The Fat Boy Chronicles (21 page)

My neck instantly felt hot. Talk about changing the subject. I hope nobody heard her say that.

We didn't of course, because there was no place to go. And, I wouldn't have made out with her anyway, but I might have kissed her. We didn't talk about any more heavy stuff for the rest of the night. Just school, Sable's favorite Death Cab For Cutie CD, Allen, Robb, some of Sable's friends, and, of course, Paul.

But at least the air was cleared. And Sable knew she could trust me with her secret.

Monday, 5–7

I have some bad news about Paul. He's not dead but he did get injured really bad. Something about his legs, I guess he broke them. My dad found out at church. Paul's grandmother said that she is helping bring him home from Colorado and that Paul would need some friends to help him adjust. Dad isn't quite sure what happened. Maybe he just doesn't want to tell me yet

I thought I'd never hear from him again. When he left, nobody had a clue where he went. They had everybody looking—it was even on TV for a day. I guess he went to Colorado. Or at least ended up there.

The baseball game yesterday was exciting. We beat Brookview, which was great because we can't stand them. They are such jerks and poor losers. Most of us think they did all the vandalism this past football season. If something else gets spray–painted, it's probably
because we beat them again.

I have a math test tomorrow and I should go study but first I want to tell you this. The other day, Mr. L called the quadratic formula the aquatic formula just to be funny, but some students were half–paying attention. Today, when he asked Whitney what she could use to solve a problem, she said, “The aquatic formula!” It was pretty funny. Some kids never listen and then wonder why they don't do well on tests.

Thursday, 5–10

What an awful day this has been. During second period this morning someone squirted pepper spray in a class or maybe a bathroom. Whichever, it got in the ventilation and all of a sudden everyone was coughing and crying. Mr. Larson took us outside. It really burns and takes forever to go away. One student who has asthma had to go home or maybe to the doctor. I hope they find out who it was 'cause that stuff hurts. I couldn't imagine getting sprayed like those guys on the
Cops
show. That would make you mad enough to really do something wrong. But you can't see, so I guess it works. I had to take out my contacts and wash them in the water fountain. I couldn't stop rubbing my eyes. When I get home, I know Mom is going to ask what happened, like why I've been crying. I can see it now. She'll think someone said something mean to me, and then get on the phone asking Sable's mom if there really was pepper spray at school. I can't wait to say, “I told you so.”

Mom worries that I still get picked on but I'm okay now. I mean,
some people still bother me about stuff but I don't listen like I used to. It makes Nate and his “boys” mad when they don't see me get all flustered. In a way, I have them to thank for losing weight. If they had never made fun of me, I wouldn't have gotten fed up. That's funny, fed up. My folks want me to eat less but they also want me to be happy. And eating made me happy. Really happy. Those warm chocolate chip cookies in the cafeteria were in my dreams. But I can't go back to that. If I ever get big again, then I'll be the one running, I mean walking, away this time. Now that I have a routine and my dad works out with me, I enjoy my life. My sister actually told me she was proud of me, even though I think it about made her want to puke to say it. I'm not sure if Mom made her do it, but I think she was sincere. I guess I'll always be her little brother no matter now big I get, as in older.

Paul is back. His grandmother told Dad that Paul would be in a hospital for a while, probably for tests and stuff, like when I go for my checkups. She said it would be great if me and some others could go visit. I'll ask Allen and Sable.

Friday, 5–11

Usually I would have put Please Don't Read This Page on this entry, but it's okay if you read it. I want you to know why I am so depressed. Dad told me last night what happened to Paul. When he was in Colorado, he and another runaway were trying to jump onto a train so they could go to LA. Paul got his arm caught and then
he tripped and fell. His legs landed on the tracks and before he could pull them away, the wheels came along and cut them off. I think they were just dangling but the doctors amputated them at the hospital. That was two months ago and now he's coming home. I feel so bad for him and yet I'm scared to go see him. I've never been around someone with no legs, and I'm afraid I'll say something wrong or stare at where his legs used to be. He's at Children's Hospital, so I'm getting checked out early. Dad said they would be fitting Paul with new legs. Prosthetics they're called. I had to look that word up in the dictionary and it took me forever to find it. All I can think of is the scene in
Forrest Gump
when Lt. Dan comes home with his new legs, and Forrest is talking about them in his funny voice. I will let you know how it goes at the hospital. Thanks for reading this, Mrs. Pope.

Saturday, 5–12

Yesterday was difficult. More for me than Paul. He's had time to get used to the fact that he doesn't have legs, but it's going to take me awhile. I mean, he still regrets everything that happened but I think he's gotten counseling. He talked about his dad. He told me that when his dad killed himself, he thought it was because he was a bad kid, but now Paul knows that depression was the reason. Somewhere, I think in health class, they told us that depression runs in families. I didn't mention it to Paul but I might one day. I bet his doctors have already figured that out.

My dad didn't stay in the room the whole time; he let me and
Paul just talk. I think it was so I could learn how to deal with things. He had told me before we got to the hospital how important it is for me to treat Paul like he's normal old Paul, the normal that was good.

Funny thing, Paul didn't recognize me for a second. Even though he was just waking up, I know it was really because of the weight I lost. I mean, after the last eight pounds, I'm down to 137. That's like losing half a person.

I started to introduce myself as some other kid, but then Paul's eyes opened wide.

“Man, what happened? I almost didn't know who you were.”

“I decided to lose some weight, sort of for survival,” I said, smiling.

Paul laughed and said he had lost a little weight too. I felt a bit awkward and tried not to look down at the sheets where his legs should have been.

He asked all about school and everyone there. I told him Whitney was still the same “skanky ho.” Paul said he never thought he would hear me say those words and laughed real loud. The kid in the bed next to Paul told him to shut up. He was in a wreck because he was driving drunk and now has all these tubes in him—he has a real bad attitude. His face's all bandaged up and he curses all the time. But at least he has his legs. Maybe that's mean of me to say. I mean, how would I feel if my face were covered up and I was in pain and stuff? Guess you never know how you'll react to things until you're dealing with them.

On the way home, I told Dad that I thought it was weird how Paul seems happier now than before he ran away. When he had both this legs, his life was miserable. His dad kills himself and Paul runs away and gets his
legs cut off and now he acts like a normal kid. Life is mixed up sometimes. I can barely figure out my life, much less Paul's.

Sunday, 5–13

Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Pope. I gave my mom a bottle of her favorite perfume, and Dad, Jessica and I have to fix dinner for her tonight. Mom said the best present is for us to let her lounge around all day and read romance novels.

After church, Dad dropped me off at the hospital, while he played nine holes of golf. This time I didn't dread going. Paul's attitude makes it easier. When I got there, I got off on the wrong floor. It must have been the cancer floor because there was this little bald–headed kid walking right in front of the elevator. He was rolling a metal thing that had a bag of clear liquid on it and a tube running to his arm. Right away, I knew this wasn't Paul's floor and I got back on the elevator. But in that few seconds, the little kid looked at me. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was real pale; I couldn't tell how old he was, maybe ten. Then he smiled and said, “Good morning, how are you?” I tried to answer but words wouldn't come out. I punched the button to close the doors, but he stood there and watched as the doors closed. Before they did, I said, “I'm okay. Have a good day.” And then the doors shut. I think I will remember his eyes for a long time. It makes me sad.

Paul talked about his mother some. He said that after his father died, his mom finally admitted to her drinking problem. She was the last one to figure that out. He says that she might go to one of those AA meetings. I remember when I was young and heard Dad say he was going over to AAA to pick up something, like a map, and I thought he had a problem.

I told Paul all about the police coming to my house and what they said about the predator. He hadn't heard about the second murder, but smiled real wide when I told him he was right about the kid being innocent. “Maybe I should go into the FBI or CIA,” he said. “Do you think I got the right guy? That would be really cool.”

“He's one of the suspects, so you got that part right. But my dad said these things take years. Some murders are never solved.”

“Just wait till I'm an FBI agent. I'll solve them all.
Cold Case
Paul, that's me.”

“Glad you've decided to wait,” I told him. “We've got more important things to investigate. Like getting through high school. And girls.”

“Girls? Are you the Jimmy Winterpock I know?”

Before I could answer, the doctor came in and talked to Paul about fake legs. Stuff like how they work, how to put them on. Paul asked if I wanted to see what was left of his legs but I told him no. Maybe one day I will.

Me and Dad worked out when we got home from the hospital. After visiting Paul, I needed to burn some energy. I can be worried about something, like school, or Sable, or Spencer, or whatever, and once I get to straining and sweating on the weights, I forget about
what's bugging me. Some things, like Nate, take a harder workout. And that little bald–headed kid's eyes.

Tuesday, 5–15

There was something I didn't want you to read about me and Paul. At the beginning of the school year, we tried to use MySpace to catch the killer of Kimberly Taylor. We put my sister's picture on the Internet to see if the killer would contact her (which meant us). I was so afraid she would find out it was Paul and me who did it. Back then, I thought if she knew it was me, I would've been the next murder victim. Anyway, tonight it all came up again. We were in the family room watching
Dancing with the Stars
, when the news interrupted some old guy doing the tango with this hot babe. They said it was breaking news—that the police had arrested someone for the two murders. It's some guy who was a former counselor at Kimberly's high school. Looks like all of us were wrong.

Anyway, we were all sitting there glued to the TV and after a while my sister said, “Mom, I wonder if the killer stalked Kimberly from her MySpace site?”

My ears lit up and my neck turned red.

“Maybe,” Mom said. “But let's not bring that up again. It stills scares me to think someone did that to you, honey.” Then Mom got all quiet and she squinted her eyes at Jessica. “I wonder if the killer was stalking you.”

My sister opened her mouth and acted like she was about to cry.
I was sitting there unable to speak, trying to act like I was watching the news. Then the phone rang and it was Paul. “Not now. Yes, I saw it. I'll call you back,” I said.

I had to say something. “That's crazy. Her counselor? Guess the boyfriend is innocent.” And I went back to eating my bowl of popcorn. Jessica was facing away from me, half–crying and halfsnorting. Then my sister gave out this big wail like she had seen an alien or something.

“Who could have stalked me, Mom?” she whined. “We never found out. I could be dead.”

All I could think was how I might be dead too.

“I don't know but when I talked to the police about it—” (I'm thinking POLICE!) “—they said that if they can catch them, they might grow old in jail.”

My popcorn started to taste real funny and the TV was just a blur. I think I sat there with my mouth hanging open, staring straight ahead, picturing me and Paul as roommates in the big house. Itchy and Scratchy. Beavis and Butthead. Gimpy and Stimpy. Friends and cellmates forever.

Jessica was still crying a little and she asked Mom, “Who do you think would do that to me?”

My vision cleared up.

“I don't know,” Mom said. “An old boyfriend?”

“Maybe. But I think I know . . .”

My heart was about to jump out of my nose.

“I think it's—” and then she turned around real fast and pointed at me “—it's Jimmy!”

I spit chewed popcorn all over the TV.

Then my mom and my sister started laughing. And in between crying from laughing so hard, they told me that they knew a long time ago. It turned out that Danny saw us run into the bathroom. So, my sister stayed in Starbucks extra long so I would have to sit in the bathroom for two hours. And when the show was over, they were still laughing, and when I was lying in the bed, I could hear them laughing.

Ha, ha, ha. Everybody laughs at Jimmy. Yuk, yuk at Jimmy. I guess it is better than being killed by your sister.

I decided to keep their little joke from Paul, at least until he finishes high school. I wouldn't want to do anything to discourage him from being an FBI agent.

Sunday, 5–20