The Fat Boy Chronicles

by Diane Lang

  Sable Moore said she thought you were one of the best teachers she’s ever had, and couldn’t believe you didn’t show up for class. No one had a clue you did it on purpose. I don’t think you got what you wanted. We didn’t have any Jacks or Ralphs, but we did have a Piggy. That would be me. At least I didn’t get killed.

  Friday, 1–19

  Please Don’t Read This Page

  Can’t wait to finish this book. We’ve been on it forever. Now we’ve got to watch the movie. What’s next, the play? You’d think the kids would learn something from the book, but it’s only made them worse. After class, kids kept yelling at me, “Kill the beast!” In lunch, a kid in our class yelled, “It’s Piggy!” and the girls at Whitney’s table all laughed. Even Whitney. I thought she would have defended me, especially after our talks in science, but I guess she was too embarrassed to admit she likes me, even as a friend. But what did I expect? That some hot girl would ruin her reputation by hanging out with me?

  I wish I could die. Why am I still fat? I know kids who eat nothing but junk food, and they never work out, and they’re not fat. I looked up causes of obesity online, and one site talked about hydrogenated oils and trans fat, and how they weren’t in foods until the 70s. Now they’re in almost everything we eat, and that’s why there’s so much obesity. Same with high fructose corn syrup. It’s a sugar that turns into fat as soon as it enters our bodies. And it’s almost impossible to get rid of. It’s not fair that food companies are making money on products that are so bad for us. There are warning labels on cigarettes, why not labels on foods? Warning: This product may cause obesity and get you picked on and laughed at.

  Saturday, 1–20

  I don’t know why the class complains about grammar. It’s easy. I mean, why kids can’t see the difference between a subject and predicate is crazy. You explained it really good today, I mean, you really explained it well. It was cool when you said a verb is like the engine of a car, but half the class didn’t listen. Some of the kids were mean about it. I don’t know how you can take it. All they do is complain about too much homework, then ask you about extra credit. If they can’t do their homework, how can they have time for extra credit? I can’t stand kids who constantly complain about their grades and try to get you to change their test grades. I think I did pretty well on my Lord of the Flies essay—I really think Piggy is the superego and not Ralph. Ralph plays around and swims in the lagoon and does kid stuff, but Piggy never does. He always tries to take care of everybody and makes sure things are fair, even more than Ralph. Seems like at times Ralph is embarrassed by Piggy, and makes fun of him like some of Jack’s tribe. Piggy gets his feelings hurt and can’t understand why Ralph would want to hurt him, and then Ralph comes to his senses. Jack is definitely the id—he’s all about his own pleasure and doesn’t think about the good of the community. I’ve heard the human brain isn’t fully developed until we’re twenty–one. That explains why so many teenagers do such stupid things, like get into drugs and get pregnant and stuff. They don’t know how to control their ids. I have automatic id–control: my fat body. I don’t have many friends and hang out mainly with my parents and church group. It’s hard to mess up under those circumstances.

  I think Simon, not Piggy, understood the beast the most. Most of the kids thought it was a monster that they could kill and then get rid of forever. But Simon has this revelation that the beast is an invisible spirit with a life of its own. Kind of like those subliminal messages that are in television commercials. If we don’t pay attention, it will leak out and become an obsession. It’s like the obsession takes over and the person becomes somebody else. I watched an old movie once about some aliens called the pod people who came to earth and inhabited human bodies. The people acted weird, and their families were all worried. The beast’s like an alien who comes and takes control of your mind. Sort of like what happens to Paul’s mom when she drinks, or kids when they get high. If we don’t control the beast, it will kill our souls. Like it did to Jack’s tribe on the island.

  Monday, 1–22

  It was my fault Sable got in trouble with the substitute teacher. She got fed up with how rude the kids were to Mr. Connelly. I mean, he kind of asks for it and stuff. Kids nowadays don’t really like listening to Andy Griffith CDs, especially when they’re forced to. Maybe at one time Mr. Connelly was a really good teacher, but not any more. The kids were really making fun of him and laughing too loud at the CD. At first Mr. Connelly thought they were on his side and laughing with him. Then he caught someone mimicking him, and you could tell his feelings were hurt. He got mad and turned off the CD and told us we were rotten kids and he wasn’t going to teach us any more. That’s when things got really bad, especially for me. Someone threw a note on my desk, and when I opened it, it said, “We wish you would fall off the mountain like Piggy.” I put my head down on my desk so no one would know I was crying, and I could hear kids laughing. Sable came over and took the note from me. After she read it, she started yelling at the class, “You’re the real pigs, you assholes!” The sub turned red in the face and said that he was going to write her up, which he did. Then he made Sable go to the principal’s office.

  Later, the principal called me to his office and asked about the note. I explained to him that the class doesn’t normally act that bad, even for substitutes, but Mr. Connelly has a hard time with class management. You’re probably wondering where I got that. Our next-door neighbor’s a teacher and she talks about “class management” all the time. Anyway, Mr. Gardner seemed surprised about what I said. He asked if the kids treat me like that all the time. (Duh, hello! Remember the lunchroom incident?) But I didn’t bring any of that up. I just told him when you’re the fattest kid in the class, you expect to get picked on. I told him Sable was defending me and shouldn’t get in trouble. He agreed and said the whole thing was no big deal, but if the kids start harassing me again to let him know.

  “I don’t understand what happened in there today, but it’s very puzzling,” he said as I was leaving. He sounded just like the Grinch, who “puzzled and puzzed till his puzzler was sore.” It’s not puzzling to me though. Guess he’s forgotten how bad kids treat one another. Which is really strange when you consider that he’s around kids almost every day of his life.

  Tuesday, 1–23

  I just found out that Sable got changed to my lunch period. Not that it makes a big difference in my lunchtime life. She never comes to the cafeteria anyway because she hates all the food. She says there’s nothing edible in there because it’s all loaded with animal fat and she’s a vegetarian. A lot of kids skip lunch and just hang out in the halls. Man, I couldn’t do that. By the time lunch rolls around, my stomach is killing me, I’m so hungry. But it’s getting better lately. Ever since I’ve cut down on sugar and have been working out with my dad, my cravings aren’t as bad. At first, the turkey sandwiches on wheat my mom packed for me weren’t enough, so I would get a burrito or some fries in the lunch line. But when the scale continued to stay the same, I knew I had to cut out cafeteria food altogether. After a few days of eating an apple or pretzels with my sandwich, the cravings slowed down. But what really helped was when I got on the scale Sunday, and saw that I was down six more pounds, a total loss of eighteen pounds in three weeks. I even feel a little lighter, no kidding. My arms are getting some muscle to them too. Mom says I’ll be solid as a rock if I keep dieting and exercising. My sister says I’ll probably have a relapse and put it all on again. I’ve noticed she’s not as skinny as she used to be, and I told her so. “You better cut down on the fries and Big Macs,” I told her. “Pretty soon you’ll be the chubby one and I’ll have the hot bod.” She went into another one of her tirades and shut herself in her room. Mom said I must have hit a nerve and to leave Jessica alone. Fine with me.

  Thursday, 1–25

  Sable started to wear black all the time, which makes her skin look paler than usual. She told me after class one day she hates her hair because it hangs in stringy, brown r
attails. “I wish my hair was thick and dark like yours,” she said. But my hair’s a pain because it’s so curly. That’s why I keep it so short.

  In our group last night Sable described herself as a “voracious” reader and an “ascetic” poet. Sable likes to use words that you have to look up in the dictionary.

  Anyway, she told us she’s worried about her younger brother, not now, but later, when he gets older. Jason’s autistic, so her parents have to work with him all the time to do basic things. At least he can dress himself and go to the bathroom on his own, sort of. His parents made a sign for him and put it above the toilet so he can’t miss it. The sign has two columns: Number One and Number Two. (Only they use other terms that I’m not going to use here.) Under each number his parents have written the steps Sable’s brother needs to follow to complete his task. He decides which way he has to go, and then he follows the steps on the sign. Sable said if the sign wasn’t there, her brother would forget to do basic things, like undo his zipper or take down his pants. Jason is already eight years old, and Sable worries about how he’ll get by when he’s an adult. His parents won’t always be around to make signs for him. She plans on joining the Peace Corps after college and living in Zimbabwe, so she won’t be around either.

  She started crying and everything, saying how hard it is on the family worrying about Jason all the time. He’s so sweet and innocent, yet simple things are really tough for him. She hugs him every night before he goes to bed, but he just pushes her away and would rather hug his stuffed animals than Sable. At the mall he gets scared and screams at the top of his lungs, and everyone stares. Sable gets so mad because people yell at him and at her mom for letting him scream. Her mom can’t do anything about it because he’s autistic.

  Our youth minister told Sable she needed to keep things in perspective and not lose herself in worrying about Jason. He said Sable needs to pitch in and help more, but she also needs to deal with her own life as a teenager. Our minister gave her some books to read and I bet she’ll read them all because she’s a “voracious” reader.

  Saturday, 1–27

  My sister and I used to be closer, but lately she has been acting strange, I mean stranger than usual. Every time I walk by her room, she’s in front of the mirror staring at herself. She can’t walk by a mirror without stopping and fixing her hair. She even primps in the car windows before she opens the door to get in. Then she complains all the time about how terrible she looks. I mean, if she thinks she looks so bad, why does she stare at herself every chance she gets? She complains to my mom about needing new clothes almost every day—it’s ridiculous. You should see her room—she has clothes all over the place. It’s the biggest mess. My mom says if she picked up half the clothes on her floor, she’d have plenty to wear.

  We used to tease and kid around a lot, but she doesn’t want to do anything but talk on the phone and read her stupid magazines. At least she plays lacrosse and is pretty good at it. Mom says she’s going through a phase, that all girls go through it. I asked Mom if she was moody like Jessica when she was a teenager. Mom laughed and said she was much worse. I can’t imagine Mom moody; she’s always so laid back.

  Mom said it takes a few years for teenagers to get used to their raging hormones. The only hormones I feel are my hunger hormones. I’m hungry all the time, especially for pizza and Big Macs. Lately I’ve been craving Chipotle and the blooming onion at Outback. The blooming onion is really awesome. My mouth waters just thinking about it. But I don’t give in half as much as I used to. Grandma says I’m the perfect dinner guest because I always ask for extra helpings. Grandma’s a great cook—she makes the best lasagna and homemade breads. Sable’s the only person who wouldn’t want extra helping at Grandma’s. That’s because Sable hardly eats.

  Sunday, 1–28

  Friday, we had a fire drill during lunch. I guess you know that. It was freezing out, and no one had their coats with them. We found out later some kid trying to be funny pulled the fire alarm. I don’t know if Mr. Gardner caught the person or not, but I bet half the school will be sick with colds tomorrow.

  Those of us at lunch had to go out the doors near the gym parking lot. The teachers yelled at us to get over in the grassy area; it was all covered in snow, but the teachers didn’t care, all they wanted to do was stand together and talk. I got stuck walking out next to Nate and his friends. I tried to hang back before he saw me, but he did anyway. Once we got outside and away from the teachers, he walked over to where me and Allen were standing.

  “Hey, just so you know, Man–boobs, Whitney’s sick of seeing your butt cheeks every time you bend over in lab. It’d be nice if you wiped your ass every once in a while, too.” All his buddies laughed but some of the girls nearby stared at the ground. I think they were embarrassed as much as I was. What Nate says hurts but sometimes it’s what people don’t say that lasts longer. I think they feel sorry for me. Or maybe they wish I’d fight back. But I can’t. It would just get worse if I say something. Or I would get majorly pounded.

  Anyway, I have lots of HW tonight so I can’t write too much.

  Oh yeah, I forget to mention that my sister’s boyfriend, Danny Miller, the computer geek, came over today and he was coughing. I asked him if he had distemper, and he said, “Shut up, Chunko.” I don’t think he knows that dogs get distemper. For once, my sister heard him. She told Danny, “Be nice. That’s my brother. I can get rid of you easier than him.” Sometimes she can be okay. It wasn’t the most wonderful compliment but at least she recognized that she has a brother.

  Tuesday, 1–30

  Sorry I wasn’t at school yesterday but I’ve been sick. Really sick. I got some bug that’s going around in church, and by Monday morning, I was living in the bathroom. You don’t want to know any details so I will skip that. So, my weekend stunk. Ha, ha.

  I did manage to do a little homework but not much. I stayed in bed all day. I had a lot of other homework and jazz band practice, but I’m caught up in my journal anyway. When I got sick, Mom took care of me. My sister told me that I better not give her the flu because she was going skating on Tuesday with Danny. I did have enough strength to tell her that if he got sick, she could take him to the vet. “Maybe one day, you’ll catch a sense of humor,” she said.

  “I think I used your toothbrush this morning by mistake.”

  “Mom, tell Jimmy to go to sleep. Or at least to shut up.”

  Mom yelled at Jessica for being mean to her sick brother. I won that round. Then I played Super Smash Brothers and I was beating the computer so easily that I got bored. So I started counting the soccer balls on my wallpaper and that made me dizzy. My saxophone teacher called and asked where I was, and I heard Mom apologizing to him. I forgot to tell Mom my lesson was changed from Saturday to Monday. She still had to pay him half his fee. Dad said it would come out of my allowance but maybe he’ll forget. He does that with Jessica sometimes. But she’s better at whining her way out than I am. Oh well, not a great weekend. I’m better now but I sure have a lot of make–up work to do.

  Wednesday, 1–31

  I was going to write in my journal this morning but when I got to school, the power was out. Usually I sit in the cafeteria and do any homework I didn’t do the night before. Out one day and it’s crazy how much I missed. I needed to do another journal entry and buy some breakfast. Well, I didn’t get to do either. It was too noisy. And too dark. Everyone was told to go in the cafeteria, so it got really crowded in there. And there were no biscuits, which made it worse. Even though I’m watching my weight, if I don’t eat anything before school, my stomach growls in class. I’ve dropped another eight pounds, which brings the total to twenty–four pounds. Allen and Paul say they can notice a difference, but no else has said anything. Actually, I have hardly any friends, so there’s no one else to say anything.

  While we were in the cafeteria, the teachers stood over by the windows. One of them did have a flashlight, but for a moment I felt that they were herding us up for somethi
ng. Like a scene out of the old X–Files show, we were all about to be sold to aliens for food or forced to work in their mines. Every time a bus unloaded, the kids were funneled in with the rest of us. Every now and then, the intercom would come on with an announcement about the power. Someone asked, “How does that thing work if all the power is out?” It made me even more suspicious of the alien–food plot. And with me being bigger, I would be one of the first chosen.

  When the power came back on, the teachers told us to go to class. And, there never was an explanation—there never is for anything in school. We go where we’re told and do the HW we’re assigned and sit when they tell us to sit. School is actually pretty easy if you aren’t the kind of kid to question anything. So, when the lights came back on, everyone groaned.

  Then, while we were walking to first period, the lights went out again. Everyone cheered. In about five seconds, they came back on. And we all groaned again. It was torture, like the principal was up front flipping switches so he could irritate us. If that was his plan, I can tell you it worked.

  Anyway, my stomach wouldn’t stop this morning in science. The class was quiet while we were doing a quiz on the periodic table and my stomach went “aaooooer.” Or something like that. The kids next to me started laughing and then Mr. Mackey came over and asked them what was so funny. Then my stomach did it again. Mr. M looked at me and asked if I had a sick cat stuffed up my shirt. Well, that just got them to laughing more and pretty soon, I was too. Mr. M told us to do our quiz and walked away. All I could think about was eating—I don’t know how I’ll walk past the pizza at lunch today. I think my stomach hears the pizza calling my name.