I grab my jacket and camera, which I’ve started carrying with me in case I see something cool for Killinger’s project, and head toward school. The night is cool and I crunch through the dried leaves. I’m glad summer is over because it makes me think of fat camp and how I never want to go back there again. I take lots of deep breaths; the air is cold and helps me wipe out the thought of Dad sitting on my bed by himself. It helps me not to think of the conversation Dad and I would’ve had if I stayed home tonight. I look up at the sky. There’s actually a full moon, so I take out my camera and take a few pictures of it. But Dad’s words still linger in my mind. Just the two of us. What did he mean? I think he was asking me if I was okay with things being this way forever. Was I?
I arrive at school, but no one’s there yet, so I sit on the bench and wait, forcing myself to think of anything but Mom and Dad.
I’ve never been to school at night. I’ve never been to a football game or a basketball game . . . ever. I look around and kick at the floor, thinking I must be the only kid in high school to never have gone to one extracurricular event in his whole high school career. Ahmed goes all the time to these school functions because he says he has to make an appearance for the ladies. But me? No way. I can’t get into a sports game because who am I rooting for? Kids who don’t give two shits about me? Kids who have whispered behind my back for the last three years every time I had to squeeze out of a desk and slosh up the aisle to get a paper from some stupid teacher who obviously doesn’t understand what it is like to have thirty pairs of eyes stare at your fat ripples? I couldn’t be part of it. I look toward the hall where my locker is, and Tanya’s gross face pops into my head. I wonder if that’s how she feels, too. Does that mean I’m like her?
No, we’re nothing alike because Tanya Bate is at home reciting lines to the latest Lord of the Rings movie and I’m here. This is what life is like when you’re normal, when you’re one of them.
I look at my watch. It’s fifteen minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. Where are they? Another five minutes tick by. There’s no way I could have possibly gotten the wrong night. Kids with costumes had rung my doorbell. It was definitely Halloween. Did I get the wrong time? A sinking feeling suddenly comes over me; this is a joke. My God, they’ve pulled the ultimate loser prank. Ask the prettiest girl in school to ask out the fat kid—or formerly fat kid—and see if he shows up. I look around to see if anyone is spying on me. My chest tightens.
Suddenly, a whooping sound and girls’ laughter comes from somewhere deep in the maze that is our school. Oh no. It gets louder and I easily make out Charlotte’s voice, having memorized every pitch and timber of it. Soon five figures emerge—Charlotte, Mark, Danny with his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Trisha, who is loud and obnoxious and a little scary, and another girl wearing a lot of makeup and really tight clothes who I assume must be Diana, but . . . they’re not pointing at me or saying he fell for it, oh my God, he actually fell for it! I’m flooded with relief, kind of.
“Hey, Chunks!” Mark’s loud voice calls out. Instantly, my back gets hot and prickly and my face flushes.
“What’s up?” I say, still preparing myself in case this is a joke. I feel like punching Mark every time he calls me that in front of Charlotte.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. “We’ve been waiting in the parking lot for the last fifteen minutes for your sorry ass.”
Immediately I realize my mistake. Of course they would be waiting for me in the parking lot—the student parking lot. Because they (or at least Mark) have cars, but I, the formerly fat but ever constant loser, did not have a car.
“Just thought I’d check the place out,” I tell them, feigning a coolness I definitely did not feel. I look at Charlotte. She looks great. She smiles at me, whispers a soft hey, and waves as the light from the moon catches her eyes at just the right angle, making them look extra sparkly. She stands next to me. Mark watches her and slips his arm around Diana.
“So, listen, I know you share a locker with Tanya Bate,” he says, “so sorry about the stink bombs.” He gives me a hard look. I know he’s really not because then he looks at Charlotte for approval. “Anyway, we’re going to lay off the locker,” he says and looks over at her again. Diana watches the exchange, and her eyes narrow.
“But,” Mark continues, “you know, we have to do something else and coming up with just the right thing has really tested my creativity. I mean most things just seem, so . . . so . . .” He thinks a moment. “Typical,” he says finally. “But fear not, Mark Delancey does not back down from a challenge.” Diana looks up at him a little too adoringly. Danny’s face is bright with anticipation. And I feel like telling him to just lay off Tanya altogether. It really pisses me off that Mark feels it’s his duty to torment people. Why can’t he just leave her alone?
“It took some time, but I think I’ve come up with a golden plan. However, it’s up to you to execute.” Damn. Whatever is coming is not good. Whatever is coming is bigger than the time they sprinkled itching powder on her head, and five minutes into class she was scratching like crazy and the teacher had to send her to the clinic. It’s bigger than the time they grabbed the sports bottle she used to carry to every class and spit in it so that when she took a drink and it was clogged, she tried harder. This apparently forced the slimy loogie through the nozzle and into her mouth, at which point she spit the water out all over herself and everyone laughed.
They look at me expectantly. I don’t want any part of what he’s about to tell me. Observing Tanya’s fucked-up life is one thing, but actually fucking it up is completely different. Something in my gut tells me, don’t do it. But I also know I can’t tell him no.
“How?” I ask as regret and concession hit me as soon as the word leaves my mouth.
Mark narrows his eyes and sizes me up, “I don’t know . . . think you can handle it?”
I shrug and look over at Charlotte. She looks over at Mark. Diana looks over at Mark. Mark looks back at me and takes something out of his pocket. “With a little of this,” he says, holding out a small baggie with what looks like dried-up sticks and leaves.
“What?” I ask.
“Whaddya mean what? Grisner . . . where have you been living, in a freakin’ hobbit hole with Tanya Bate? It’s weed, dumbass.”
I can feel my face get hot.
“Oh . . .” Stupid, stupid. “I couldn’t see it,” I say. I wasn’t fooling Mark.
“Right.” He snickers. “Whatever. Anyway, the plan is to get that dweeb freakin’ stoned off her ass during school, so we can all see her high as hell. It’s freakin’ perfect!” He laughs that miserably loud laugh I can’t stand.
“High as hell?” I mutter. “That doesn’t make sense.” I have no idea why I said that and instantly regret it.
“Oh my God, Chunks,” he says, forcing another laugh that gets louder and louder. “What are you, a damn English teacher? High as hell,” he mocks, using this ridiculously exaggerated geek voice. “That doesn’t make sense. That’s not technically correct. Geez, man, lighten up!”
Danny laughs too, and Trisha shakes her head and rolls her eyes, not because she has any compassion for me but because she doesn’t like Mark that much, which is why, apparently, Danny’s and her relationship is always on again/off again.
“Stop,” Charlotte says to him, smacking him lightly on his chest. Mark rubs his chest where she touched him.
“But how are you going to get her to smoke it?” I ask finally, trying to cover up my last mess up.
Mark shakes his head and laughs again. “Oh my God, Grisner, you’re killing me. She’s not gonna smoke it—she’s gonna eat it. All I gotta do is add a little of this to some brownie mix and then,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “you’re gonna get her to eat one.”
Crap.
“Me?” My voice sounds squeaky.
“Yes, you,” Mark says. I feel like an idiot.
“But . . .”
“But, what? I mean, you guys d
o share a locker, right? You’re practically BFFs.” He grins. Asshole. “Anyway, she’s definitely not going to eat anything we give her. Come on. It’ll be funny, dude!”
Charlotte reaches for my hand, and even though it’s sweaty, she holds it. “Ordinarily, I would not approve of such things,” she explains, “but . . . it is pretty funny.”
I know if I don’t agree soon, it’s all over. They’ll think I’m a wuss or a Goody Two-Shoes or something. Or worse, I could lose Charlotte. I look at her, who despite the fact thinks this is a good idea, she still looks as pretty and sweet as ever.
“Okay,” I say, ignoring the sudden lurch in my stomach. Mark looks suspicious and slightly disappointed that I actually accepted the challenge, but the rest of them laugh as we head to the parking lot.
The rest of the night almost makes me forget the pact I just made with the devil’s offspring. Ol’ Gilly Farms had put on this Halloween Hayride for as long as I could remember. Ahmed and I convinced our parents to let us go by ourselves when we were in the sixth grade, and I had been scared out of my mind. The image of corpses and limbless people dripping with blood stayed with me for weeks afterward. Not to mention how some high school kid had yelled, “Hey, look at the little fat kid!” to his group of friends when one of the chainsaw creeps jumped on and hovered over me, and I closed my eyes and started grabbing at anyone near me for protection—which just happened to be this tiny girl who couldn’t weigh more than ninety-five pounds and couldn’t shield one of my legs, much less the rest of me. They laughed as I cowered behind her and she screamed, “Ewww . . . you smell like BO!” while trying to push my sweaty self away. I had in fact forgotten to put on deodorant that night and was sweating like a pig. Those words stayed with me longer than the creepy images, and I swore I would never return to Ol’ Gilly’s.
But tonight, Charlotte is at my side, holding my hand, grabbing my arm, throwing herself at me for protection, and I had put on extra deodorant this time. Eerie music plays as we travel along the trail, along with screams, cackles, and pleas for help from victims who sound like they’re being hacked to pieces somewhere out in the forest surrounding the trail.
Mark and Danny ask the chainsaw creeps that jump on if they know where their mamas had been last night. The crowd laughs at Mark and Danny’s obnoxiousness, especially some loud college guys who think the two are the best damn thing since beer bongs. I kind of laugh too, but really, it’s like I’m not there at all. It’s like I have cotton stuffed in my ears, like I am caught in a dream, because nothing else exists—not mummies or headless French maids, not Tanya Bate and the pot-brownie prank, not Danny or Trish or Diana or Mark—who keeps looking at me like he wants to kill me each time Charlotte holds on to me. The only thing I can focus on is Charlotte’s body next to mine, the way her hands feel clutching me closer to her. And how I know I’ll never forget any of it.
After the hayride, we grab something to eat at a late night joint I’ve never been to. I order like everyone else because I don’t want to draw any attention to what I’m eating. Still, I worry the whole time that Mark is going to make some kind of smart remark about how fat I used to be, but he doesn’t and we finally head home. Mark makes a point about bringing up the fact that I don’t own a car when he realizes why I wasn’t in the parking lot waiting for them.
“Mommy still driving you around?” he says, looking at me in the rearview mirror. The mention of my mom makes my stomach flip.
“Oh, shut up,” Charlotte says, but she does it in this sweet way that doesn’t sound mean at all. Diana is reapplying lipstick and eyes Charlotte in the mirror. Charlotte smiles at her.
“Oh come on, I’m just joking. You know I’m just joking, don’t you, Chunks?” Mark says.
“Yeah, of course,” I lie as we keep driving.
The whole drop-off thing is a mess when it becomes obvious to everyone that Mark is trying everything in his power to make Charlotte’s stop the last one. Like it makes sense to pass our neighborhood and then drop everyone else off first when it would be easier to drop Charlotte and me off first. Or that he’s taking this circuitous route simply because he loves driving at night. It’s all too clear that Mark has a serious thing for Charlotte, especially to Diana who, after fumbling for her keys for a full three minutes on the sidewalk, finally gets the clue that Mark won’t bother getting out of the car, and she stomps up to her house. He calls out, “later,” and speeds off before she gets to her front door. We drop off Trish and Danny next, and finally, pull up to my house where, to Mark’s dismay, Charlotte gets out too.
“Where you going?” Mark asks her, not able to hide the desperation in his voice. “Don’t you want me to drop you off?”
“No, that’s okay. Charlie will walk me home, right, Charlie?” I nod. Of course I would walk her home. I would walk anywhere for Charlotte.
“Come on, Char-Char, that makes no sense. Just let me drop you off at home,” Mark says.
“I’m fine. Just go ahead,” Charlotte answers.
She slams the door shut and leans down onto the passenger side window, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she says. I stand on the curb, my hands in my pockets, strangely feeling like I shouldn’t be here. Charlotte mumbles something else, and a minute later, Mark screeches away from the curb and speeds down the street. Charlotte watches for a minute and then turns to me.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“Oh, he’s always mad about something,” Charlotte says. We start walking toward her house. A couple of straggling trick-or-treaters are still making the rounds but soon give up when it looks like nobody is answering their doors.
“So, that was fun tonight,” she says. Her skin looks pale and surreal by the moonlight. “Did you have fun?”
I nod. “Yeah, lots.”
“Don’t worry about Mark. That’s just the way he is to everyone. Underneath he’s a pretty cool guy.”
“Right.”
“No, really, he is,” she insists. I shrug my shoulders and look down at the sidewalk wishing she weren’t talking about Mark to me.
“You know, you don’t have to do that thing to Tanya.”
A wave of relief floods over me. She doesn’t really expect me to do this. Maybe she just said it was a good idea because she was around Mark.
“But,” she says with a shrug, “it would be kind of funny.”
Damn.
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “I mean, I’ll try, but I don’t know if she’ll actually go for it, you know?”
“She will. You’re such a nice guy, and she’ll never guess what you’re up to.”
“Maybe,” I say as we round the corner leading to her house.
“Definitely,” she says and links her arm through mine the rest of the way.
The more we walk, the more my heart beats faster and my breathing comes in short gasps. I wonder if Charlotte expects me to kiss her. Part of me wishes that Mark had just dropped her off at her house because now I’m plagued with this whole kissing conundrum. Holy shit. I don’t even know how to kiss. I’ve never kissed a girl before in my life. This is not good—I mean it’s wonderful . . . but also not good. Even though I want to kiss her, I’m scared as hell.
“Aren’t you?’ she says. I look over at her and realize I’ve been so worried about a possible kiss that I haven’t paid attention to anything she’s just said.
“Huh?” I say.
“I said,” she says and gives me a small nudge, “I’m glad we ended up as partners in drama.”
“Yeah, totally.” We slow to a stop in front of her house.
“Well, here we are. . . .” She sighs and lets go of my arm. My legs feel like two globs of Jell-O.
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “Here we are.” Silence. I look up at the moon because I feel weird looking straight at her.
“You’re a really nice guy, Charlie,” she says. “I feel like, I don’t know, like . . . you’re deeper than most guys.” She looks over at me and then shakes her head. “
That was stupid. Oh my God, I’m so stupid sometimes.” And I don’t know how I know, but I know this is it. This is my chance to kiss her, to make happen what I’ve been hoping for all summer. And before I lose my nerve or she can say anything else, I lean toward her. I watch her eyes close a second before I close mine and then Charlotte VanderKleaton’s lips touch mine. It’s a soft lingering kiss that makes my whole body feel weak. She tastes like strawberries, and her mouth is warm. It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever felt.
I touch my hand to my lips as she pulls back and smiles. She turns and runs up to her door, and for a minute, I think I’ve seriously screwed up. But then she turns back, smiles at me, and calls out, “Good night, Charlie,” in the best possible way.
I can’t say anything, and then she’s gone.
After I recover from the shock, I run home and start laughing out loud from the extreme giddiness. Charlotte VanderKleaton likes me. I can still feel her lips, the remnants of her strawberry lips. My head and chest are flooded with feelings of awesomeness as I walk the rest of the way home. I did it. I kissed her. I kissed Charlotte VanderKleaton!
As I get closer to my house, I try to calm down. Not that Dad will get up and drill me about where I was, but I’d rather not have to explain why I didn’t tell him about Charlotte in the first place. If I tell him, Dad might ask me to bring her over, which means I’d be opening her up to my screwy world. So there’s no reason to tell any one about each other. I stop at the corner and take some deep breaths. Once my breathing becomes normal, I walk the rest of the way.
My house is dark and quiet. I look at my watch. 12:45 a.m. I insert the key into the door and sneak in quietly.
I hear a low murmur coming from Dad’s office. I look over; his room is dark, but there it is, the low murmur again. I inch toward the door and listen. “Yeah, I love you, too.” Is he talking to Mom? Has she finally called? Maybe she’s ready to come home. She does that sometimes, calls before coming home. Maybe she’s just checking if it’s okay, to see if we’re mad at her because she’s been gone so long.
The Downside of Being Charlie Page 7