The Fat Boy Chronicles (15 page)

When I refused to take it off, a group of jocks surrounded me and pulled it up. Everyone was laughing and yelling that I had the biggest tits. Even Paul. I didn't want anyone to see me crying, so I ran outside and walked back to Paul's house.

His parents were still passed out when I got there, so I went downstairs and lay on my bed and cried. Then I prayed. I prayed that my parents would still trust me. I prayed for forgiveness. And I prayed for Paul. I prayed for Paul's parents to get better. I prayed that Paul would be the same carefree kid he was when I first met him.

My prayers didn't work very well. I woke up to a bunch of yelling and screaming. When I checked my watch, it was quarter till three.
It took me a minute for my eyes to adjust and then I saw Paul wasn't in his bed yet. Then I heard Paul's voice. “I hate you! You have no right to yell at me. Where do you think I get it from? My alcoholic parents, that's who.” The screaming got louder, and I was scared. I didn't know what to do. Should I pretend to be asleep or go up and help Paul?

I finally decided to go upstairs. I don't know where his mom was but Paul's dad had his hands around Paul's shirt collar, banging his head into the wall. “Stop it!” I yelled. “You're going to hurt him.”

Mr. Grove dropped Paul and stared at me. His eyes were red and angry. I thought he might grab me next, but instead he started laughing.

He turned to Paul. “Now you've got your fat friend taking up for you.” It didn't hurt my feelings, because people pick on me all the time, though it seemed strange coming from an adult.

Paul was sitting against the wall bawling his eyes out, so I sat next to him. He kept saying he was sorry about what happened at the party and we shouldn't have gone. I was glad Paul was okay and that his dad didn't beat him up too much. But then I was scared. Scared of the rumors that would go around about me at school. Scared that my sister would find out and tell my parents. But then I forgot about me and I told Paul that things would be okay. But I knew better.

The next morning, my dad picked me up and took me to church. I was pretty quiet all day, and when we got home, he asked me if something bad had happened at Paul's. My conscience got the better of me, and I told him about going to the party. I didn't tell him about Whitney and what the kids said to me and why I left the party early, because
I didn't want him to worry. I just told him the basics. He was really cool about it. He said he knows I only went to the party because of Paul, and he's glad I tried to help him. Now I'm not allowed to go to Paul's house anymore, but Paul can come over any time he wants. I'm lucky to have such a cool dad.

Monday, 2–12

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No one mentioned the party to me at school, though I heard a few kids snickering behind my back. That could be the normal everyday snickering though. And when I think about it, no one would say anything about me to my sister, because even an idiot would know that would make her mad. I can hardly look at Whitney in science class. After seeing her drunk, she doesn't seem pretty to me any more. Come to think of it, she was really nasty that night. She smelled like smoke, and her hair was stringy and messed up. I bet she's hurting inside just like Paul; otherwise, she wouldn't get so drunk. She reminds me of the way Sable was at youth camp last summer, not the drunk part but the hurting part.

I don't have excuses like other kids with addictions—my parents would do anything for me. That makes me more determined than ever to stick to my diet. Not that it's a real diet, I just have to watch my choices and portions. I'm amazed that it really works—that and the running and the Total Gym workouts. I actually lost five more pounds this week. I can feel a difference in my body and the way
my clothes fit. I've lost close to thirty–five pounds—only twenty-five more to go!

Not that it's been easy. I mean, I hate feeling hungry, and my body craves candy and Big Macs. I have to deal with it if I ever want to get all the fat off. I keep falling off my diet, and then I hate myself. Then that makes me want to go on an eating binge. It's a vicious cycle. Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. Then I think of Paul and his parents. And I think of my own mom and dad, and I don't wonder any more.

Tuesday, 2–13

Here's a poem I wrote about pollution. I never thought poetry was very cool until this year. I used to think poetry was all about flowers and shepherds running through the fields and only girls like it. I didn't realize it could be about anything, and you don't have to use capital letters or punctuation if you don't want to. I like what you said about how in poetry one word can mean a whole paragraph. If you count the meaning behind the words in my poem, this should equal at least three pages.

Pollution

Looking over man's sin against nature,

A lone warrior stands at the edge of a cliff.

The sun obscured by stark, ugly monoliths,

He watches the world turn into a concrete killing field.

Between the cracks of decayed gravity,

He falls away from the planet.

Thursday, 2–15

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I used to like Valentine's Day, because of all the candy and cookies teachers gave out in elementary and middle school. Now it seems kinda cheesy. You can buy single carnations at school and then send them to someone. Some of the girls got a bunch. Even some of the guys got carnations. I don't have a girlfriend, so I didn't send any. I thought about sending one to Sable, but then she'd have to tell who sent it and it probably would embarrass her.

I've put back on a few of the pounds I lost. Ever since the party, I've been really depressed. Spencer doesn't come around any more and has even started hanging out with Nate. Allen thinks Spencer's a real jerk and that I should say something to him. It won't change things—Spencer doesn't want to be seen anymore with a fat geek with “man–boobs.” It gets harder and harder to go to school. Kids still laugh at me all the time and call me names to my face. They have to notice I've lost weight. Are they just getting in their last digs before I'm skinnier than them? Except for Allen, Sable and Paul, everyone treats me like I have leprosy. I asked Mr. M if Allen and I could eat lunch in his classroom, because it's too noisy in the lunchroom. He said it would be okay, as long as we brown bag it. That helps in some ways, but in other ways it makes us feel even
more apart. Allen encourages me to stick to my diet, even though he eats junk food all the time. “You're more disciplined than me,” he said. “So you have a chance at losing the weight. I'm doomed to be fat.”

I saw Sable at youth group tonight. She asked why I didn't eat in the lunchroom any more. I shrugged and said that I hated it in there. She asked me to hang out with her and her friends in the lunch hallway. “We never eat the school lunches. They're gross. You're not supposed to eat in the hall, but kids do anyway.” I told her I might do that, but I don't feel comfortable around her friends. They're what you call “emo,” and they're considered really weird. I don't think they'd like me any more than anyone else. They might be even worse, since most of them are vegans and probably think I'm committing murder every time I eat a cheeseburger. Paul used to hang out with them the few days he showed up for school. He skips all the time now. I don't know how he gets away with it. The school usually calls when you're not there, but maybe his parents have given up on him and don't care whether he goes to school or not.

I tried faking sick this morning, but Mom took my temperature and said I was fine. She seemed worried about me though and asked if things were going okay at school. Dad asked the same thing while we were running. I don't know why I waste my time working out when I get picked on just as much, if not more. My life really bites right now.

Friday, 2–16

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Today was the worst day of my life. Much worse than last weekend. It probably happened because of the party. I mean, once kids get on a roll, it's like they don't know when to stop.

I wish I could run away from here forever. It's not just the same old jerks at school—I expect most of them to make fun of me, but when someone you thought was a good friend betrays you, then that's when it really feels bad. Like you begin to wonder what's wrong with you, if you really are a freak. You begin to think you deserve all the mean things that people do to you. You begin to feel that your life isn't worth much. That no one but your family will ever like you, and without them your life will be constant torture. I feel so bad. I can't understand why everyone hates me so much. I'm not perfect, but I'm basically a pretty good kid. Why can't life be fair? Some people have it so easy—it's like the world was made just for them. They have it all, like Spencer.

I don't understand why Spencer set me up. He seess how tough life is for me. And he has everything in the world a guy could want. He's a star athlete, gets good grades, the girls like him…I mean, why would he go out of his way to hurt me, when he has so much? I should have been suspicious; Allen warned me about him. He hasn't paid any attention to us since before Christmas. But, when he came up to me and said the soccer players think I'm cool and want me to keep stats for them this season, I was all over it.

“Come down to the locker room when you're done with lunch,” he said.

You can guess how pumped I was. The soccer team wanted me to keep stats for them! Yay for me, I thought. Finally, I would have some respect around this school. I practically inhaled my lunch—I couldn't wait to get down to the locker room. But looking back, Spencer seemed nervous when he was talking to me. He had his hands in his jean pockets and he shifted his eyes away from me. I noticed he seemed different.

When I got to the locker room, Spencer was nowhere around, just a few of the other soccer players. I didn't know them since they were sophomores, but I recognized them from the pep rallies. They asked me how things were and I said okay. One pretty big kid, probably a goalie, said I had to stay and watch what Sean was going to do. Sean was in his underwear, and he was about to run out into the hall and then back in the other locker room door ten steps away. One guy opened the door and watched while someone else was ready to push open the other door for him. Sean counted to three, sprinted down the hall, and then ducked back in the other side. Only a couple of screaming tenth grade girls saw him but no teachers. Everyone laughed and high–fived him. Then one of the players asked if I wanted to do it. I said, “No way”and grabbed my math book. That's when another player got in my way and said that if I'd try it, they would make sure that no one bothered me anymore. What a great thing to gain for five seconds of anxiety! So I took off my pants and everybody got by the door ready for me to go. One guy standing there said, “It's clear. Now!” Off I went right into a bunch of girls
coming back from the gym. They screamed and so did I. I turned around to run back in, but the door was shut. And locked. I could hear kids laughing on the other side. I ran to the other door and someone was pulling on it, so I couldn't get in. I was stuck in the hall with no pants on. The weight room door was open, so I ran in there and hid in the corner. About ten minutes later, Coach Bronner came to get me. “C'mon Winterpock,” he said. “There's no one out here.” For once he felt sorry for me. I was late to HR but he gave me a pass. By the time I got on the bus to go home, the whole school had heard about me streaking in the hall. I hate high school.

Sunday, 2–18

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Paul and I hung out at McDonald's after church. I told him about the streaking episode and how the soccer players got a big laugh out of it. He told me he's thinking about running away from home and that I could go with him. Then people wouldn't be able to hurt us anymore. I told him, “Home is fine, but it's school I want to run away from.”

He heard from some guys about jumping trains and traveling all over the country. He really wants to go out West or to Florida. Gee, my life's pretty bad right now, but not that bad. I don't really think Paul will run away; I think it makes him feel better knowing he has that option. It's bad enough that his dad is a big jerk, but then his
mother is out of it all the time. I don't get it. Guess she didn't get the mother gene or something. I mean, mothers are supposed to be nice and there for you—not that dads aren't that, but they aren't as soft as moms. They let you get away with more, because you'll always be their little kid. Mothers should be happy to see you and want to hear all about your day, not passed out drunk on the couch in the middle of the afternoon. Isn't there some sort of natural hormone that make moms want to treat their kids right? Last year we read the story
A Child Called It
, and it was about a mother who tortured her kid. That story seemed unreal to me at the time. I don't think Paul's mom is that bad, but still she's really two–faced. I mean, Paul's mother acted like an everyday, normal mom when I used to see her at church. But at home, she drinks herself into a sad state and then takes her anger out on him. Sometimes she gets so drunk, Paul has to hide her bottles. When she can't find any of her liquor, she has a big fit and throws things all over the place.

Even at his uncle's house, it's a struggle for Paul. There's always trash and dishes everywhere, and cigarette butts and gin bottles all over the living room. No wonder Paul wants to run away. He thinks for now his only escape is drugs. I asked him if he was doing harder drugs, but all he said was “I barely get a buzz from toking up.”

A lot of kids smoke pot—even some of the really smart ones—and they seem like they're fine. For most kids considered “potheads,” it's pretty easy to tell they're smoking. In gym class I even heard some of the football players talk about getting high this weekend. If I wanted to, I could report them, but I would rather stay far away from those guys. I don't smoke because I hate what it does to your lungs, and I
wouldn't want to hurt my parents. Besides, I would probably cough all day long.