The Fat Boy Chronicles (11 page)

Wednesday, 12–20

Sable's one of the best writers in our class. She writes poetry all the time and shares her poems in teen circle at church. They're really weird but make you think. She writes about how crazy and mixed–up the world is. Sable has a thing about pollution. She thinks the air is really bad and doesn't like to go outside because she might get lung cancer. I think that's one of the reasons she wears long–sleeved shirts all the time—even when it's really hot out. Paul thinks she's bulimic because she smells like puke sometimes. I've never noticed anything.

Sable tries to talk to me sometimes after class, but I'm always in a hurry to get to PE. I don't get it—my parents say high school should be the best years of my life because of making friends and going to all the games and dances and stuff, but how do kids get to know one another at school when they're so busy rushing from one class to another? We don't even have time to use the toilet, we're so rushed. Lunch is no better. We have to scarf down our food in order to finish before the bell rings. Rushing only makes kids eat more, because there's no time for the hunger signals to turn off. After years of eating like this, scarfing becomes a way of life. No wonder some of us have weight problems. My parents get mad when I eat like that at home, but I still do it. My mom says high school kills good table manners.

Thursday, 12–21

Please Don't Read This Page

It's been pandemonium so far this week in science class. That's because Mr. M is having us dissect frogs. I mean, we should be singing Christmas carols or making funnel cakes or something, not cutting up frogs. Mr. M's doing what he calls pithing, where he takes a scalpel and cuts one of the frog's nerves, which leaves it brain dead. Then he attaches a battery to the dead frog and cuts it open so we can see the heart beating. No one's paying attention like they should because they're too excited about the break and presents and stuff.

The girls especially are acting clueless, and dropping things and messing up the frogs. Some of them screamed when Mr. M cut one open. He about had a coronary. He made us put everything away, and then he yelled at us for not listening. Whitney yelled back at him and said the whole thing was way too gross for her, and she was going to tell her parents to talk to the principal about it.

That's when Mr. M really lost it. He said, “Gross? You don't know beans about gross. Did it ever cross your mind that when you take a walk in the park or swim in the ocean, you're surrounded by feces? And semen? And pee? That a forest is one big toilet? Or an outdoor hotel for one night stands? That when you smell the insides of flowers, you're smelling their sexual parts? Where do you think the millions of creatures that inhabit the forests and oceans poop? In a Port–a–Potty? Do you think possums screw each other at the Super 8? And you think cutting up a little numbed frog is gross? Give me a freaking break!”

The entire class really quieted down after that. No one said a word, not even Whitney. I think everyone was shocked that Mr. M talked about sex in front of us. I think even Mr. M himself was a little shocked, because he didn't say much after that. Just something like “Shut up and read your books.” Then he mumbled about showing us a movie on Friday. I hope he doesn't get fired over it, because he's really a good teacher. Then again, he probably won't. No kid is going to rat out a teacher who talks about sex.

Friday, 12–22

I'm so glad Christmas break is finally here and finals are over. School's been really hard lately. Not the school work, but the kids. Most of the time, I do okay, but it's hard when no one ever asks you to do anything. It's like I don't exist as a real kid who's interested in things, like other people. Most kids treat me like I'm one of those plastic punching dolls, the kind you punch over and over but they keep popping back up. Inside, I'm just like every other kid, but they don't take time to get to know me, or know that I listen to jazz and Christian rock, or that I like the Cleveland Browns. All they see are my great big blobs of fat. I'm trying to do something about it, but it's hard. I feel hungry half the night, then in the morning when I stand on the scale my weight's the same. My dad said our family's going to get a Total Gym for Christmas, and that way I can build some muscle. Dad says muscle burns calories faster than fat, so that should help.

I'm getting used to all the picking stuff, but that's not what's getting me—it's feeling invisible. I go hours at a time without anyone noticing I exist. That's worse than the picking. The teachers are just as bad. Except for you. I appreciate your putting us all in groups, rather than have us choose our own groups. I would never be chosen. Maybe Sable would choose me, because we're in the same youth group. She's always pretty nice to me in class. She's not as hot as Whitney, the girl from science, but she's pretty cute.

You'll be happy to know we talked about
A Separate Peace
at youth group last time. I really like the characters Finny and Gene and so does Sable. She thinks the book is about war and how people
subconsciously fight wars everyday of their lives. That humans are conditioned to be warmongers, and that the big wars are a result of our every day wars just piling up until they get so big, we're fighting country against country instead of person against person, or employee against employee, or company against company, etc. I think she has a point, but I think the story is about how some people hurt other people because they don't feel happy with themselves.

I mean, look at Paul's dad. He's really unhappy because he can't find a job and is married to an alcoholic, so he takes his anger out on Paul, even though Paul is really a good kid. Gene feels inferior to Finny, so he shakes the branch and causes Finny to fall. Then Gene feels all sorry and guilty about it, but the thing is, he can't take it back, because Finny's leg is ruined for life. I think the author is trying to say that life is about humans going around hurting one another until they wise up and realize how bad they've been. Then they spend their lives feeling guilty about their behavior, and try to make it up by doing really nice things for the people they've hurt. I wonder if Paul's dad's going to make it up to Paul later on. It's hard to imagine. I suppose there must be some people who don't hurt other people, but I doubt it. My dad's really nice, but sometimes he says things that hurt my mom, and even my grandmother. I've said some nasty things to my sister—but I don't regret them, at least not yet.

Thursday, 12–28

Dad bought the family a Total Gym for Christmas—it's awesome. You can work every major muscle in your body. Dad's spotting me and I can lift around 90 pounds, so far. I've made a commitment to lose weight, first by cutting out all junk food and eating more bananas and apples and stuff like that. My mom says it's all about balanced meals—you don't have to starve yourself; you just have to get enough from each of the three food groups. You can pretty much eat anything you want as long as you have a balance of carbs and proteins, but limit your fats. She says I have to use common sense, like cutting out banana splits and jumbo–sized french fries. I really try to stay away from donuts and chips, because I know once I start eating them, I go too far. Remember all the donuts I used to eat at youth group? What was I thinking? The thought of all that sugar makes me want to puke.

I've committed to running a mile four days a week, and working out on the Total Gym three days a week. This won't be as hard over Christmas break, but once school starts up, I'll have to get up at five in order to run and get my workout in. Mornings are so cold but it's the only time I have to work out because of school, band practice, and homework. Plus, if I wait until after school, I'm usually too tired to get motivated. Dad said mornings are the best time to work out anyway, since it gets your metabolism going for the rest of the day. I've already lost three pounds since Mom and I threw out all the high–carb snacks. The scale isn't groaning as much as it used to. Things are looking up.

Monday, 1–1

Happy New Year, Mrs. Pope!

Hope you had a great Christmas break. Every Christmas Eve at church we have a special celebration where we go outside and sing carols around the manger. Then we prepare baskets of food with hams and turkeys to take to the soup kitchen on Christmas Day. This year my family woke up real early on Christmas Day, and we helped pass out the food baskets. People were really happy to get them. Some of the little kids looked really excited, which goes to show you how much we take for granted. There's always been plenty of food around my house, too much of it most of the time. Same for most people I know. I mean, I can see getting excited about a Wii or a Total Gym, but food is something that comes with the house. Or so I thought before this morning. It made me feel really bad to think that some kids don't get enough to eat and their moms can't afford to make their lunches.

When I stare at the fat on my body, I think of the poor kids who can't gorge themselves with cookies and rolls, and I feel really guilty. I told Dad how I felt and he said that sometimes a lot of weight doesn't mean you've eaten too much. It means you've eaten the wrong things. He said he sees many obese poor kids; he says it's because they can't afford to eat healthy. Places that offer free food can only afford to hand out the cheap high–carb foods, like white bread and boxes of macaroni. Sounds like another one of those catch–22 things my dad always talks about.

Thursday, 1–4

Please Don't Read This Page

Paul came over yesterday and looked really weird. I didn't see him at all during Christmas break, not even at church. I caught my parents looking at each other when they saw him. He's let his hair grow out—it's below his chin—and it doesn't look like he's washed it in a week. He even dresses different now. And then he wears this stupid hat, a French beret thing, and his jeans are really big with chains hanging on them. Paul showed me his schedule, but we're not any of the same classes. He says school's a waste of time and all teachers are losers; otherwise, they'd be doctors or businessmen. I had to keep the windows in my room open and spray Lysol, because he smokes. My parents would freak if they found out he was smoking in my room. He said he smokes weed too, and that I should try it. He said I need to chill out and stop worrying about my weight so much. Paul has a real attitude. I think his parents are getting to him and he smokes pot to escape from them. He's got a new girlfriend and he talks about all the things they do together. Things I can't write about in here. What if you dropped the journal and it accidentally opened to this page? Not a chance I want to take.

Paul brought up the killer again. He and his new girlfriend have been spying on the predator's house at night. Paul's girlfriend's brother has a car, so he drives them over there, so they can watch in the windows. The man's always on the phone and drinking a beer. He paces around the house and sometimes sits in front of the TV. Not a very exciting life if you ask me. So far, no proof that this guy murdered Kimberly. Paul's thinking about calling the police about him anonymously. I think it's a long shot. Or a wild goose chase. But, so far, it's been a long goose chase.

I have to study for our test on
A Separate Peace
. Wish I could be more like Finny. I can identify with Gene Forester, because sometimes I get jealous of Spencer's life—I mean he can get any girl he wants, he's smart, he's a great athlete—how lucky can one guy get? Just like Finny.

Friday, 1–5

I'm pretty sure I aced the test today. Some of the kids were complaining because of so many long essay questions, but I'm glad you don't give those true/false tests. I think it's bogus to ask questions about what color shirt the kid wore, and picky stuff like that. It's better to ask what we got out of the book and what we think of the characters. I mean, you can't really answer questions like that if you haven't read the book. And it's a lot harder to cheat on essay tests. I do better on them anyway, probably because I like to write. I guess you're surprised at that, since I complained so much about writing this journal. But now I think it's pretty cool and it gives me a chance to record things that are happening in my life right now. I'll never be fifteen again or feel the same way as I do now. Like how much pressure my parents put me under. I mean, they're nice and everything, but they want me to be the perfect student, the perfect musician, and now they're pressuring me to try out for baseball. They keep bringing it up because when I was in the fifth and sixth grade, I was pretty good at it. Especially at pitching. I guess they forgot about the football and soccer disasters in the seventh and eighth grade.

No matter what I say, they just don't seem to understand. I told them I can't keep up with all my classes and play sports. Especially since they expect me to get all A's, and I'm involved with all my church activities. And I made Honors Jazz Band—seems like that should be enough.

Saturday, 1–6

My parents think I spend too much time alone in my room playing video games. I do that some but I spend a lot of time on homework. I'm reading
Lord of
the Flies
, since you gave us four chapters to read over the weekend, which I think is unfair. Don't get me wrong, I like the book, but we do have other classes. Plus, you expect us to write in our journals on the weekends.

Okay, I just finished the chapters you gave us. They were pretty good, but I have one problem with it. Thanks, Mrs. Pope, for picking a book that has a fat kid named Piggy on page five. I hate all the description too. The best parts are when the book talks about the kids and how they form teams. Jack gets all the jocks, while Ralph gets stuck with Piggy, who can hardly see, much less run all over the island. The way the boys make fun of Piggy reminds me of last year when I was on the SAY team. We had practice on Tuesday afternoons, and this one day it was really hot—I mean like an oven. So everyone was really exhausted. Our coach decided about half way through
practice that we were going to split into two groups and scrimmage. He had vests to put over our shirts to separate one team from the other, but since it was so hot out he decided to have us go skins and shirts. I really wanted to be on the shirts team because I'm so big and when I run, my chest flops up and down.