Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (32 page)

“Stop it!” I slap my hand on the top of his desk and candy hearts fly. My eyes narrow as I level him with a cold stare. “Did you take Tiffany’s candy?”

“No.” His chin juts high in the air. “Don’t want any of her stupid old stuff anyway. She smells.”

His words punch a hole in my stomach. Babies are born innocent and sweet. When does the meanness, the anger, the cruelty kick in?

“We don’t talk about people like that in my class,” I say, “or anywhere else, either.” The room is deathly still except for Tiffany who sits sobbing quietly at her desk with an occasional odd hiccup. I rest a hand on the back of her chair and stare Billy down. “Do you understand me?”

His eyes hold a defiant challenge. “I guess so.”

Damned if I’m going to let some bully make a little girl cry. This is my classroom and I’m in control. High time he learned it. High time they all did.

High time I learned it myself.

“You owe Tiffany an apology. I suggest you do it right now or you’ll be spending the afternoon in the principal’s office.”

The look on his face suggests he’s about to protest, then thinks the better of it. He drops his gaze, flips his pencil around the desk. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“As for whether or not you took her candy, we’ll discuss that later. Right now, I want you to go next door to Mr. Lamont’s class and ask him for some extra hearts.”

Billy drops his pencil and streaks for the door.

“Listen up, all of you.” I tap my watch. “This is your first and final warning. You have exactly fifteen minutes to finish your papers or I’m canceling the party.”

Heads bow as everyone grabs their pencils and candy hearts and scribbles away.

I crouch down next to Tiffany’s desk. Billy is right. There is a faint foul odor about the little girl, like she needs to use more soap. Deodorant might be a good idea, too. Silently I remind myself to have a private talk with her soon. I fumble in my pocket for a clean tissue and hand it to her. “You okay?”

Tiffany swipes at her tears. “I didn’t eat the candy, Miss P. You said not to, and I didn’t.”

“Miss P? A finger from behind taps me on my shoulder.

“Yes, Karen?” I turn to face the little girl in the desk across from Tiffany.

“What Jenna said is true. Billy did take the candy. I saw him, too.”

“All right. Thank you, girls.” I’ll deal with Billy later. I struggle to a stand. My knees ache from squatting beside Tiffany’s desk. Plus, my extra pounds aren’t helping. I have got to get this dieting thing under control. I pat Tiffany on her shoulder. “You only have a few minutes left. You should start writing your story.”

“But I don’t have any candy.” Her tears well up again. “It’s too late.”

“That’s not something we say in my class.
It’s never too late
. Start writing and as soon as Billy gets back with more candy, you can finish the story. We’ll fix this, you’ll see.”

Tiffany’s eyes hold doubt, but she picks up her pencil.

Just as I reach my desk, Billy shows up, empty-handed. “Mr. Lamont says, sorry, but he’s out of candy hearts.”

“Are you sure?” I frown. Nick was in the teacher’s lounge this morning just before the bell rang, asking if anyone had spare candy hearts. When no one else stepped forward, I grudgingly volunteered the extra bag I bought for just-in-case.

Billy shrugs. “You want me to go ask him again?”

“No. Go back to your desk and finish your work. And share half of your candy with Tiffany,” I add as he starts down the aisle.

But I can’t dismiss the thought of that big sack of candy hearts I surrendered to Nick this morning. I never thought to ask but now I can’t help wondering. Fifth graders are notorious for bringing in treats. Why did he need candy hearts, anyway? He should have had an ample supply of goodies to go around.

“Everyone keep working. I’ll be right back.”

Nick’s classroom is quiet as I slip through the door and thread my way through the untidy rows to the front of the room. He stands, back to me, writing on the board. His students are busy, scribbling away, pencils in hand, candy hearts scattered on top of their desks.

Writing stories using candy hearts supplied by me.

He stole my idea. The writing-a-story-with-candy-heart-messages game is something I dreamed up on my own and I damn well know I never shared it with him. He used my idea. He used my candy. He used me.

“Mr. Lamont?” I’m steaming before he even swings around to face me.

His face scrunches in surprise. “What’s up? You need something?”

“Yes. I need those candy hearts I gave you this morning.”

“Didn’t Billy tell you? They’re all gone.” He gestures at the class. “My kids are writing papers.”

“I can see that.” He’s got some gall, standing there without the slightest hint of apology in his eyes or voice. “I need them back.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“I thought you wanted them for snacks.” My voice shakes and I knot my hands in fists, force them behind me so I won’t be tempted to slap him. What did I ever see in this man? Whatever possessed me to give him the candy this morning? I knew Nick couldn’t be trusted. What would the committee for Teacher of the Year think about a candidate who cheats and steals?

“Like I said, we don’t have any candy left. My kids have a paper to—”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” My voice rises as I glare at him. “I see what they’re doing. And I know exactly what you did.”

Loud whispering starts behind me and I quickly check myself. No matter how furious I am with Nick, I shouldn’t have interrupted his classroom. I spin around. I feel the eyes of twenty-five fifth graders upon me as I thread my way through their desks to the door.

“We’ll talk after school,” Nick calls after me.

I don’t bother answering.

# # #

“You’ve got to believe me. I never meant to make you mad.” Nick stands in front of my desk, hands behind his back, looking exactly like one of my fifth-grade boys who knows he’s in trouble with the teacher. But Nick is a man. Will he ever grow up?

“Forget it.” It’s taken three sugary cupcakes, two enormous heart-shaped cookies and one hour for my anger to melt into a slow simmer. What’s the use in belaboring the point? Nick won’t get it anyway. “It’s over.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t get it, Patty. Why are you mad? What did I do?”

If only I could clamp my hands against my ears and shut him out. If only he would leave so I wouldn’t have to deal with him. If only he would stay on his own side of the wall until the end of the school year.

“Hear me out, okay? I just wanted to say…”

Sorry I’m such a jerk?
That would do for starters. I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from blurting out the words.

“I just wanted to say, thank you,” Nick says. “Thanks for being there and always helping out… just like you did today with those candy hearts. I don’t think you realize how much that means to me, Patty. You’ve been great.”

My stomach rolls. Nick’s slick, but I’m not stupid. I am not falling for his smooth talking this time.

“Maybe I should have said something earlier. I thought you knew how I felt about you. Maybe I was wrong.” His voice is soft, wounded. “You’re not like other girls, you know.”

Everyone knows you’ve got a crush on him.
My cheeks burn, remembering Amy’s words, how people must have laughed as they watched him play me for the fool. I’ve been drooling over Nick since the day we met, like he was a moist rich cookie and mine for the taking. But my appetite for Nick Lamont is gone. The only thing left I have left is a bad taste in my mouth.

I’m nothing but a joke in the teacher’s lounge.
A big fat joke.

“And as for that candy heart business today…” A ruddy flush suddenly covers his face. “I’ve been so busy getting ready for basketball play-offs, I didn’t have time to get the party organized. I guess I sounded pretty desperate this morning. Then Ruth told me about the candy-heart game. I thought it sounded perfect; especially once she said the game was your idea.”

I throw him a hard stare. Ruth was the one who told him? But she never said a word to me.

“I was only trying to buy myself some time,” he continues. “I figured you wouldn’t care. And basketball is nearly over. Two more weeks and we head into the play-offs. We’re in first place.”

I nod. I quit going to his games weeks ago, but some habits are hard to break. Despite everything, I still search out the winning scores each morning following a game. Letting go isn’t easy after all these months. I’ve never been good at letting go of thing in my life—sugar or men.

He brings his hands from behind his back to reveal a heart-shaped box of chocolates. “I meant to give you these for Valentine’s Day, but now I suppose it’s more like a peace offering.” He shoves the box onto my desk. “Listen, I’ve got to get going. I’m already late for practice and we’ve got a big game tomorrow night.”

“Right.” I stare at the chocolate. His team will be playing their archrivals.

“It would be great if you could make it. I haven’t seen you at the last couple home games.”

“I’ve been busy.” Hiding out at the mall, at the library. Hiding out from Nick. From Priscilla. From Sam.

Hiding out from me.

“We can use all the cheerleaders we can get,” he adds.

“I don’t think so.” I’m nobody’s cheerleader, including my own.

“Catch you later.” A quick glance at his wristwatch and he breezes out the door.

I stare at the fancy box of candy on my desk. Nick practically threw the word
fat
in my face at the basketball game, and now he’s bribing me with chocolate? Is he really stupid enough to believe I’d buy into that lame excuse about him being too busy to plan a party? Teaching means more than standing in front of a class. Preparing and organizing take up valuable time, with weekly lesson plans, homework assignments, and tests to grade. Nick is too busy? We’re all busy. He’s got no business whining about it, especially when he’s being paid extra to coach. It’s time he learned to pull his own weight. Time he learned to come up with his own ideas. It will do him good. Maybe he’ll actually learn a thing or two.

Mr. Lamont needs to get his lesson plans in order, and fast.

I cram the fancy box of chocolates into my overstuffed bag. Maybe Nick was right about one thing. This candy can be a peace offering. Priscilla can afford to indulge.

# # #

The dozen lush long-stemmed red roses on the hallway table in the cut glass vase for Priscilla are no surprise. The other dozen roses in a rich luscious pink and a card bearing my name leave me speechless.

“Why would Dr. Brown send me flowers?” I bury my face in the fragrant bouquet, inhaling the bittersweet irony. A man sends me flowers for the first time in my life, but he’s not in love with me… but with my twin.

“He wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?”

“For sharing me with him.” Priscilla dabs her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard? Oh, Patty, what am I going to do?” Her shoulder blades heave through the thin fabric of her blouse. “I think I’m in love with him.”

I ignore the ache in my own heart and wrap my sister close. For the first time in weeks, she’s finally talking to me. Thank God, thank God, whatever’s wrong between us is finally crumbling. “You sound like you think being in love is a bad thing. And it’s certainly nothing to cry about.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Priscilla moans through her Kleenex. “I feel like I’m about to burst… from happiness.”

“I thought that’s the way you’re supposed to feel when you’re in love.”

“How can I be happy when I know you’re so miserable?”

“But I’m not miserable.” I cringe slightly as the lie slides out of my mouth. Twins have a spiritual, physical, and emotional bond that can’t be broken, and Priscilla’s instincts are dead-on. Because I am miserable. Things aren’t fine, they’re horrible. And they’ll stay that way until I find the courage to fix the mess I’ve made of my life.

“We never talk anymore, Patty.” Her eyes shimmer, enormous and troubled. “That makes me sad, too.”

“We’re talking now,” I remind her. Priscilla’s not the only one who’s been sad. I’m plenty sad myself, especially when I look in the mirror. Mirrors don’t lie and neither does my waistband. I’ve quit weighing myself. I don’t want to know how much I’ve gained. It could be two pounds, but it feels like twenty. My heart feels even heavier, holding back the truth from Priscilla. Maybe it’s time I finally confessed and tell her about Nick. Tell her what happened with Sam. Admit what a fool I’ve been. No matter what I’ve done, I know she loves me. Priscilla will forgive me. She’ll help me set things right.

The glare of a car’s headlights pull into the driveway.

“Harold’s here.” She pulls back, brushes away the last of her tears with a brilliant smile. “I’ve probably ruined my makeup with all this crying.”

“You look beautiful,” I assure her softly, knowing the special moment between us is gone. Priscilla is about to walk out that door and out of my life again. And when she does, I’ll be all alone.

After they leave, I climb the stairs and head for my bedroom. I kick off my shoes, slip out of my clothes, and climb into my cozy flannel nightgown. I flop on the bed, eye the alarm. I don’t care if it’s only seven o’clock. I’m done with Cupid, with hearts and flowers and love. No reason I can’t go to bed. There’s no one around offering a better suggestion. No one to tell me what time to wake up, what time to sleep. No one to care what I do, what I don’t do. No one to share my triumphs with, or tell my troubles to.

No one, except…

I stare at the phone on my nightstand. Just one little phone call is all it would take. Sam left the door wide open. He told me exactly how he felt. All I have to do is pick up the phone. One phone call, one apology, and I could be in Sam’s arms.

If you ever come to your senses about that guy, give me a call.

Am I ready to make that call? And what if he no longer cares? What if he’s found someone else? Sam knows me better than I know myself. He saw right through me for the fool I was.