“Do I have the wrong classroom?” Maggie stepped back to look at the number above the door.
“Why would you ask such a thing?” Electra asked sweetly, dumping the contents of a brown paper grocery bag onto the snack table.
“Kit Kats, Rolos, Snickers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Reese’s Pieces, M&M’s, Nestlé Crunch, Butterfingers, Baby Ruths, Mounds, Whoppers, Almond Joy, Twix, Dots, gummi bears, gummi worms, Starburst, Skittles, Swedish Fish, and Twizzlers,” Maggie said, reading the familiar labels as she neared the snack table. “Am I being punished for something?”
“Don’t forget Ding Dongs, Ho Hos, Twinkies, Pop-Tarts, Chips Ahoy!, Oreos, Nutter Butters, and every flavor of Girl Scout cookie.” Electra leaned toward Maggie. “The photo slideshow I got. The sugar overdose is still a mystery.”
“Arnie,” Maggie called across the room, “has Splenda knocked sugar completely out of the junk-food ring?”
“Come see this.” He smiled over his laptop screen.
“What’s with the trick-or-treat-bag explosion?”
“You’ll find out,” he said quickly, turning the laptop toward her. “Look.”
“‘Dear Arnie and Maggie,’” Maggie read. “‘Congratulations on your weight-loss success, and thank you for sharing your experience with kids all over the country. Because you care, our children will be healthier and happier. Many thanks, Deb V., Hoboken, New Jersey.’” She looked at him. “Hoboken?”
“It’s our very first message on our new message boards,” he said, typing quickly. “People can exchange notes on a variety of topics, including everything from fun snack suggestions to favorite movies.”
“What’s that flashing box at the bottom of the screen?”
Arnie clicked on it, and the box grew to reveal lines of moving text. “Chat room.”
Maggie gasped. “Those are real people in there right now?”
“People have been in there since noon. I launched it at eleven forty-five.”
“Mostly where they’re from, how old they are, where they go to school. But that’s just the beginning. It’s what we did with the kids here last week. It’s part of building trust, which is so essential to the weight-loss process.”
“Arnie,” Maggie said, throwing both arms around his shoulders and squeezing, “it’s actually working.”
“And I played with the layout some more, and added the recipes you e-mailed—which were great, by the way. I already tried the baked whole wheat pita crisps with low-fat spinach dip. Delicious. I also added a few of my favorite songs that make jogging feel less like the torture it really is—Pearl Jam, Coldplay, and Enrique Iglesias.”
“You have quite an ear.”
“You can add yours, too. And then other people can submit their songs, and we can make a whole Patrol This mix. And maybe even get it on iTunes.”
“How long did it take you to do all this?” Maggie asked in awe.
He shrugged. “Not long.”
“Right.”
“Okay, more than a few hours. But it’s fun.” He clicked out of the website and closed the laptop.
“Hi, Arnie! Hi, Maggie!”
“Hey there, Lucy Goose!” Arnie held out one hand as Lucy ran at him full-speed. “What’re we doing today?” she asked, smacking Arnie’s hand so hard with her own, he flinched.
“That’s a very good question, Lucy.” Maggie smiled.
“Guys,” Lucy’s mother called, her voice simultaneously confused and concerned, “there’s enough sugar here to put a nondiabetic into a coma.”
“What is with the sweets?” Maggie whispered as Lucy joined her mother and the other arriving kids and parents near the snack table.
“Everything in small doses,” he said with a grin—as though that served as an explanation—before standing and addressing the room. “Okay, everyone, we’ll get to the candy eventually, I promise. But first we have some boring business stuff to take care of.”
Maggie joined him when he leaned against the front edge of the teacher’s desk.
“So, how’re we doing?” Arnie clapped his palms together. “Good week all around?”
“I went miniature golfing,” Paolo announced.
“I saw three movies,” Margo added.
Arnie waited patiently for each update. “That’s great. Sounds like you’re keeping busy and having fun. We’re going to have fun today, too. But first, let me run something by you.”
Maggie watched the kids and parents watch Arnie curiously.
“You know there are a few things we have to do here—things that if we didn’t do, Maggie and I would have no way of knowing if we were helping you the way we should.”
“Oh, no,” Hannah groaned dramatically.
Arnie laughed. “How do you know what I’m going to say?”
“It’s the scale.” She shook her head. “I just know it’s the scale.”
“Okay,” Arnie conceded. “It is the scale—”
The room filled with boos and jeers as the rest of the kids echoed Hannah’s reaction.
“But I promise it’ll be super fast, easy, and pain-free. See that silver curtain over there? It’s been scientifically tested for visibility and privacy—no one can see in, and no one can see out. All you’ll need to do is hop on, let Maggie fiddle with the bar and talk about how much she hates scales, hop off, and you’re done.”
“I really do hate scales,” Maggie added, hoping the shared sentiment would help the kids feel more comfortable.
“Who doesn’t? But we promise that no one but you, Maggie, and eventually me will know what happens behind that curtain.”
“And the parents,” Margo’s mom reminded him.
“Nope.” Arnie shook his head. “Not even the parents. Unless the kids want to share themselves, but that’s up to them.”
Maggie watched the kids sit quietly in their chairs. They didn’t look like they were getting ready to go to Disney World, but they didn’t look like they were about to run screaming from the room either.
“So what do we say? Under a minute each, and then it’s on to fun stuff?”
“Let’s get it over with,” Jack said, glancing around at the other kids.
“Great! Love the enthusiasm.” Arnie turned, leaned across the desk, and grabbed a plastic bag from the floor by the chair. “Look alive, Jack.”
Jack grinned, the looming pain of the scale temporarily eased, when he caught the blue Frisbee.
“That there is a little piece of blue plastic fun, and shameless promotion for our all-new, really cool website.”
“‘www.PatrolThis.com,’” Jack read from the top of the Frisbee.
“We’re going to toss it around outside while everyone takes turns behind the silver curtain, and later, when you get home and can’t stop thinking about just how much fun you had today, you can refer to your very own Frisbee—which you’ll receive at the end of the meeting—visit the website, play around, and shoot us an e-mail to tell us what you think.”
“Brilliant.” Maggie patted Arnie on the back as the kids and parents got up to head outside.
Not only was it an easy way to get kids to exercise and an excellent marketing tool, the Frisbee was also a great distraction. So great that when Maggie asked Hannah if she’d like to go behind the silver curtain first, she dragged her feet because she watched everyone go outside through the door at the back of the classroom, and not because she dreaded getting on the scale.
“Can we make this quick, please?” she asked politely.
“Absolutely.” Maggie held up Electra’s silver cape for them to duck under.
“Do you really hate scales?” Hannah kicked off her shoes and stepped on to the small platform.
“I really do. I used to hate them more than anything, but now I know they’re meant for good, not evil.” Maggie waited for the scale’s bar to stop moving, and adjusted the weights.
“Is Arnie your boyfriend?”
“He’s cute. And funny.”
Watching the bar balance, Maggie nodded. “He is definitely both of those things.”
“So is he?” Hannah looked at her and smiled, as though she knew something Maggie didn’t. “Your boyfriend?”
“Nope, we’re just friends. Really good friends. Best friends, in fact.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to clarify so thoroughly, but she guessed it had something to do with the way Ben’s face sprang to mind at the term “boyfriend.”
“I hope I have a boyfriend someday.” Hannah glanced quickly at the metal bar before looking down and sighing.
“You will. I promise,” Maggie said gently, knowing the feeling all too well. She confirmed Hannah’s weight, marked it on the yellow piece of construction paper (less intimidating than a clipboard, but just as effective), and slid the square weights back to the end of the metal bar. “Okay, all set. Do you want to know what the scale said?”
Hannah hopped off, put on her shoes, and looked at Maggie like she was joking.
“Got it.” Maggie grinned and held up the silver cape for Hannah to duck under. “Great job. Can you send in Margo, please?”
As Maggie continued the weigh-in, she noticed each kid seemed happier—and sweatier—than the one before. They were so excited to get back outside, it was all they could do to stand still long enough for the metal bar to adjust and Maggie to write down the number. When she’d recorded the very last weight, she emerged from the makeshift silver tent, carefully tucked the construction paper in a folder, put the folder in Arnie’s backpack (so there was no chance of accidental information sharing), and headed for the door at the back of the classroom.
Arnie and the kids ran around the large courtyard, tossing, catching, and dropping the Frisbee. The parents stood at the edge of the lawn, talking and shaking their heads in wonder. Maggie guessed it was probably the first time they’d seen their children exercise in a very long time.
“Okay!” Arnie caught the Frisbee and held on to it when he spotted Maggie in the doorway. “That was awesome. Let’s slow down, catch our breaths, and head back in.”
“Pure genius,” Maggie whispered to Arnie as everyone filed into the classroom.
He ruffled her hair and grabbed two cups of water from the snack table. “So,” he said after they’d reached the teacher’s desk and everyone else had taken their seats and quieted down. “Who likes candy? Cookies? Cake?”
When the kids exchanged confused looks, silently asking one another if it was a trick question, Maggie shot one arm in the air. “Reese’s Pieces. Candy-coated peanut-butter pellets of bliss.”
“I’m an Almond Joy fan, myself,” Arnie admitted, raising his hand. “Coconut, almonds—it’s like a chocolaty tropical vacation.”
“I like Snickers, but my parents said I shouldn’t eat them,” Alex said, and pouted at his mom.
“Well, why don’t you all head over to the snack table and pick out your favorite treat—the one thing you dream of when you want something sweet.”
The kids stood uncertainly from their chairs and headed for the snack table. Five seconds later, they were much more relaxed as they sifted through the extensive selection and made their picks.
“Great choices,” Arnie said when the kids returned to their seats. “Now, here’s what I want you to think about. Alex’s parents are right: There are much better, healthier snack choices out there than chocolate and cookies. But everything—even Snickers, Almond Joys, and Reese’s Pieces—is okay once in a while. The trick is to not eat two candy bars every day, but maybe one every week. So, I want you to take that candy home with you today and see if you can hold on to it until our meeting next week. If you can, and if you still want it by then, we’ll all eat together.”
They spent the rest of the meeting talking about all their favorite foods, and why sometimes they craved pizza, and other times ice-cream sundaes. After a while, even the parents—who had seemed initially unhappy with the introduction of candy—chimed in with their favorite pasta dishes and accompanying wines (a tangent Arnie brought back to kid-friendly by talking about his love of Dr Pepper). They talked until it was time to go, and then a few minutes past then, since no one seemed in an especially big hurry to leave. When the classroom was finally empty, Maggie and Arnie flopped into two desk chairs, simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted.
“Have I told you how amazing you are?” Maggie shook her head. “Frisbees, candy, the website … soon every kid in the neighborhood is going to want to join our little club, even if they don’t have any weight to lose.”
“It’s a team effort. We’re a team.”
“But you’re doing most of the work. What can I do to help?”
“We’ll talk about it when we plan next week. To start, you can always add your photo slideshow and story to the website.”
“Sorry.” Maggie winced. “I know I was supposed to do that.” She’d promised him last week that she’d have it done for this week. But that was before her life had taken a slight, unexpected detour.
“It’s no big deal. But it’d be great for little girls to have a mature woman’s perspective.” He grinned.
“I know. And I’ll get the pictures, I promise.”
He tilted back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “We should celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“You and me. We should go out on the boat.”
“Sure. That’d be great.”
“How about this weekend?”
Maggie paused. She’d already made plans to see a movie with Ben, Polly, and Jason on Friday, and to go shopping with Polly on Saturday. “I’m kind of busy this weekend.”
“Oh. Okay. How about the weekend after that?”
She chewed her lip. She didn’t have plans for the weekend after that, but wanted to keep it open, just in case. “Can we talk about it next week? I’m just not sure what my schedule’s like.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Not sure why she was suddenly nervous, Maggie jumped from the chair and started collecting the leftover candy.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell Arnie about her new friends (she knew he’d be happy that the job was working out so well); she just didn’t feel like answering any questions the topic might bring. Besides, her life with Arnie was entirely separate from her life with Ben, Polly, and Jason. And right now, she wanted to keep it that way.