Say Cheese - and Die Screaming! (7 page)

Maybe they won’t notice, I told myself as I tried to trot out to first base.
Maybe they won’t notice.

“Hey, Greg—” Bird called from the pitcher’s mound. “Have you been
super-sizing all your meals?”

Everyone whooped and laughed. A few guys rolled around on the grass, giggling
like hyenas.

Michael pointed at me. “Hey—it’s Sumo Three!” he yelled.

“It’s Sumo Three and Four!” someone else called out.

More loud whooping and laughing.

“Give me a break,” I muttered angrily.

“Give him a lunch break!” Michael called.

It wasn’t funny. But everyone laughed, anyway.

They gathered around me in a wide circle. They shook their heads. “Weird,”
Bird muttered. “How did you put on two hundred pounds since yesterday?”

I didn’t want to talk about it. “Are we going to play ball or what?” I
demanded.

I had a strong urge to tell Bird and Michael why I was ballooning up so fast. I wanted to tell them that I had taken out the
evil camera. That Shari had taken my picture. That it showed me weighing at
least four hundred pounds.

And now it was coming true.

But I didn’t dare tell them. They had warned me not to go back to the Coffman
house. And they had begged me not to take out the camera.

If I told them the truth, they’d think I was a total jerk.

So I kept my mouth shut and tried to concentrate on the game.

I did pretty well until I went to bat in the third inning. I hit the ball
over the second baseman’s head and trotted to first base with a single.

I was totally out of breath by the time I reached the base. But the ball was
still rolling around in the outfield. “Keep running!” my teammates shouted.
“Greg—go to second!”

So, huffing and puffing, I lifted my heavy legs and made my way to second.

“Slide! Slide!” everyone was shouting.

So I slid into second. Safe!

And then I couldn’t get off my back.

I wasn’t strong enough to pick up my heavy body. I must look like
Humpty-Dumpty! I realized.

I tried rolling. I tried rocking back and forth.

And then I tried calling my friends for help.

* * *

I was exhausted by the time I pulled my huge body to my house. Sweat poured
off my forehead and rolled down my round cheeks and chins.

My clothes were stretched so tight, I could barely breathe. My jeans were
ripped. My shirt pressed against my skin. Even my sneakers pinched my feet!

This is horrible! I’ve got to get into something comfortable, I decided.

I remembered my huge, baggy shorts. The ones I wore to go bike riding the
other day.

I carried my bulky body over to the dresser. Bent over with a groan and
pulled out the big shorts.

I tugged them on, eager to get comfortable.

Tugged. Tugged harder. Then gasped in horror.

The huge, baggy shorts were skintight!

I put on nearly three hundred pounds that day. By evening, I could barely
walk.

“It’s an allergic reaction,” Mom said.

I stared at her. “Excuse me? What’s that?”

“You ate something you’re allergic to,” she answered. “A person doesn’t swell
up like a balloon overnight.”

Dad squinted at me. He was trying to look calm, but I could see how worried
he was. “Do you eat a lot of candy bars after school?” he asked.

Mom shook her head at Dad. “He could eat a thousand candy bars a day! They
wouldn’t make him
this
huge!” she declared.

“We’d better take him to an allergy doctor,” Dad murmured, rubbing his chin.

“We’ll take him to Dr. Weiss first,” Mom argued. “Dr. Weiss can tell us what
kind of doctor to take him to.”

They started to argue about what kind of doctor I needed.

I waddled out of the room. It took all my strength just to raise my enormous
legs. My chins sagged down over my neck. My big stomach bounced out of the room
ahead of me.

I knew that no doctor could help me. I knew I didn’t have an allergy. And I
knew I didn’t become a blimp because of candy bars.

The snapshot from the evil camera made me look as big as a mountain. And the
snapshot had come true.

No doctor could slim me down. No diet would work.

Later, I begged Mom and Dad to let me stay home. “Please don’t make me go to
school tomorrow like this,” I pleaded. “The kids will laugh at me. I’ll be so
embarrassed.”

“You can’t miss school,” Dad insisted. “What if it takes weeks and weeks to
get you back to normal?”

“The kids won’t laugh at you,” Mom added. “Your friends will understand that
you’re sick.”

I begged and whined. I even got down on my fat knees to plead with them.

But would they listen? No.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Dad said as I waddled out the door to go to school
the next morning.

Don’t be embarrassed?

I wore one of his baggy running suits—and it was tight on me!

I felt embarrassed just walking down the street. When cars drove past, I knew
the people inside were staring at me. Laughing at the big mound of Jell-O bouncing along the sidewalk.

I didn’t want to walk to school. But my parents have a Honda Civic—and I
didn’t fit in the car!

Kids were staring as I squeezed through the front door of Pitts Landing
Middle School. But everyone was kind. No one made jokes. In fact, no one said a
word to me.

I think they were afraid to come up to me. Afraid I might fall on them! I
really did look like one of the balloons in the Thanksgiving Day parade!

The morning went pretty well. I kept to myself and tried to hide in corners.
It wasn’t easy to hide. But everyone left me alone.

Until I stepped into Mr. Saur’s class.

He was as sour as ever. And he embarrassed me in front of the whole class.

“Greg, I don’t think you’ll fit into a chair,” he said, rolling his wooden
pointer between his hands. “Why don’t you just stand by the window.”

I didn’t say anything. I waddled over to the side of the room.

The room fell silent. The other kids didn’t laugh. They could see that there
was something seriously wrong with me.

But Mr. Saur insisted on giving me a hard time.

“Greg, forget the window,” he said. “If you stand there, I’m afraid you’ll block out all the sunlight.” Then he smiled.

Again, no one laughed. I think the other kids felt sorry for me. Even Donny
and Brian weren’t cracking jokes.

“Greg, I want you to go see the nurse,” Mr. Saur ordered. “I want her to
discuss the four food groups with you. I think you’ve been eating too much of
all four!”

I think that was supposed to be a cruel joke. But no one laughed.

I turned my bulk around and stared at him. Was he serious? Was he really
sending me to the nurse?

“Get going,” he said, pointing to the door.

I turned and shuffled heavily out of the classroom. I expected Donny to stick
out his big foot and try to trip me, the way he always does.

But he stared straight ahead, as silent and still as everyone else in the
class.

I was glad. If he tripped me, I knew I’d never be able to get up.

I pulled myself down the hall, thinking angry thoughts about Mr. Saur. Why
did he make fun of me in front of everyone? Why was he so cruel?

I couldn’t answer my questions. Besides, I felt too angry to think clearly.
I’ll pay him back some day. That’s what I told myself. I’ll do something mean to
him. I’ll embarrass old Sourball in front of everyone.

My angry thoughts followed me to the nurse’s office. But I instantly forgot them when I saw the girl huddled in the chair
in the waiting room. I stopped outside the door and gaped at her in shock.

Shari!

It took me a few seconds to recognize her.

Her jeans and T-shirt appeared to be about ten sizes too big! Her arms were
as thin as toothpicks. Her face was pale and puckered. Her head had shrunk. It
looked like a tiny lemon on her frail, noodlelike body.

“Greg,” she whispered weakly. “Is that you in that big body?”

“Shari!” I cried. “How much weight have you lost?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “Look at me! I’m shrinking away. I’m so
light. It took me hours to walk to school this morning because the wind kept
pushing me back!”

“Are you sick?” I cried.

She frowned at me. “I’m not sick, and neither are you,” she replied in a
tiny, frail voice. “I’m shrinking away, and you’re bloating up—and it’s
because of those photos we took.”

I sighed and lifted my huge stomach with both hands so that I could get
through the doorway. “What are we going to do, Shari?” I whispered. “It’s those
photos. You’re right. But what are we going to do?”

Dad picked me up after school. He had rented a van since I couldn’t fit into
the car. Dad helped me squeeze through the door. My body took up the entire
backseat.

The seat belt wouldn’t stretch over my stomach. So we had to forget about it.

“I’m sure Dr. Weiss will have you back to normal in no time,” Dad said. He
was trying to be cheerful. But I could tell he was really upset and worried.

He drove slowly to Dr. Weiss’ office across town. The van couldn’t pick up
speed because of all the weight it carried—me!

Dr. Weiss is a nice elderly man with bright blue eyes and a long mane of
white hair. He talks to all the kids as if they’re two years old. He still gives
me a lollipop after each visit, even though I’m twelve!

But I didn’t think he’d give me a lollipop today.

He tsk-tsked as I climbed on the scale. But he couldn’t get my weight. The scale didn’t go high enough!

He had trouble listening to my heartbeat. His stethoscope got stuck in the
folds of flab over my chest.

He took all kinds of tests, his expression tense and thoughtful. “We’ll send
the blood samples to the lab,” he told me. “We should have some answers in a few
days.”

He shook his head and frowned. His blue eyes appeared to fade. “I’ve never
seen anything like it, Greg,” he said softly. “I’m completely stumped.”

I wasn’t stumped. I knew exactly what the problem was.

As soon as I got home, I lumbered to my room and grabbed the phone. It took
all my strength to raise my huge, flabby arm and hold the receiver up to the
bulging flesh of my face.

I punched in Shari’s number. It took three tries. My finger was so fat, it
kept hitting two numbers at once.

She answered on the third ring. “Hello?” Her voice floated out so tiny and
weak, I could barely hear her.

“I’m coming over,” I announced. “And I’m bringing the camera.”

“You don’t have to shout!” she squeaked. And then she added, “Hurry, Greg.
I’ve lost five more pounds. I’m so light, I’m afraid I’m going to float away.”

“I’ll be right there,” I told her. “We’ll figure out a way to save
ourselves.”

I hung up the phone. Then I carefully dug the camera out from its hiding
place in my underwear drawer. I had to bend over to reach into the drawer. I was
huffing and puffing, gasping for breath.

If I get any fatter, I’ll explode, I thought unhappily.

Carefully gripping the camera, I lowered my bulk down the stairs. “I’m going
to Shari’s,” I called to my parents.

They were in the den, discussing what Dr. Weiss had told Dad.

“It started to rain,” Mom called. “Take an umbrella.”

“I’m only going next door!” I shouted back.

Besides, an umbrella wouldn’t cover all of me.

I peeked outside. It was only drizzling. Not much of a rain at all.

I tucked the camera under the folds of my arm, pulled open the front door,
and started to step out. But I stopped when I saw the dark-haired boy walking up
the driveway.

Jon!

“Oh, no!” I murmured. I knew why he had come. He wanted his camera back.

But I couldn’t give it back. I needed it to save Shari and me.

I watched him walking slowly, his head down because of the rain.

What am I going to do? I asked myself. I can’t let him take back his camera.
I can’t!

I’ll duck back inside and hide, I decided.

I tried to back up. Tried to back my heavy bulk into the house.

Too late.

Jon saw me.

He waved to me and started jogging toward the house.

I had the camera in my hand. I carefully lowered it to the porch and stepped
in front of it. I knew it would be hidden behind my enormous body.

But what was I going to say to Jon? How could I convince him to let me keep
the camera for a while longer?

“Hi!” he called.

“Hi,” I answered, my voice muffled by the thick folds of flab around my face.

“I’m looking for a boy who lives around here,” Jon said, stepping up to the
porch. “His name is Greg, and he’s blond, and he’s about my age. Do you know
him? He has a camera of mine.”

I stared at him. My mouth dropped open. I could feel my chins drop onto my
chest.

“What’s his name?” I choked out.

“Greg,” Jon repeated. “I don’t know his last name. Does he live around here?”

He doesn’t recognize me! I realized. I’m so huge, he doesn’t know that I’m
me!

“Uh… yeah. I think I know who you mean,” I told him. “There’s a kid
named Greg who lives over there.” I pointed up the street.

“Do you know which house?” Jon asked, turning to where I pointed.

“It’s about four blocks that way,” I lied. “A big redbrick house. You can’t
miss it. It’s the only brick house on the block.”

“Hey, thanks,” Jon said. The rain started to come down harder. He turned
quickly and jogged down the driveway.

A close call, I thought.

I felt bad about lying to Jon. But I had to lie. I couldn’t give him back the
camera—ever. It was too dangerous.

I watched him until he disappeared behind some hedges. Then, I reached my
flabby hand down, picked up the camera, and bounced across the front yard to
Shari’s house.