Big Fat Disaster (26 page)

Drew erupts in giggles. “That’s
you
, Colby!’

I shriek, “Get out of here, you little bitch!” Mom stabs her index finger at the hallway, and Drew complies.

I turn back to the monitor and watch as I fall onto my bed in my struggle. I stretch the hanger out until it’s long and skinny. I don’t remember making those grunting sounds. Outside my window, Ryan whispers, “Gross.”

Leah reaches over, pushes the power button on the monitor, and the close-up of my face as I’m trying to roll onto my side instantly becomes a tiny white dot on a black screen.

She moves to Ryan, where he remains bent at the waist with his hands on his knees, leaning against the wall outside her office. Leah grips his upper arm and speaks through gritted teeth. “How
could
you, Ryan?
How dare
you use your phone for something like that! Hand it over, now!”

“I can’t, Mom…I don’t know where it is.”

Leah blasts, “Don’t give me that shit!
Where is your phone
?”

Ryan slides down the wall to the floor. When he finally speaks, his voice is choked. “I—fell—asleep—in class—today—and I think—Coach Allison—took it. Or…” He shakes his head and whispers, “It was stolen.”

Mom is incredulous. “Are you saying that someone
else
uploaded the video of Colby to this page you started?”

He nods at the floor; then his head snaps up. “Wait—
what
page?”

Leah’s voice is shaking. “Says right here that the page is dedicated to your cousin, the
Fat Ass
.”

“It’s not mine. I didn’t do it.” His eyes are pleading; he glances at me, then back to Leah. “Please believe me, Mom.”

My mom says, “But you took this video of Colby, didn’t you? You stood outside her window and filmed her as she dressed, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath in and nods as he sighs it out.

“How could you do that to me?” I whisper. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Ryan shrugs. Leah tries to yank him up by the arm, but he remains on the floor. “Don’t shrug! Answer her! Why would you do something so horrible? Is that the way I’ve raised you?”

He starts to shrug again but catches himself. “I…thought it would be funny. I wasn’t going to show it to anybody…Probably.”

I wobble on my feet. Mom grabs my arm and guides me onto Leah’s office chair. She tries to force me to put my head between my knees, but that’s worse than feeling like I’m going to pass out. I sit up and lay my head on Leah’s desk instead.

“Delete it. Now.
Right now
.” Leah pulls me away from the desk and jerks her head at the computer. “Now, Ryan.” He slowly stands, and she shoves him toward the keyboard.

Ryan leans down, pushes the power button on the monitor, and stares at the screen. “I can’t, Mom.”

Leah barks, “Why not? Just do it!”

“Well, first of all, I didn’t create this page, so I don’t know the password, and I can’t delete the video unless I’m an administrator. Second…” He lowers his head and his voice is barely above a whisper. “The video’s already been shared fifty times. Even if I could delete it, it’s out there, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it now.”

Mom and Leah avoid each other while they both try to make this go away. Leah works at her computer, trying to contact Facebook to take down the
Colby Denton Fan Club
page. Mom burns up her cell phone minutes. She calls 911 to report the video, and the officer she’s put in touch with tells her that it doesn’t qualify as an emergency according to the Piney Creek police department protocol. So then she tries to call Dad, but he won’t answer. Now she’s talking to Mr. McDaniel, asking him for help to find out who did it (if Ryan really didn’t). I can tell that she doesn’t believe his story. Ryan swears that he didn’t create the page or post the video online. I
still
can’t believe he’d film me through my window. So much for all their talk about “doing the right thing” even when it requires sacrifice.

My cousin and I are sitting at separate tables in the dining room. Drew’s behind the counter, trying her hand at frosting some day-old cookies. I stare at the display case of cake pops and my mouth waters, but I’d never eat one in front of Ryan—or anyone else. I hate eating sweets in front of people; can’t stand the judgy way they look at me and, anyway, seeing my rolls of fat bouncing up and down on a computer monitor has me coated in a thousand pounds of shame.

So far, no trip to the bathroom with icing like I’d planned, although I did go in there to barf just after Leah called out to Mom that the number of video shares is up to 122.

Still on the phone to Mr. McDaniel, Mom plops onto the chair across from me. She shoots Ryan a dirty look as she recounts Leah’s efforts with Facebook to get the video and page removed. Ryan stands, shuffles to the big bay window, and looks out on the street.

Leah strides to the front door and flips the
Open
sign to
Closed
.

Ryan murmurs, “How did you find out about the video, Mom?”

“Well, all of this started around three o’clock, when Dulcie stopped in—I thought to show us the baby—but it was because her niece told her about the video. We were trying to find it on Facebook when Michael Taylor’s mom came storming in to yell at me because
you
posted nudity online. That woman’s got a mouth like a megaphone, so everybody’s going to hear about it before long.”

Leah pulls the broom out of the corner and sweeps the floor. “Of all the people to talk to me about parenting skills! Anyway, I wouldn’t call that video ‘nudity.’ There’s not much bare skin—at least not the kind you think of when you hear the word ‘
nudity
.’ It’s
sure
not the same kind of nudity as Jared sent out to everyone.” Leah seems to realize how it sounded after she says it. “Um, I mean…it’s still horrible.” She glares at Ryan and yells, “
Horrible
!”

“I was in my room, with my door closed. I thought I was alone.” I say it softly, like I’m calm inside. But then I close my eyes, and liquid rage boils behind my eyeballs.

Mom wraps up her conversation with my principal. “I’ll appreciate anything you can do, Mr. McDaniel. Thank you.” She pushes End.

Leah joins us at the table. “Any luck, Sonya?”

Mom starts to reply, but her phone rings. “Hi, Rachel.” Her voice is flat; she doesn’t even try to put on her sunshiny voice. “Drew called you? When? Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter…Yes, it’s terrible…Well, we’re staying put for now. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go…”

She glances at my aunt, who can’t seem to look at her right then. “Anyway, Leah’s…handling it…Yes, she really is. He knows he did wrong, I think.” She sighs heavily, leans her forehead on her palm, and says through gritted teeth, “If Colby wasn’t so fat,
none
of this would have happened.
Nobody
would ever think that watching her get dressed would be funny, if she’d just lose weight.”

Leah gasps, “Sonya!
How
can you say that?”

News flash
: the liquid rage behind my eyeballs is gasoline, and Mom just threw a match on it.

Two words:
I’m done.

I’m. Done.
I rise from my chair and casually walk toward the front door.

“Where are you going, Colby?” Leah asks in what sounds like her own version of Mom’s sunshiny voice.

I sigh shakily; my throat is tight, and my voice is high and pinched. “I need some time alone. I’ll be outside.”

Mom’s words scald me to the depths of my soul:
If Colby wasn’t so fat, none of this would have happened.

I step into the sunshine and become fixated on the heat rising off the asphalt. The sun’s rays are rippling, dancing, and I see myself—stomping, shimmying, lifting one leg high and then the other, as I struggle to get those goddamned jeans on.

An awful awareness settles in and stays: Everyone knows. People are watching the video at this moment, and they are laughing at my disgusting body.

A car speeds past and catches a pothole. Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. What a fat ass.

My mind is buzzing with pain, electrified by my mom’s words, and there, on the narrow walk in front of Sugar’s, I am struck by a cyclone of everything that’s happened since that day in my dad’s office.

Honk!

I jump out of my skin, and the passing truckload of football players laughs. One of them stands and nearly falls out of the pickup bed when he imitates my shimmying jeans dance.

No more. No more.
The forces that were driving me toward the cake icing just an hour before have multiplied times a million, and they’re zooming toward a solution.
I’m out of here. I can’t take it.
The tears I’ve held in since I saw myself in the video escape all at once, and a sob erupts that feels like it comes from the soles of my feet.

At that moment, I’m convinced that I am completely and utterly alone in this world. I doubt that my father loves me anymore, or if my mother ever has. I’m a fat, worthless wretch of a person who is done with this shit.
Enough.

Even though I’m sure He’s not listening, I say it anyway: “God, if You have ever loved me at all, You’ll let me die.”

I walk casually and stop in front of an old white house a few lots down from Sugar’s. There’s nobody in it; the place is for rent. It’s located at the top of the first hill as people come into town. Leah’s always bitching about how fast drivers clear the rise; it’s like they don’t realize they could run somebody over until it would be too late. I sit on the steps and notice a kitten that’s been hit by a car. It’s near the curb. Once in a while the warm breeze blows slightly and flutters the kitten’s fur.

An idea crystallizes in my mind, and I know I’m going to do it this time. It’s not the first time in my life that I’ve envisioned becoming roadkill; it’s just the first time I’ve decided to give it a shot. I rise from the steps and stand on the curb, looking down at the dead kitten.

I dart out in front of the first car that clears the hill, but the driver jerks the wheel and avoids hitting me. He slams on his brakes and makes a quick U-turn, rolls down his window, and chews me out for nearly getting killed.

I pretend to apologize for being in the road and walk slowly back to the Sugar’s parking lot. A few cars pass, but they’re going much too slowly to really hurt me. I sit on the bench in front of Sugar’s and bargain with God:

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and patience is not one of my strengths, so I give God one more chance to convince me not to kill myself:

I scoot all the way to the end of the bench, lean to the left, and peek in the big bay window. Mom is sitting at the table, staring at her phone. Probably checking her text messages. Drew calls to her and she laughs, smiles, and stands.

She…smiles? How can she smile when a video of me is spreading like wildfire through the school? How can she smile with the same mouth she uses to say horrible things to me?