The Fat Boy Chronicles (9 page)

I have band practice every day after school, so Allen now has to sit by himself on the bus ride home. He text–messages me when he gets picked on, which is all the time. I tell him to ignore what those idiots say; he's better than they are.

I won't be in class Monday because I have a doctor's appointment. It's a little late in the year, but this is the only time they could get me in for my yearly check–up. My mom said Dr. Weber's office gives the kids playing sports priority over the rest of us, because they can't play without a physical.

Tuesday, 11–21

Please Don' t Read this Page

The doctor freaked at how much weight I've gained. He showed me where I was on the chart and I was way up there. Dr. Weber took blood tests and made me pee in a plastic cup, just in case I have a medical problem. He said maybe it was my thyroid, but he didn't think it was that. He wanted to know if I was depressed. Or stressed. I said I wasn't. But I am. Who wouldn't be? I bet all fat people are depressed. Even jolly old Saint Nick. Being fat isn't so jolly.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and think of Humpty Dumpty. I'm worse than that. I'm not even oval enough for an egg. Why do I eat so much? At church last week, there was a tray of donuts out. I ate five at first—then, I kept sneaking more. I almost made myself sick, but still kept eating. I've always loved to eat, mainly bread and chips and stuff, but I thought I was just being a kid. All my friends eat as much as I do, some even eat more, and they're not fat. When I was little, my parents told everyone what a good eater I was. Guess I was too good of one.

Dr. Weber said my risk is high for developing diabetes, and if I don't lose weight now, I'll be obese for the rest of my life. For the rest of my life? I can barely look at myself in the mirror now and I'm still a kid. What will it be like when I'm old, like thirty? This really sucks. How am I going to lose weight now? It's almost Thanksgiving break. I mean, isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about? Eating? My parents and relatives will be cooking all my favorite recipes, food that we don't have any other time, and I'm supposed to cut back?
Life is so unfair. I wish I wasn't so fat. At least I don't look like a skinned cat, like Jessica.

Can my life get any worse? After math class today, I overheard Gabby Lewis talking about me in the hall. She was telling her girlfriends how she saw my crack last week when I leaned down to get something out of my locker. “He can't keep his pants up, he's so fat,” she said. “I bet he keeps his pencils in there!” I had to go past them to get to my locker, but I was so humiliated, I went the other way, and then got in trouble for not bringing my book to Spanish.

I just don't care anymore. I mean, what's the use? I've been kidding myself, thinking the kids look at me differently from Allen. I thought I was somehow better than him, not as fat—not by much, but at least a notch better anyway. But the truth is I'm not any different from Allen. We're two fat boys with cracks that show. Two pigs in a poke, my grandmother would say. I wonder how many times kids play “basketball” behind my back.

Some days the picking gets so bad, I feel like killing myself. I mean, I don't really see my life getting any better. Even the kids at youth group are acting all weird, like they have to be nice to me because we're at church, but none of them ever calls me to do anything. Except for Paul. He's still cool. But for how long? At least I have my parents. But what if something happens to them?

I thought of different ways to kill myself, but even that's hard because of my weight. Hanging wouldn't work: because I'm so fat, the rope wouldn't hold. If I jumped out my bedroom window, I'd probably just break something because my weight would be too much of a cushion. I don't know where to get drugs, so dying of an overdose
is out of the question, and we don't keep guns in the house. Until I think of a better idea, guess I'll just kill myself by overeating. Unfortunately, that takes years.

In case you really do read the pages, I'm not really serious about killing myself. I wish somebody else would kill me though. I don't mean that either. I wish I could be me, but in a different body. I was so depressed today that I asked if we could go to McDonald's. My mother bought me two Big Macs and fries. Why does she do that? Doesn't she realize that I'm fat? And eating junk only makes me fatter? She can be so clueless sometimes. I think she feels sorry for me, so she lets me eat whatever I want. She's overweight herself, so I guess she's not surprised I am.

Thursday, 11–23

Hi Mrs. Pope! Hope you're having a good Thanksgiving in Indiana. I bet your kids are glad to see their grandparents. Did you sing “Over the River and Through the Woods?” My parents used to sing that to Jessica and me on our way to Nana Josie's house when we were little. Another one of our family traditions.

I know you said we didn't have to write in our journals over Thanksgiving break, but I can't get to sleep and I don't feel like reading. I'm at the beach—we left yesterday, right after school was out and picked up Nana in Kentucky. Then Dad drove all night while we slept in the back when Nana wasn't snoring. My parents won't let me
bring my Wii or PlayStation on family trips. We've been going to the beach over Thanksgiving for the last few years. We always go to the same place—Bald Head Island in North Carolina. Cars aren't allowed on the island, so we have to take a ferry over and then carry all our stuff on golf carts. Which is a pain, because we have big coolers filled with food and drinks, not to mention the turkey.

Anyway, my parents, along with my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jim, always rent the same house, a big gray one with porches all around. It sits right on the ocean, on East Beach, and my parents always get my sister and me out of bed to see the sunrise. My aunt and uncle let my cousins Sophie and Audrey sleep in. It's not fair that we have to get up so early on our break, but once I'm up, I'm glad. Jessica usually goes back to bed afterward, but I go out and search for shells and fossils. The water's pretty rough on the beach, so most of the shells are broken, but they're still cool.

My twin cousins are in the fifth grade, and they can get really annoying. All they want to do is play Monopoly and Sorry! and other really old games. I end up playing, but those games take forever. And if that isn't boring enough, my dad always buys these ridiculous jigsaw puzzles with a thousand little pieces and says we have to put it together by the end of the trip. Yeah, right, Dad. We've never put one of them completely together, so we just end up leaving it at the house for the next group of suckers to try. All our old puzzles are still at the house, so I don't know why my dad keeps buying more. My parents can be real old–fashioned sometimes. It drives me and Jessica crazy.

My aunt and uncle are really cool though. My sister says they
really “get” teenagers. That's probably because they're younger. My aunt is my mom's younger sister and she's a social worker. She's always telling stories about abused and neglected kids and how hard it is to get help for them. I don't know if I could do her job; it sounds really stressful. She says she stays awake at night, because she can't get some kid's sad eyes out of her mind. Every second there's some kid out there hurting. It's her job to try to find that kid so she can get him help. It's mind–boggling to think about. My uncle is the opposite of my aunt—he's a sales guy for a drug company and he's always telling jokes. I don't know if I've ever seen him in a bad mood. I hope it doesn't have anything to do with him selling drugs.

The beach is okay, but it can be kind of boring. Except for Thanksgiving dinner—that's the highlight of the trip. People who own the house have a deep fryer, and that's how we do the turkey. It's the best. The aroma from the turkey makes me forget I have any stress in my life.

Sunday, 11–26

We had our usual Thanksgiving. Dad did the turkey, and my mom made sweet potatoes with marshmallows, green beans, cranberry sauce, corn pudding, oyster dressing, and rolls right out of the oven. Nana (Mom's mom) fixed cornbread dressing and her famous lumpy mashed potatoes. She has a hard time getting around because she's so big. The whole ride to the beach, all she talked about was how her ankles were swelled up. Mom always gets pies from Frisch's—she
usually only gets pumpkin, but this year she got pumpkin and banana cream. My sister got stuck snipping the green beans while Aunte Sue and the guys watched football. “That's not fair,” she whined, like she does every year. “Why do Dad and Jimmy always get out of everything?”

“Shut up, woman,” I yelled from the family room. “You should know your place by now.” Dad laughed, but Mom reminded her of how the guys get stuck with all the yard clean–up.

Nana tried to make Jessica feel better by saying we should be put on clean–up duty, but she didn't really mean it, because she said, “If they cleaned up, they'd make an even bigger mess.” That's not true, since Dad and I do the dishes at least three times a week, but I wasn't going to disagree with Nana. It was too much fun watching my sister get all mad.

Nana is old school and doesn't think men belong in the kitchen. Mom said it's not worth arguing with her, so when she's there, Dad and I sit around doing nothing so we can “keep the peace.” That's what my mom calls it anyway.

Wednesday, 11–29

Finally! Something fun to do in school. We got assigned a project in science class. We have to build a car out of a mousetrap. Next week we'll have a contest to see whose will go the farthest. The teacher gave us some hints on what to do and what not to, and I went online to find some other info. I'll work on mine this weekend. I'm sure Dad will want to help but he's not supposed to get over–involved. I really like it when me and my dad work on things together.

Nate is still a jerk.

Sunday, 12–3

Dad and I worked on my rocket mousetrap car yesterday and it looks great. It's all red and black and it goes a long way. I tried it in the driveway and almost lost it on its trial run because as soon as I let the spring go, my dog got all excited and chased after it. He was going to chew it up but I yelled at him and he dropped it. I had to get all the dog slobber off before I could test it again. It works great and I can't wait to see how it does against everyone else's in class.

In a little bit we're going to church. We went out to eat this morning at Frisch's; they have a buffet breakfast bar. Boy, is it good. I had french toast and biscuits and gravy. Then two big plates of eggs and some cereal. I hope I don't burp in church. One time, a few years back, I got hiccups in church really bad. It was a day when the preacher was very serious. I don't really remember what he was talking about, but no one else was making any noise. Right in the middle of one of his pauses, I let out this big hiccup. Everyone turned and looked at me. Even the preacher looked. Mom turned red but I couldn't help it. The preacher went back to his sermon, but he kept looking at me, more than he ever did before. Every time he took a deep breath, he would glance over. Then, as if we had planned it, he paused again and right when he raised his arms to make a point, I let
out another one. Except this one sounded like a small dog barking. The preacher dropped his arms and kinda laughed. Then most everyone else did too. Mom made me get up and we went out into the lobby. I'm surprised we ever went back to that church. Mom and Dad still ask me if I have the hiccups before we sit down in church. And so do other people. Mom laughs but she doesn't mean it.

Tuesday, 12–5

Today we got to see how our mousetrap car works in school. We went out in the hall and we each had our chance. When it was my turn, I was nervous but guess what? Mine went farther than all the others! It felt so cool to have the car that everyone else wanted. People who had never spoken to me asked me about it. Even Whitney said something, but I was so shocked I think I just turned red and mumbled a “thanks.” A few of the guys were saying that you can attach some sort of rod to the spring on the trap, and it slows down the spring when it's released. I'm not sure what they mean but if I can figure it out, they said it will go even farther. So, we'll see this Friday when it really counts.

In lunch, some kid threw a chair across the room. It started when he got hit in the head with an orange. It was by accident— some kids were just trying to be funny and weren't aiming at him. But when he got hit, he went crazy and picked up a metal chair and just heaved it over three or four tables. It hit a junior in the head and then the whole room went nuts. Everybody was yelling and teachers
came running. The kid got pulled away by the school cop. I don't know what happened to the kid who threw the orange, probably nothing, but the one that got hit by the chair had a big cut. There was blood all over the place so it ruined a lot of people's lunches. I thought the place would never calm down. Finally, the bell rang and we all wandered off to class.

Wednesday, 12–6

Please Don't Read This Page

I want out of gym class. I thought that maybe after a while the kids would stop bothering me but it's getting worse. Nate started everything again in the locker room, and then his buddies jumped in on the fun. I was putting on my PE shirt when he came over to me and grabbed the bottom of my shirt. He wouldn't let me pull it down. I told him to quit but he just laughed and said, “Hey guys, watch this, it's the Pillsbury Doughboy!” He poked me in the stomach and then did the little giggle like on the commercial. Everyone burst out laughing. He poked me pretty hard so I sat down and rubbed my belly. Nate patted my head. “Aww, does poor little Jimmy need a hug? Well, I would try but my arms aren't that long.” And all the guys standing around laughed again. About that time, Coach walked in and asked what was going on. Nate stepped in front of me and said, “Nothing, sir. Just having fun before class.” Coach looked at me but Nate had gone behind him and gave me a death stare, so I knew that if I told, he would harass me even more for ratting on him. Or he'd
hit me. I just shrugged and told the teacher that I was fine, we were just playing. I don't think he believed me, and he yelled at everyone to get out in the gym where they belonged.