Stuffed (3 page)

I knew my mother knew the condition of my room. And she knew I knew she knew, but she still hadn't said a word—at least not yet. It was sort of like a game we were playing. Correction, it was more like a game
I
was playing and she was involuntarily part of.

I sat down at my desk and shifted some dishes around so I had a place to spread out my books. I had a computer science assignment due the next week. I was almost finished. Technically, when I told my parents I had homework to do, I really didn't have anything I needed to do right now. They were always good about letting me off chore duty if I had schoolwork to do. There was always something I could do, or pretend to do, to get out of doing dishes.

Actually, if I continued to accumulate dishes in my room, soon there wouldn't be dishes in the kitchen to wash. At last count I had twenty-seven different plates, bowls, cups and mugs spread around the room. Each
contained different types and quantities of food and drink. Some of them had been around long enough to develop into interesting little science experiments. I was fascinated by the variety of colors and shapes of mold and fungi that could be created. I considered this to be my version of low-maintenance indoor gardening. Some people grew roses. I grew things that might eventually develop into a new antibiotic. The only downside was that a couple were starting to send out a real smell. Certainly not roses. Maybe I should consider taking some of them upstairs the next time I went.

That would make my mother happy. The other night she'd asked my dad—when I was within earshot—if he knew where all the dishes “
were disappearing to.
” He said he had “
no idea
.” Give me a break; we all knew they were hiding in my room.

I grabbed the converter and clicked on my TV. I raced through the channels, looking for what I wanted. There it was—channel 47—
The Simpsons
. Instantly I recognized the episode, but then again, I recognized all the episodes
because I'd seen them all at least a dozen times. With all the new specialty channels available, I was waiting to subscribe to
The Simpsons Network
.

In some ways I practically had that. If you searched through all the channels, there seemed to be a
Simpsons
episode somewhere almost all the time.

I grabbed a second remote—the one for my stereo—and it came to life. I clicked on a CD and the music started with a loud thud, startling me. I adjusted the sound. It couldn't be too loud or I couldn't hear
The Simpsons
at the same time. Somehow the rap lyrics—one of my favorites from Sage Francis—worked well with the scenes on the screen. It almost seemed like Bart was listening to the music as he sat in his bedroom with his broken leg, looking through his telescope. I looked up at my window. The curtains were open and I had the bizarre thought that maybe Bart was listening to Sage Francis while looking in my window.

I wiggled the mouse and the computer screen came to life. I opened up the file
where I was writing my computer science assignment. Next I opened up the textbook to the right place. I was almost finished. All I needed to do was write one more point and then do the conclusion. Of course “almost finished” and “happily finished” were different. The project was about the use of e-mail for mass communication. I had all the technical stuff, the textbook stuff, but it was dry and boring. I needed to liven it up, but I didn't know how.

My fingers sat on the keys, but nothing seemed to be flowing into them. I couldn't think of what to write. I didn't seem to be able to focus. Then I realized what was missing.

I ran the pointer down to the bottom of the screen and double-clicked on the MSN icon. The screen opened up to reveal my Hotmail address and a second line for my password. I typed it in. S…h…a…d…o…w. Shadow, the name of my dog. I'd read somewhere that kids, pets and birthdays were the first three things a hacker tried when he was figuring out how to break into your account. I figured if anybody was desperate enough to
want to hack into my mail, I wouldn't make it too difficult—obviously he had enough problems.

I hit enter and the screen filled with my whole contact list. I scrolled down, looking to see who was online. There was Oswald—
The Wizzzzard of Ozzie
—and Julia was online too—
The Royal Jewels
.

I clicked onto Oswald first.

hey Oz—how r u? I typed in.
good. u? he replied.
ok. what are u doing? I asked.
nmjc. His shorthand, which meant
“nothing much, just chilling.”
wanna go n get something to eat
l8ter? I asked.
go where? he asked.
frankie's
you're cruel, he answered back.
may b cruel, but not whipped! Wanna
see if J wants to go with us?
not funny. g2g
,
he typed.
got to go where? I asked.
Supper. Not frankie's. Brb after finish
.

I clicked on Julia's name and her window opened up. Beside her name was a picture of a cartoon greyhound. Julia was trying to convince her parents to adopt a former racing greyhound to go along with their two poodles.

I told her there was a fine line between being a person who owned dogs and somebody who was a dog person, living alone, never getting married, wearing fuzzy slippers around the neighborhood and talking to themselves. That line was the third dog.

hey, j, wat?
Her answer came right away: nm—u?
homewrk. still thinking bout frankie's?
I typed in.
just came out of a chat rm—lots of ppl
think frankie's sucks big time—think
bout not eating there crap.
don't blame em—I never eat anybdy's
crap—leaves a bad taste in mouth.
LoL

Laugh out loud. That made me smile. I was glad she found that funny. Julia and Oswald
had both taken a curious dip into the serious pool since they'd started dating.

know wat bugs me most bout
frankie's? I asked.
trying to poison u? Julia replied.
trix they play
,
I answered.
don't understand
stupid plastic toys, games, play
place—all to get u to eat there—
tricking little kids
,
I explained.
get it. sort of like giving kids candy
cigarettes so they become smokers.
x-actly ! these ppl running the
company live in big houses with
fancy cars cause they trix stupid ppl
into eating at frankie's. don't like to
be trixed
u'd rather be poisoned than tricked,
Julia wrote.
Yeah. Your point?
I'd like ppl to know they do both n not
eat there anymore
What can you do? I asked.
not much. talk w friends. tell em not to
eat ther. told 5 ppl tonight on msn.
any of em listen? I typed in.
3 of em g2g c ya l8ter.
c ya l8ter.

Her screen closed and I was back to my contact list. I scrolled down. There were one hundred and eighteen people on my list. I looked at the ones who were online right now. There were eight people from school. A couple from my basketball team. My cousin Sean, who lived on the East Coast. There was Barbie, who went under the MSN name
foxxxxy lady
. She said she lived in California, was my age and claimed she was really hot. I didn't know if any of those things were true, but I did like talking to her. I wasn't even sure how I originally connected to her, but contact lists could be strange like that. You could have people from around the corner or around the world. It was just bizarre how we all were connected.

Then it hit me. An idea so strange that it just might work.

I sat down at the cafeteria table right across from Julia and Oswald. They were holding hands under the table. Cute. No, correct that—stupid. Oswald was struggling to open his milk with just his left hand. Did he think if he let go she'd float away?

“Here,” I said as I reached over and ripped the carton open.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Let me know if your shoelaces come undone. It's even harder to tie them with one hand.”

Oswald looked embarrassed but held tight to Julia. Julia just ignored my comment.

“I've been thinking a lot about Frankie's,” I said.

“Probably drooling,” Julia said.

“Maybe a little bit,” I admitted.

“I don't know how you can even think about eating there,” she said, sounding suitably disgusted.

“To tell you the truth I was thinking about how to have people not eat at Frankie's.”

“You were?” Julia leaned forward across the table.

I nodded. “I have an idea.”

“You do? What's your idea?”

“Before I tell you I have to give you some background.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“To begin with, it's not realistic to expect people to never, ever eat at Frankie's again,” I said.

“I don't see why not!” Julia argued.

“There are lots of reasons. Sometimes there's no other place to eat, or that's the place where your father wants to go to eat, or maybe because, let's face it, some of their food just tastes good.”

“If poison tasted good would you eat it?” Julia questioned.

“Probably only once,” I admitted. “But lots of people like Frankie's. They probably have the best fries around. Even Oswald would agree with that,” I said, gesturing to him.

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. I didn't know if he was feeling afraid or confused. Maybe he was confused about why he was so afraid of Julia.

“Come on, Oswald, just answer the question…honestly.”

“Well…they have pretty good fries.”

Julia shot him a look and then folded her arms across her chest. Obviously she'd let go of his hand. Maybe that's what he was afraid of.

“So,” I said, cutting through the tension, “what is realistic is to ask people to eat less
at Frankie's or to make Frankie's change the food they serve.”

“Not eating there at all is eating there less,” Julia maintained.

“But not realistic. I'm suggesting we pick a day, one day, and we don't eat there.”

“That's your idea?” Julia asked in disbelief. “That for
one
day we don't eat at Frankie's?”

“That's part of my idea.”

“Then it's a pretty
stupid
idea! There are lots of days when people don't eat there. That guy in the documentary is the only person in the world who ate at Frankie's every day.”

“My plan isn't stupid. Just shut up for a minute and listen. I'm not talking about you and Oswald and me not eating at Frankie's. I'm talking about
everybody
.”

Julia snorted. It was quite the feminine-sounding noise—if the female was a pig.

“So should I just climb up on the table and yell out an order that everybody is forbidden to eat at Frankie's next Tuesday?” Julia taunted.

“Let me see…um…wrong…wrong and, yes, wrong again.” I paused for dramatic effect. “First, it isn't going to be an order, but an invitation. Second, Tuesday is too soon. I was thinking the Friday after this Friday. And third, I'm not talking about everybody here,” I said, motioning around the cafeteria. “I'm talking about every
body
, every
where
.”

“What does that mean?” Oswald asked.

“It means all people…here…there… everywhere.”

“Yeah, like we know everybody,” Julia said.

“You don't, but you do know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody else who knows every other person on the
entire
planet.”

Julia looked confused. Oswald looked even more confused than usual.

“Look, you know that project I'm working on for computer science,” I said.

“It's about the Internet, right?” Oswald said.

“It's about how the Internet can be used to spread a message,” I explained.

“And you think if we sent out a couple of messages, we can talk our friends into not eating at Frankie's?” Julia asked. “I already talked to nine or ten people on MSN last night about Frankie's being poison.”

“I'm talking the Internet, and I'm talking MSN, but I'm not talking about just a few people,” I said. “How many people do you have on your contact list?” I asked Julia.

“I don't know exactly, but maybe 140 or 150.”

“And you, Oswald?”

“Eighty or ninety.”

“I'm about the same. Now, what if we all put out a mass e-mail, a blast, to everybody on our contact lists. In that blast we have a message saying why Frankie's food is bad and asking them to stay away from Frankie's on that Friday.”

“Two Fridays from now, right?” Oswald said.

“It doesn't have to be then, but I thought the timing was about right. We can call it Frankie's Free Friday.”

“That's catchy,” Oswald said.

“That was why I chose a Friday. There's something about the sound of all those
f
‘s.”

“Okay, so I send out a blast to 140 people and you two send out another 90 messages each…so what?” Julia asked. “That's like 320 people…actually less because we have a lot of the same people on our contact lists, so some people would get three messages, one from each of us.”