The Fat Boy Chronicles Read online

  Monday, 9–4

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  Yesterday was the first day of dressing out in PE. I hoped it would be different here but I guess I was wrong. We wear a red shirt with Patriot PE on the front and shorts to match. I tried to find a locker over in the corner so I could change shirts without anybody noticing me. I didn’t realize that the football players use the corner I picked. I was already there when several came in, talking and cutting up. By the time I got my shirt and t–shirt off, I could tell they were looking at me. My neck turned hot with embarrassment and I faced away from them so they couldn’t see my chest. One of the guys said, “Hey, aren’t you in the wrong locker room? People with tits like that should be on the other side.” I didn’t turn around or answer him. I pulled my PE shirt down and crammed my things in my locker. I half ran through the benches, trying to get out of there as fast as I could. Just as I was pushing open the door to the gym, I heard Robb Thuman, the star quarterback, say, “Maybe our mascot should be the Tomatoes instead of the Patriots. We’ve got one right here.” Everyone was laughing. When I went in the gym, I sat on the bottom row so I wouldn’t have to climb the steps. Coach Bronner called roll. I raised my hand when he called my name and he looked at me over his glasses. “You don’t have to raise your hand, son. Just say ‘here.’” I said, “Yes, sir,” but he kept looking at me. In the stands behind me, Robb said, “Just say, ‘Tomato, present and accounted for.’” Coach cut his eyes up there but said nothing to him.

  When we got dressed after class, I waited till everyone was gone before I changed. They were all out in the hall ready to leave while I sat in the locker room. It really hurts to have someone say those things. Don’t they know that I try to be a good person, and that I would cheer for them at the football games? Like I wouldn’t want to be on the team, running all over and not sweating like crazy? They have it so easy and they pick on me. I mean, why are these guys in a class with a bunch of freshmen, anyway? So they can pick on us? Allen said some of them don’t need any more credits, so they take PE classes all day. What’s the point in that? So they can make kids like me miserable?

  I can hear Robb’s voice in my head. I’ll probably hear it in my sleep. When Mom came into my room last night, I had to pretend I was asleep so she wouldn’t know I had been crying.

  Tuesday, 9–5

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  Today’s my birthday—I just turned fifteen. One more year till I can get my driver’s license! Every birthday since I can remember, Mom measures my height. It’s a ritual for my sister and me. I measured 5’5”—two inches taller than last year. I’m glad Mom didn’t make me stand on the scale. I haven’t weighed myself since summer camp. Back then, I weighed close to two hundred; luckily, my counselor was the only one who saw the scale. He tried not to make a big deal out of it, but I could tell he felt bad for me. He gave me an extra dessert at dinner, which didn’t help my weight, but did make me feel special at the time.

  I’m in math class right now. It’s sooooo boring. I had all this stuff last year. Some of the kids don’t get it, so we have to go over everything again and again. They don’t understand simple things like variables and properties. When Mr. L asked what twice a number transfers into, hardly anybody answered. Then he put a bunch of examples on the board and we had to write them all down. It’s so easy—twice means times two, things like that.

  I know all this stuff from last year because I had a really good teacher. Some of the kids act like they’ve never heard of algebra, but I know they have. They just want the teacher to go slow so they don’t have to work as hard.

  The class is so rude to Mr. L I feel sorry for him, even though he is the most boring teacher I’ve ever had. At least he has an interesting classroom, with cool posters and real fossils lying around. He has an aquarium with goldfish and he lets us feed them since it’s early in the morning. Why does he continue to answer all their stupid questions? Can’t he see they’re laughing behind his back? Nate Hammer does it just to show off. I know him because he went to the same middle school as me in the seventh grade. He hasn’t changed at all. He still loves to make fun of people, especially me. His eyes sure did light up when he saw me walk into class. Probably like when a hawk sees a squirrel. A big squirrel.

  He has a huge crush on Whitney Elliot. She’s pretty and seems nice, too. I don’t know what she sees in Nate, but she always smiles at him. Her face gets all red. He’s what you’d call a jock—I call him a jerk, but he’s the most popular guy in our class. I swear he tries to make my life miserable. “It’s Slim Jim!” he said the first time he saw me in class. Everyone laughed.

  “It’s Not–So–Slimmy–Jimmy,” another kid joked. The class laughed again. Mr. L. quieted everyone down and I just wanted to disappear.

  This year I’m even bigger than last year. My parents don’t say much about my weight, but I know they’re worried. I don’t understand why I’m so fat. My friends at youth group eat more than I do, but they never gain weight.

  Mr. L. keeps yelling for everybody to shut up, but they keep talking anyway. He just shakes his head and closes his book. There’s only a few minutes left, so I guess he thinks it’s not worth it to keep yelling at everybody. Nate is smiling at me, but I pretend I don’t notice. But it doesn’t matter. Nate still won’t leave me alone.

  “What’d you have for breakfast, Fat Boy? All of McDonald’s? What’re you writing? Listing all the food you’re going to have for lunch?” Now the rest of the class is laughing. “You cause an earthquake every time you walk.”

  Ha, ha, Nate, you’re so funny.

  One minute till the bell rings…hurry and ring…please ring… Mr. L. acts like he doesn’t hear what Nate’s saying. I wonder if Whitney is laughing too.

  Glad I didn’t tell anybody it’s my birthday.

  Wednesday, 9–6

  I’m so excited! I got a Wii for my birthday and it’s awesome!

  I got Super Smash Brothers Brawl and it is so sweet. You fight other players with tons of characters. Depending on whether or not you use the best finishing moves, you can open up better characters as you move through the game. My favorite is Captain Falco because he does this move where he teleports onto the opposite side of the screen. But Roy is pretty good too! He has this attack where you can throw one of his flaming swords at the other dude. You can cause major damage with that move, and it’s almost impossible to defend against.

  I can’t wait to go home and see who else I can get. Maybe the teachers will give us a break and not give us so much homework, because my parents said I have to get done with that before I can play. Maybe my English teacher won’t give us a lot to read tonight. Hint, hint.

  Mom made fried chicken and dumplings last night, and then my favorite cake—German chocolate—topped with Moose Tracks ice cream from the United Dairy Farmers. I ate so much I could hardly move. On Saturday, my Nana is taking me to the all–you–can–eat steakhouse, like she does every year for my birthday. My sister gave me a really cool Bengal’s sweatshirt, but it’s too small so I have to take it back. I hope it comes in an XXL, because I really like it.

  Thursday, 9–7

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  Paul doesn’t think the boyfriend did it. He thinks it’s some guy from another state, like Kentucky.

  “Why Kentucky?” I asked.

  “Because the body was dumped in the woods, and everyone knows Kentucky is full of woods.” Paul’s been on the Internet hunting for murderers in Kentucky. I don’t know why he’s so set on Kentucky when it could be somebody around here. We’ve decided to set up a fake MySpace account and pretend we’re this really cute cheerleader. Paul suggested we put my sister’s picture on it, and call her Starr. I don’t think my sister’s cute enough, but Paul thinks she’s hot. We’re hoping the killer will send us a “friend request,” then we can start talking to him and eventually Starr will ask him if he wants to get together. We’ll leave a note for him at the meeting place and
ask him to write back, so we get a copy of his fingerprints. Then we’ll turn him in. The only problem is, my sister’s not the nose ring type, like Kimberly. So, maybe the guy isn’t into preppy girls like my sister. Paul said it wouldn’t be that hard to Photoshop a nose ring in.

  I wonder if Kimberly had a hard time fitting in and that’s why she pierced her nose. From the pictures on the news, she looks kinda big, almost as big as me. The police thought maybe she was pregnant, and that’s why her boyfriend murdered her. But the autopsy showed she wasn’t. Some of the kids at school are making jokes, saying her boyfriend killed her because she was fat or that she ate herself to death. Seems like fat jokes never stop, even after you’re dead.

  Friday, 9–8

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  We had school pictures taken today—I really hate picture day. It’s okay to get out of class but that’s about all it’s worth. Ever since middle school, when I started getting bigger, I have dreaded the long walk. I feel like Frodo walking to Mordor. It used to be fun waiting in line, watching everyone comb their hair or asking, “How do I look?” I guess about three years ago, I quit asking. I remember the first time someone answered with a smile and said, “Oh, you look great, Jimmy,” but I could tell they didn’t mean it. They wanted to say, “You look pretty fat, Jimmy.”

  Today was no different. I got real nervous waiting and once again, it felt like forever before it was my turn. There’s not much I can do to make my hair look decent; it’s curly and sticks out all over the place. I tried getting it all shaved off last summer, but that made my face look even fatter.

  “Sign this,” the picture lady said. She shoved a form at me.

  “What grade are you in?”

  “Ninth,” I told her.

  She looked up at me. “Oh, really. Well, sign this,” she repeated.

  I filled out the form and stood quietly in line behind a kid named Frank. There’s not much to do except watch the person getting photographed. White screen, bright lights, just great, let’s shine a big light on Not–So–Slimmy–Jimmy.

  “All right kid, sit on the stool and face left.”

  I sat down.

  “Other left.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Your glasses are reflecting too much. Tilt your head.”

  I could feel everyone’s eyes on me and I started sweating. I thought I could get in a quick wipe of my forehead and I raised my arm. Click!

  “Don’t move, sit still,” the lady yelled at me.

  Someone behind me giggled and then I heard, “I wonder if that’s a wide–angle lens?”

  Ha, ha.

  I hate picture day. I could use a tan. The lights make my face look like a big pillow with eyes. At least it’s not like family pictures with my whole body showing. I’m not quite Mr. Photogenic, you know. Actually the only parts of me that would look good in a picture are my “tits,” as the football players call them, but they’d only be good if they were superimposed on an aging model that has been liposuctioned to the point of hanging flesh.

  So, then, the lady goes, “Tilt your head down,” then, “Up a bit. Okay, hold it right there.”

  She took forever and my eyes were drying out. I couldn’t stand it. Blink. Click. Oh, great.

  “Gee.” She glanced at my form. “Jimmy. Let’s try again.”

  I actually thought about running out. I didn’t want the pictures anyway.

  “C’mon. We have lunch in thirty minutes,” someone said.

  Then another one: “Maybe she’s taking his picture in stages. Like those panorama things.”

  All I could think was Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! The last “Shut up!” I blurted out. Click.

  The lady gave up. Mom probably won’t be buying these pictures.

  “Retakes are in a month,” the helper lady told me as I went out the door.

  Yippee. I can’t wait.

  Sunday, 9–10

  I don’t know why Paul’s parents won’t let him have a cell phone. I mean, what’s the point? They bought him a used PC and let him have the Internet. I think it’s pretty lousy, especially now, since there’s been a murder right near his house. What if the creep kidnaps Paul? He won’t be able to call 911 or anything. I mean, every kid has a cell phone nowadays.

  Even though he doesn’t have a cell, Paul’s still been spying on the murder site behind his house every day, plus he found more information about Kimberly on the web, like the autopsy report. It said she was missing a bone in her throat—the hyoid bone—that can be critical in determining whether a person has been strangled or not. The report said there was no evidence of illegal drugs and that the rest of her body was intact. They still suspect the boyfriend, but I wonder how an eighteen–year–old kid could remove a bone from someone’s throat, especially his girlfriend’s. The Channel 12 News said he was a good athlete but only an average student. It appears she had sex recently, probably with him. Not his biggest worry, since he faces murder charges. He admitted he was with her the night she died, but still claims he didn’t do it. Her mom and dad were on the news crying, holding up her senior picture.

  Channel 19 played a video of Kimberly playing trombone with her school marching band. The nose ring doesn’t fit with the marching band, but who knows. I mean, I’m in jazz band, and even we don’t wear nose rings. Most band kids I know are geeky, but to them I’m still the fat kid nobody calls.

  Tuesday, 9–12

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  Guess what? Paul and I are already getting hits on our MySpace site. We’re making up all kinds of stuff for my sister’s face to say. Some of it’s really stupid, but pretty funny. Every other word she uses is “like” and she skips school all the time. She likes to make out and sneaks her parents’ cigarettes. So far, no one has asked to meet her, but you can tell most of the guys are really interested. I’ve been listening to my sister when she’s on the phone, and writing down things she says so I can put them on MySpace. Mom saw me writing and wanted to know what I was doing. I told her I was writing in my journal. “That’s a strange place to write. It looked like you had your ear glued to your sister’s door.”

  I started to make up something, but she stopped me. “Don’t start anything with your sister. I’m watching you, Jimmy Winterpock.” As Mom walked down the stairs, I heard my sister squeal, “Oh, that’s so gross! I wish I could’ve seen his face!” Then my sister hung up and called another one of her girlfriends. I took more notes as she told the whole story about some girls who put a pile of dog mess, wrapped in newspaper, above the door of Chad Barron’s porch, because he cheated on Halle Duncan. They had it set up so that when he opened the door it would fly all over the place. Amy Cacaro faked her voice and called Chad from a pay phone. She said she was a new neighbor and had a flat tire a few houses down the street. She wondered if he could help her. The guy must be a complete idiot because he fell for it. Two other girls hid behind one of the neighbor’s fences and saw the dog mess fall on Chad when he opened the door. They said it was hilarious. He was cussing and calling for his mom. I bet his parents were really mad.

  That night Paul and I added the story to MySpace. We had Starr take credit for thinking up the dog mess and putting it on Chad’s porch. Of course, we didn’t use Chad’s real name.

  Every guy who wrote thought it was pretty funny that a girl could think up something so gross. All but one. He didn’t think it was funny at all. He thought it was one nasty trick. Paul thought maybe this guy is the killer. I wasn’t too sure. I thought he might be some undercover cop. That would be NOT good. Paul said that if it was a cop, he would be glad that we were trying to catch Kimberly’s murderer.

  Saturday, 9–16

  At the beginning of every year, at least one teacher assigns an essay about summer vacation. So one day before school started I got really bored and decided to get a jump on my homework and write about something I did over the summer. Just my luck, the one year I have it ready, not one teacher asked me to writ
e about my summer vacation. So, instead of wasting all that work, I decided to put it in this journal. You can grade it if you want, or give me extra credit for it, or something. I really worked hard on it. So, anyway, here is my essay.

  My Summer Vacation in Gatlinburg

  This past summer, my church youth group went to a conference in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, called Summer Jam. It was really cool since we had so much to do. We could buy souvenirs, play laser tag, ride the go–carts, play miniature golf, or hang out in the amusement park. I love laser tag, and really pushed it, but all my friends wanted to go to the water park since it was so hot outside. I reminded them that if we played laser tag, the building would be air–conditioned, but that didn’t change their minds, so my dad drove us to Splash Mountain Water Park.

  Splash Mountain is a pretty sweet water park with a wave pool, a Lazy River, and water slides. It sounded really fun and exciting, but I don’t really like to swim. I’m pretty big, especially in the chest and it’s embarrassing for me to take my shirt off, not so much around my friends, but in front of strangers.

  At first I just sat in a chair by the Lazy River. I was determined to stay out of the water, so no one would see how fat I was. Plus, I have to squint to see without my glasses. But, my friends kept encouraging me to get in the water, and in the end, I couldn’t resist. I took off my shirt and thought, “I don’t care what they think about me. It doesn’t matter what people say.” I kept repeating that to myself. Once my shirt was off, I heard some kid from another group say that I had the biggest chest of anyone he knew, girls included.

  Later, when I got out of the Lazy River and headed towards one of the slides, the humiliation got worse. Kids I didn’t even know laughed in my face and pointed at me. I heard one say that he bet the water level went up when I got in. You would think they would at least wait until I passed by them to say anything. They acted like I was a clown hired by the park to entertain everyone. I suppose I should have played along with their jokes and shook my body around, acting silly, but that’s not who I am. I don’t like being the center of attention so I rode down one slide and then hid in the wave pool. My friends felt bad that I was by myself, and told me to ignore the other kids, but I couldn’t. The rest of the trip went okay, but I didn’t go swimming again. Neither did my friends. We did play laser tag, but it wasn’t as much fun as I remembered.