodel Mayhem. I was glad when school was over and there was no one left to ask me to get them Lanny Shanks's autograph or address or phone number. I got home and went into the kitchen for a snack. The kitchen table was covered with magazines like Glamour and Seventeen and In Style.

  They were all opened to ads featuring one model. She was tall and thin (no duh! she was a model, for pete's sake!) with thick, shiny blond hair, large, sparkling blue eyes, and the straightest, whitest, most perfect teeth any smile had ever revealed.

  I heard the toilet next to the kitchen flush, and then the bathroom door creaked and Jessica came out humming to herself.

  "You really ought to wash your hands," I said. "Drop dead," she growled.

  I gestured to the open magazines on the

  kitchen table. "I thought you didn't read magazines like these."

  Jessica shrugged. "I was just curious."

  "About what?" I asked.

  My sister frowned at me. "You don't know who that is?"

  I shook my head.

  "It's Lanny Shanks, you bonehead."

  I looked again at the model in the magazines. Lanny Shanks was without a doubt a Major Babe. In fact, she pretty much out-babed all other babes.

  "Look at her," Jessica muttered. "See how thin she is? She's a freak. She probably lives on cigarettes, vitamin C, and bottled water. She probably had most of her back teeth pulled out to make her face look thinner. I'll bet she's had a nose job, an eye job, a chin job, a boob job, cheekbones, lips, the works."

  "What do they do to your lips?" I asked. "Inject collagen to make them look fuller," Jessica said.

  I winced. "Inject with needles? Into her lips?"

  My sister looked at me like I was an idiot. "What cave have you been living in? This is the twenty-first century. With enough money and operations anyone can be beautiful."

  "Even Amanda Gluck?" I asked.

  Jessica thought for a second. "Okay, almost anyone."

  The phone rang, and my sister answered. "Hello? Yes, this is the Sherman residence. Who? Jake? He's right here. Oh. Really? Hold on."

  My sister put her hand over the receiver and held the phone out to me. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she whispered, "It's Lanny Shanks's personal secretary!"

  10

  I took the phone. "Hello?"

  "Jake?" a gruff-sounding woman said. "This is Shiela Shield. Congratulations on winning the contest. Now let's get down to business. Got a piece of paper and a pencil?"

  "Sure." I quickly found both. Shiela Shield sounded like the no-nonsense type. The next thing I knew, she was dictating a grocery list to me — lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, avocados, and other stuff.
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  "I expect to see you and those groceries at Lanny's trailer at the Jeffersonville Mall at five A.M. the day after tomorrow." Shiela sounded really busy and eager to get off the phone.

  "Don't you mean five o'clock in the afternoon?" I asked. "Five A.M. means five o'clock in the morning."

  "I know what five A.M. means," Shiela snapped. "If you don't want to be there, I'm sure we can find someone else to be Lanny's personal assistant."

  "No, no, I'll be there."

  "Good." Shiela Shield hung up.

  "What did she want?" Jessica asked as soon as I replaced the receiver on the hook. I told her about the vegetables and having to be at the Jeffersonville Mall at five o'clock in the morning.

  My sister frowned. "The mall isn't open at five A.M."

  "No, duh," I said.

  Jessica went to the refrigerator. "Want something to drink, Jake?"

  "Uh, sure," I answered. It was kind of strange for my sister to offer to get me something. Jessica came back to the kitchen table with a couple of Cokes.

  "So whatever happened to that miniature version of Mr. Dirksen's body-switching machine?" my sister asked casually.

  "You mean, the Mini-DITS?"

  "Whatever," Jessica replied.

  "It's around somewhere," I said.

  "When you say somewhere, you mean, like here in the house?"

  I nodded. "Why do you want to know?"

  "Oh, no particular reason." Jessica gazed off and didn't say anything more.

  11

  Iwas just about to leave for school the next morning when I had the weirdest feeling. It had something to do with the way Jessica had acted the night before. I went up to my room, dug the Mini-DITS out from under the pile of dirty clothes in the back of my closet, and put it in my backpack. Just to be safe, I decided to take it to school.

  Later at school, I was taking the Mini-DITS out of my backpack to hide under the pile of dirty clothes in the bottom of my locker when Amanda Gluck shoved a clipboard under my nose.

  "Jake, I . . . Snork! . . . think you should be the first to sign my — "

  Clunk! The Mini-DITS slipped out of my hands and hit the floor.

  "You're not . . . Snork! . . . supposed to have a portable disc player in school," Ms. Goody Two-shoes said, as I quickly scooped up the Mini-DITS and shoved it into my locker.

  "It's not a portable disc player," I blurted.

  "Than what . . . Snork! . . . is it?" Amanda asked.

  Darn! I thought. I'd just made a major mistake. If I'd had half a brain I would have said it was a portable disc player. Now what could I tell her?

  "It's nothing."

  "Nothing?" Amanda repeated.

  "Just a thing," I said.

  "A . . . Snork! . . . thing?"

  "A thingie thing."

  Amanda gave me a suspicious look. I knew I had to distract her so I pointed at the clipboard. "What's that?"

  "A petition." This was no surprise. At least once a week Amanda had some petition she wanted everyone to sign. "I've organized a new . . . Snork! . . . group called Students Against Unrealistic Body Images."

  "SAUBI," I said.

  "Huh?"

  "It's the acronym for your new group," I explained.

  "Whatever," said Amanda. "I just . . . Snork!

  . . . think it would be a really . . . Snork! . . . good gesture on your part to be the . . . Snork! . . . first to sign it."

  Normally I didn't sign Amanda's petitions, but I was so eager to keep her distracted from the Mini-DITS that I took the clipboard. But before I could sign it, we were suddenly surrounded by a group of kids, mostly sixth-grade girls.

  "Did you meet her, Jake?" asked one.

  "Did you get her autograph?" asked another. "Was Angus with her?" a third asked.

  Amanda turned on them. "How . . . Snork! . . . can you care about dumb things like that? Don't you realize you're . . . Snork! . . . all victims of a vast corporate and media plot to . . . Snork! . . . make women feel insecure about their body images?"

  "What are you talking about?" one of the sixth-grade girls asked.

  "Why are you making that weird sound?" asked another.

  "Forget . . . Snork! . . . the sound," said Amanda. "I'm . . . Snork! ... talking about how all these drug and cosmetic and clothing and weight-loss companies are . . . Snork! ... trying to brainwash you into thinking you have to be thin and beautiful."

  "You really ought to get your nose fixed," said one of the girls.

  "Besides, we want to be thin and beautiful," said the second.

  "We don't have to be brainwashed," the third said.

  "But that's . . . Snork! . . . my point!" insisted Amanda. "The very . . . Snork! . . . fact that you want to be thin and beautiful means . . . Snork! ... you've been brainwashed."

  "Don't you want to be thin and beautiful?" one of the sixth-graders asked Amanda.

  "Never!" Amanda replied in a huff.

  "You're weird," one of them said.

  "Definitely," agreed another.

  "And you make funny sounds," added a third.

  "But you only think that . . . Snork! ... because you've been brainwashed," Amanda insisted.

  "Okay, fine," the third said. "We've been brainwashed. Maybe we like being brainwashed." She turned to me. "So what's Lanny like?"

  "I haven't met her yet," I said.

  "Oh." All three girls looked disappointed. They turned to leave.

  "But you haven't . . . Snork! ... signed my petition," Amanda said.

  "We can't," one said.

  "We've been brainwashed," said the second. "Get your nose fixed," added the third.

  12

  For the rest of the day I could hardly set foot in the hall or in a classroom without someone asking if I'd met Lanny Shanks. Even Principal Blanco asked. At the end of the school day I headed for my locker to dump some books. Josh and Andy were waiting for me.

  "Ready?" Andy asked.

  "For what?" I asked.

  "To get Lanny's veggies," said Josh.

  "Yeah, well, that's where I'm going," I said. "Us, too," said Andy.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "We're your assistants," Andy announced. "The assistants to the assistant," Josh said. "You guys are sick," I mumbled.

  "Then we're the sick assistants to the assistant," said Andy.

  "Just call us the assistants," said Josh.

  We left school and started down the sidewalk toward town.

  "All I'm doing is going to buy vegetables,

  guys," I said.

  "We know," said Andy.

  "It's not exactly a big thrill," I said.

  "It's okay," said Josh.

  "Lanny's not going to be there," I said.

  "Roger that," said Andy.

  "You guys have never wanted to buy vegetables with me before," I said.

  "We've changed," said Andy.

  We kept walking. It didn't make sense. Why would Josh and Andy want to go shopping with me? Then I sensed something funny and looked back. About twenty yards behind us was a crowd

  of kids. When I stopped, they stopped.

  "What's going on?" I asked my friends.

  "I don't know," Josh answered.

  "What are those kids doing?" I asked.

  "What kids?" Andy asked.

  I pointed. "Those kids, butt brain."

  "Oh, those kids." Andy shrugged. "You got me."

  "What kind of scam are you guys pulling?" I asked.

  "Scam?" Josh repeated innocently. "Us? We don't know what you're talking about."

  "Right." I didn't believe him for a second.

  "They just feel like following us for no reason."

  "Stranger things have happened," Josh said.

  At the supermarket I got a cart. Josh and Andy stopped outside. The crowd of kids stopped about twenty feet away.

  "Aren't you guys coming in?" I asked my friends.

  "Naw, we'll wait out here," Andy said.

  "I thought you wanted to go veg
gie shopping with me," I said.

  "This is okay," said Josh.

  That was fine with me. I went inside and headed for the fresh produce department. Shiela Shield had told me to get fresh carrots. Not the kind that came in a bag, but the kind that were bundled with a rubber band and had bushy green tops. I picked out a fresh-looking bundle. When I turned to put it in the cart, a girl was standing behind me.

  "Could I have a tip of one of the carrots?" she asked.

  "Uh, okay." I broke off an inch of carrot and gave it to her.

  "Thanks a lot!" She turned and left.

  Next I stopped to get lettuce. When I turned to put it in the cart, there was another girl behind me.

  "Can I have a leaf of the lettuce?" she asked.

  I gave her a leaf and she took off.

  That's how it went the whole time I was in the store. Every time I turned around, another kid was waiting to get a little piece of whatever I'd picked. And whether it was the green part of a strawberry or a leafy stalk of celery, they were totally thrilled.

  Josh and Andy were still outside when I left the store. They both had big grins on their faces. The crowd of kids was gone. We started walking toward my house.

  "Here you go, dude." Josh handed me a small wad of dollar bills.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "Your cut," said Andy.

  "My cut of what?" I asked.

  "Your cut of 'Share a Meal with a Super-model,' " Josh explained. "Remember that crowd of kids? Each one of them now has a little piece of a meal with Lanny Shanks."

  I looked down at the money in my hand and back at my friends. "You charged them money for those little pieces of carrots and lettuce?"

  "Why not?" Josh asked.

  "It wasn't like we twisted their arms," said Andy. "They wanted to pay us. They begged us."

  I shoved the money back into Andy's hand. "You guys are crooks. I don't want any part of this."

  Andy tried to give the money to me again. "Come on, Jake. Take your cut. We couldn't have done it without you."

  "No."

  "Come on," Andy tried again.

  "Forget it, Andy," Josh said. "Jake doesn't want it."

  "But it's not right," Andy argued.

  "Maybe not," agreed Josh. "But we can't force him to take the money, can we?"