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  The Fat BOY

  Chronicles

  INSPIRED BY A TRUE STORY

  BY MICHAEL BUCHANAN

  & DIANE LANG

  Dedicated to

  Cincinnati Children’s

  Hospital medical Center

  PROLOGUE

  Middle school stunk big time. I mean the “stink up the toilet” kind of stunk. Worse than a garbage dump. You know, where you’re picked on every day because you’re the big fat kid with the Harry Potter glasses that are too small for your big fat face. And you’re forced to wear those XXL rugby shirts that are made for overweight kids with big fat bodies. It was that bad. No kidding. Rough is not the word for it.

  I tried to laugh off the fat jokes and the “let’s make fun of Jimmy” free–for–alls, but nothing ever changed. Other than my “fun–filled” days at school, I spent my 8th grade year in my room studying and playing games on the Internet. I only had one real friend—Paul Grove. But, his class schedule got all messed up, so I hardly saw him at school. Besides, he was suspended half the time.

  Just when I thought I was doomed to another year of “Not–So–Slim–Jimmy,” we moved one school district away. That means I’ll have a chance to start all over and meet new people and make new friends. I can’t wait for high school because nobody knows me there.

  My sister will be a junior this year, and she says high school is much better. Jessica thinks most guys act like dorks in middle school. My parents think she’s a saint. They have no idea what a wild child she is. They can be so clueless sometimes.

  Maybe I really will make new friends this year. Maybe I’ll even have someone to sit with at lunch. Mom says tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Duh, no kidding. It’s at least the first day of my high school life. It has to be better than that garbage dump I went to last year.

  Mom also says that hope springs eternal. She’s big on clichés. I just hope she’s right.

  Tuesday, 8–15

  Hey, Mrs. Pope. I’m the diet–challenged kid who sits in the last seat by the door. I’m probably bigger now than I was this morning because your class is right after lunch and homeroom. I stay in the back so you don’t have to constantly hear, “We can’t see around Jimmy!” Just trying to help out. Besides, you can see a lot back here in the cheap seats. Like how nobody wants to do this stupid journal.

  Man, I don’t get teachers. Why do you guys pile it on the first day of school? Can’t you let us get used to the idea that summer is really over, before you stick it to us? Man, this journal thing has me bummed, big time. Three half–pages a week is tough. That’s so NOT cool. It may not seem like much to you (Hello! You’re an English teacher), but for kids like me, it stinks. That’s almost two pages every week for an entire school year. Why don’t you just ask us to write the great American novel and say it’s due in June? It’s not as bad for the girls. They keep diaries and write notes to each other nonstop. They write really big, too. Just to take up space. That’s so fake.

  Like any of us are going to write more than three times a week. Half the kids won’t even do that. It’s too much to expect from us. I don’t have that much to write about anyway.

  No offense, but some of the topics you suggested are cheesy, like “describe your room.” My room has four walls, a bed and a dresser. I have a built–in desk with a lamp. Last week my mother and I pasted glow–in–the–dark stars on my ceiling. Okay, that’s pretty cool. But now what do I write about?

  English teachers should have their students write essays about current events like we did last year in middle school, not just any stuff you want to write about. What’s the point of that? There’s enough garbage in the world already.

  You said to write really fast even if it makes no sense, so here I am writing a journal that makes no sense, or is that nonsense, or maybe nose sense, or stupid sense, or, in my pocket are no cents, or the locker room has lots of scents. So, I’m done. There’s my OVER a half–page. Sorry this is stupid, but what do you expect from a high school kid? Hope you enjoyed me ruining a tree.

  Wednesday, 8–16

  If you really are reading this, I’m surprised. My English teacher two years ago made us keep a journal and she never read them. We got check marks and either “that’s nice” or “good work” comments. I could’ve written that I was a space alien and she would’ve put, “That’s nice.” She collected everyone’s journal at the same time though. Your way is better—a different row every week. That way you might have time to actually read them.

  You said that if we didn’t want you to read something in here, we should fold it and label it Please Don’t Read This Page. How do we know you really won’t read it? What if we don’t feel like writing three journals a week, and just write the same thing over and over again? You really couldn’t do anything about it, because if we marked two of them Please Don’t Read This Page, you couldn’t admit that you really read them, or the class would think you were a scammer. And if you don’t make comments unless we ask you to, what’s the point of writing a journal? You’re supposed to give us feedback about our writing. I don’t get your whole thing about “freeing our writing muse” (I didn’t know my muse was locked up) and “oiling our inner tin man.” Some people might think you’re really weird. Not me though. Ever since my mom made me watch Dead Poet’s Society, I’ve kinda expected English teachers to be “out there.”

  But I’m not sure how we’re going to “free our muse” if we think our English teacher might read our stuff. Like we’re going to write anything bad. I’m not the sort of kid who gets into trouble or uses bad language, so I don’t have anything to worry about anyway. But what if I was a smoker or doing drugs or something? Or had girlfriends? Like I would write about all that in here. Besides, a kid like me having a girlfriend? Yeah, right.

  I think your class will be okay. I’m excited about high school and learning things. I don’t play sports. I would like to be on a team but can’t right now because of my weight. And contact lenses would help. Last time I tried out for club soccer, I kept losing my glasses. It was a real pain.

  We moved here over the summer, so I don’t have many friends yet. It’s bad enough being a freshman and getting picked on all the time by the older kids, but it’s worse when you don’t have anyone to share the grief with.

  If you really are reading this, I have a request. Can you move Ricky Stockton away from me? He smells really bad.

  Friday, 8–18

  Hanover High’s a lot bigger than Adams Middle. It takes forever to get from the math hall to the foreign language hall. And we only have five minutes between classes, which sucks. It’s too far to go to my locker and if I do, I have a hard time getting to class on time. Yesterday, I went to the wrong class during 3rd period. I sat in social studies for like ten minutes before I realized I was in the right room, but I was an hour early. I got my schedule all mixed up and I was supposed to be in Spanish. My teacher didn’t realize until he called roll. It was embarrassing to walk out while everybody laughed.

  At lunch, we have to eat so fast, by the time I get there and get my tray, I’ve only got a few minutes left. I mean, this isn’t an eating contest at the county fair, where you stuff as many hot dogs and pies in your face as you can. Actually, that sounds pretty good right now, cause I’m hungry.

  I haven’t
found many people to sit with yet. Just a few kids, mostly girls, from my youth group. It’s hard being in a new school where you don’t know hardly any guys, except this one kid from my old school, but he’s a real jerk.

  Your class is okay but algebra really inhales, if you know what I mean. The teacher writes on the overhead all period and then gives us worksheets. I can hardly stay awake. If it wasn’t for Scott, the kid who sits next to me, I would go to sleep. He has “stomach problems” and it keeps us up. When Mr. L walked by, he coughed and looked straight at me. I put my hands up and shook my head and said I didn’t do it. Mr. L smirked and went back to his projector.

  Monday, 8–21

  School really sucks. I hate it here. Middle school was bad, but at least people talked to me. Sometimes.

  Tuesday, 8–22

  On the bus ride home today, I sat with a kid named Allen. He’s overweight, but in a worse way than me. I mean, he’s not any bigger than me, he just doesn’t get it. Like, he wears these big pants that hang too far down, and you can see his underwear and sometimes a little more. The girls think it’s gross and scream whenever his pants creep down too much. And his shirts are too short and half his gut hangs out. Sometimes, he really asks for all the grief he gets. Then he smiles all the time and tries to talk to people. Everyone ignores him, and I tried to, but got caught sitting with him in the front of the bus, which was a big mistake because we got bombed with paper wads. Then someone yelled for the bus driver to split us up—they said we were making the bus lean to one side. The driver hollered at everyone for messing up her bus, then made Allen and me pick up all the paper at our feet. Allen was huffing and puffing the whole time, and when we sat back down his face was really red. Of course, the rest of the bus cracked up laughing. Ha, ha. Real funny.

  Now, I’m sitting in my room writing this journal. I still think it’s a waste of time. I mean, who cares about my boring life? Hold on a minute. I don’t believe it. My pimple–faced sister is yelling at me because she thinks I went in her room and snooped on her laptop. Jessica thinks she’s cool because she’s two years older than me.

  Okay. She’s finally gone. She gets hysterical over nothing. I mean, what if I did get on her laptop? She must have something big time to hide. It’s like she’s making me want to get into her computer. I don’t have anything to hide on my laptop. I don’t get that many e–mails and none of my friends do the online chat stuff.

  She really scared Nanook, our dog. He’s supposed to be the family dog, but he likes hanging out with me the most. He’s a mutt, but he has a lot of sheepdog in him. When I’m playing my PS3, he likes to watch.

  Thursday, 8–24

  The teachers really pile on the homework in high school. My sister complained about it all the time last year; now I know why. Every teacher thinks their class is the only one. Not you. I like reading the short stories you’ve assigned so far. After reading the one about Doodle, I told my parents we should go to Florida to see a real ibis. My dad wanted to know why, so I told him about “The Scarlet Ibis.” He thought I should talk about it in youth group. I might but church is not supposed to be like school. No offense, but I don’t want to sound like an English teacher or anything, even though English is my favorite subject. (I’m not saying that just to suck up.)

  My dad said there’s so much pressure on kids today, it would be good to talk about some of the things in the story. I mean, look at Doodle. He died because his brother was ashamed of him and wanted him to be like everybody else. That’s sad because most kids will do anything to fit in, like smoking or stealing things from people’s garages. A lot of kids do worse things, like get into drinking and drugs. I tried chewing tobacco once, and hated it. I got so sick I turned green. My sister caught me and a friend from my old neighborhood chewing it and told on us. Boy, were my parents MAD. When I threw up in the front yard, my sister laughed at me. She can be a real jerk.

  My parents talk to me about peer pressure all the time, but they really don’t have to worry because I definitely do not fit in. Besides, there can’t be pressure if there’s not any peers. Maybe Doodle’s parents should have spent more time with him, but they were probably embarrassed by him too. After all, they had a coffin made for him right after he was born—that’s so NOT cool. If your own family’s not on your side, how does a kid have a chance at anything?

  Sunday, 8–27

  Last night I finished my HW early and played against my dad on the PS3. He thought he could beat me. It sets off a spark inside of me, hearing him say this, because I refuse to lose to a person who was born thirty years before video games were even invented. I’ve been playing since the age of four and know for certain I can always beat him. And, I did.

  Then, when I was watching a show on Animal Planet, my friend Paul called. He goes to Northview, but he’s in my youth group at church. He was all weirded out because a body was found in the woods behind his house—he and his dad watched the police carry it out. Even though there was a white sheet over the stretcher, Paul said the body appeared all lumpy under the sheet. Like they couldn’t lay it out straight. Like it had been in the woods for a long time.

  It’s creepy to think that a murderer dumped his victim a few hundred yards away from Paul’s bedroom. I mean, the killer could’ve walked right by his window. Paul said his dad’s been in a worse mood than usual because of it, and his mom’s been screaming constantly. His parents aren’t exactly what you’d call good examples, but Paul’s real cool. He thinks the dead person is from Michigan or something, and the killer drove for hours until he found a safe neighborhood to hide the body. There aren’t many murders in Hanover. In fact, until today, there weren’t any. Man, I can’t stop thinking about it. I hope I can fall asleep.

  Monday, 8–28

  I woke up this morning thinking about the dead body. Like, it’s not even a person yet. Just an “it.” The whole thing really freaks me out. It could be a kid or a grandpa—Paul thinks it’s probably some girl, since most bodies found in the woods are female. It finally made the news; I watched it this morning while I was eating Pop–Tarts.

  Man, the weekend went by way too fast. Last week was the longest and shortest week of my life. I felt like I was trapped going to school all week, but now it’s over. This schedule is too fast–paced for me. There are so many things to keep up with—go to my locker, get my books, hurry to class, take notes, and repeat the whole thing like seven times a day.

  Today was really hot, and it was even more disgusting than usual in the cafeteria. I don’t think the air conditioning is working in there. Allen eats lunch when I do, so I finally have someone to sit with. Not that sitting with Allen is the greatest. He stuffs food in his mouth as fast as he can, like he’s starving, and the other kids watch. Everything he brings for lunch really smells. I mean, why can’t he pack something normal like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? No, he has to bring tuna fish, salami, sausage, and rotten cheese. One day he even brought sardine sandwiches. That’s so not cool. I half expect him to bring pig’s feet or sheep brains. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Then he talks with his mouth open and it’s pretty disgusting. I try not to watch him, but he sits right in front of me.

  When he’s not stuffing his face, he’s okay and is into some really cool hobbies, like chess, Warcraft, and he has some serious Yu–gi–oh cards with heavy hit point potential. (Not that he’s trading.) He’s an online warrior like me. He’s actually kind of a legend in the gaming world. His online handle is KillingMachine and the dude earned it. I’ve seen him play and he is absolutely ruthless. I always imagined him to be some pumped–up Arnold the Terminator kind of guy. It just goes to show how much you can hide on the Internet. I wonder if any of the other kids at school know exactly who’s kicking their butts.

  Thursday, 8–31

  Mom’s making my lunch every day now, since I told her about not having much time to eat. She fixed two PBJ’s this morning, and I stuck them in my backpack. I forgot they were there and put books on top of them
. (I usually carry my lunch separately, but lately some kids on the bus have threatened to take it.) The sandwiches were squished as thin as a CD and the sticky grape jelly leaked through the paper sack and got all over my math book. At lunch, when I remembered I had sandwiches, I pulled them out and had to peel them off the bag. At least I provided entertainment for Allen.

  Allen and I talked some about the murder. He thought it was awesome that it happened practically in Paul’s backyard. Guess that makes Paul almost a celebrity. Paul says the police are all over the crime scene still, like 24/7. And, he said there’s been lots of news trucks in his neighborhood, some parked in front of his house.

  I hate having math second period; it’s all I can do to stay awake in there. Then today, in the middle of a really boring class, Mr. L gave us a riddle about sheep. He asked, “If a farmer had 26 sheep and one died, how many would he have left?” Almost all the class said 25, except for Scott, trying to be funny, replied “420.” Mr. L claimed that we were all wrong. I guess old men get pleasure from riddles that make about as much sense as a Popsicle stick joke. It drives me nuts.

  We also got our gym outfits in PE today. That means we’ll have to start dressing out soon. I wish I didn’t have to take PE.

  Saturday, 9–2

  It’s been all over the news—the dead body found behind Paul’s house. Just in time for Labor Day weekend. Kind of takes away from the whole family picnic scene. No one around here feels like celebrating much.

  In case you missed it, the victim was a seventeen–year–old girl from Wilmington High named Kimberly Taylor. We play them in football and they usually beat us. Wilmington is a nice, safe place like Hanover. Well, it used to be.

  My mom read about the murder in the Cincinnati Enquirer today. Under the cause of death it said, “Homicidal violence, type undetermined.” The police said Kimberly was wearing a Danskin hooded sweatshirt over a medium–top with sequins. She had a nose stud with a clear stone and a silver ring on her finger. Her boyfriend is the prime suspect. Paul thinks we should hide in the woods to see if anyone shows up. He read somewhere that the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.