Chubby Chaser

by Kahoko Yamada

  “So, like, that kinda sucked in the middle, but it got amazeballs at the end,” Kimberly said, stroking his chest.

  All Jason could muster was a “Yeah.” His head was too much of a mess to think of anything cool to say the way he usually did. “Let’s get you home.” He picked Kimberly up and moved her back to the passenger side, and then he drove off.

  “I feel kinda bad though,” Kimberly confessed. Her head hung down, and she had a finger entwined in her hair. “Like, Emily is my best friend, and I just slept with her ex. Like, how are we gonna break the news to her that we’re together now?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jason lied. “I’ll let her down gently, slowly, so she doesn’t get too pissed at us. Until then, I think it’d be for the best that we act like nothing’s changed.”

  “Totes. Like, you’re so smart.”

  Jason brought the car to a stop. They had reached the front of Kimberly’s house. “Well, here you are.”

  Kimberly planted a big, wet kiss on him. “Thanks for the ride,” she said, and then whispered, “secret boyfriend,” before stepping out of his car.

  Jason watched her go up the walkway to her house. It’s a good thing she had a cute face and a nice body, because she sure as hell didn’t have anything else.

  It was ten minutes past four when Jason made it home. His parents wouldn’t be there for at least another hour, and that was all right with him: he was having a bad day, and being around his parents, especially his dad, would only make it worse.

  He grabbed a bottle of Sprite from the refrigerator and headed upstairs to his bedroom. He had a mountain of homework to do, but he needed to decompress from the day’s traumatic events before he even started thinking about Beowulf and chemical bonds. He would normally relax either by watching porn and masturbating or by talking to Eric, but both of those were out of the question (after what had happened with Kimberly, he—for the first time in his life—wanted nothing to do with sex, and Eric was asking too many questions about Sara, which Jason didn’t feel like dealing with).

  Jason turned on the television and flipped through the channels for something good to watch. Since it was October, and Halloween was only a week away, it was mostly horror movies that were on. He stopped when the TV landed on Scream. The movie was at the part where Drew Barrymore shook the popcorn over the stove, which meant the movie was only a few minutes in. He grabbed his phone to call Sara to let her know her favorite movie was on. He was about to dial her number when he stopped himself. He was doing it again: thinking about her, obsessing about her, fantasizing about her. He had tried everything he could think of to make himself stop, but everything he did simply made him think, obsess, and fantasize about her more. What if . . . what if he really did like her in that way? Would it really be that bad? He did enjoy hanging out with her, and maybe the sex wouldn’t be that bad, either. Hell, it might even be good. Okay, yes, she was fat, but she wasn’t that fat. At least she had a nice face. And nice tits. That was more than could be said for a lot of the girls he went to school with. And she was a girl, so it wasn’t as though he had turned into a fag; it wasn’t as though he had feelings for a guy. He just had feelings for a fat girl. Yes, he, Jason Pruitt, star athlete who could and did get any girl he wanted, liked a fat girl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The first thing Jason did after coming to grips with his feelings for Sara was call her. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her, and he wanted her to tell him she felt the same way about him.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me, it’s Jason. How are you doing?” God, did he really just say that? Dumbass.

  “Um, I’m fine. Did you take care of whatever you needed to take care of with your dad?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. “Yeah, I did. Everything’s fine now.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried. You were acting kinda weird this week. Did you wanna talk about it? I don’t have time right now, but—”

  “No, I’m good.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Is there something you actually did want to talk about? Did you need to cancel our tutoring sessions for next week?”

  “No, believe me, I will definitely be there. Both days.”

  “Okay.”

  Another awkward silence passed between them.

  “Was there something you actually wanted?” She chortled.

  “Well, I”—what he wanted was to tell her how much he liked her, how much he desired her, but for the life of him, he couldn’t get the words to come out. This had never happened to him before; it had always been easy for him to talk to girls—“I just wanted to tell you that Scream was on HBO,” he squeaked. He couldn’t believe his voice was cracking at a time like this. He cleared his throat and then said, “It’s about twenty minutes in, I believe,” making his voice deeper than usual to compensate.

  “Oh, I know. I’m watching it while I wait for my next tutoree.”

  Please don’t let it be a guy. “Who are you tutoring next?”

  “This sophomore, Anya Perkins.”

  “Anya Perkins?” Jason said, uneasy.

  “Yeah. She’s trying to keep her grades up in trig, so she can get into UPenn.”

  Jason hoped he never ran into Anya while he was over at Sara’s: He hadn’t called her after she had gone down on him last year, even though he had said he would, and girls remembered shit like that. They held grudges over shit like that. He had spent a considerable amount of time building himself up in Sara’s eyes, and he didn’t want to do anything to tarnish her image of him.

  “You know her?” Sara asked.

  “No.”

  Jason heard a familiar chime in the background on Sara’s end.

  “I think that’s her at my door now.”

  “Well, I don’t wanna keep you, so I’ll let you go,” Jason said, eager to get off the phone and end this clusterfuck of a phone call.

  “Okay.”

  “See you on Tuesday.” Jason hung up the phone and smacked himself in the forehead with it.

  It was Saturday afternoon. Jason had led his team to another victory a few hours ago, and on any other Saturday afternoon, after achieving such a feat, he would be either looking for a new girl to hook up with or hanging out with his friends. But not this time. This time he was on a long run in the park across the street from his house while listening to music on his phone and trying to come up with a way to tell Sara he liked her: he considered going the roses route, as usual, but he wanted to do something different for Sara, something special; he considered buying a painting for her, maybe something by that Salvador Dalí guy she liked so much, but he sounded kind of famous, so that would probably cost more than even his parents could afford; he considered buying her painting supplies (he could afford that), but that sounded boring, and he wanted something bold, something exciting, something cool.

  By the time he finished his cool down, he still hadn’t come up with a plan. A beeping sound from his phone interrupted Bjork’s “It’s Not Up to You.” It was a Facebook message from Eric inviting Jason to his annual Halloween party next Saturday. This was so fucking perfect that Jason couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. Sara loves Halloween, and everyone loves parties. They would go to Eric’s and have a great time at the party; Jason would then take Sara upstairs, where they would watch horror movies; Jason would tell Sara how he felt, and she would tell him she felt the same; and then they would have sex. It was his best plan ever.

  Jason went to his tutoring session with Sara on Tuesday. She opened the door, wearing a red shirt and blue jeans. A basic look, to be sure, but she looked beautiful to him.

  “Ready to work on indefinite integrals?” she asked, leading him to the dining-room table.

  “Yeah,” he said, beaming as brightly as the afternoon sun coming in through the living-room windows.

  Jason struggled to focus on calculus as much as he had the last time he’d been at Sara’s, again thanks to Sara
occupying his every thought, but the difference was he didn’t mind this time. All he wanted to do was think about her, focus on her, look at her, because everything about her was amazing, even her flaws. Take right now, for example: She was going over the practice indefinite integrals she had given him to do, and as she was checking to see whether they were correct, she clumsily ate Doritos, glancing over at him every other minute or so. It was weird as hell, but he found it to be cute and adorable.

  She threw the chip she was eating in the trash and turned to him, her face hardened, yet vulnerable. “Why do you keep staring at me with that stupid grin on your face?”

  He hadn’t meant to stare at her so much. She was probably thinking he was some kind of sick pervert now. He scurried to come up with a lie. “I . . . I wasn’t. I mean, I was thinking about football. Lost in thought, thinking about football. I . . . I didn’t mean to stare, sorry about the staring. So how did I do on the practice problems?”

  Her eyes, leery and skeptical, lingered on him before she answered (she probably didn’t buy his ridiculous lie; she was a lot smarter than the girls he usually fooled with). “You got seven out of ten correct. That’s not bad, but there’s still a lot of room for improvement. We’re gonna have to work hard today if we’re gonna get you to ace Thursday’s test.” There was a brief moment of silence, and then Sara asked, “So I take it your football game on Saturday went well?”

  Jason smiled, relieved: she had bought it.

  Wednesday came and went, the only remarkable thing being the increase of butterflies in Jason’s stomach, because of tomorrow and how important it was for his relationship with Sara.

  It was now Thursday afternoon. In an hour, it would be time for another tutoring session with Sara, but Jason had other plans. He stopped her in the halls after school. “Look!” he said, a huge smile on his face as he showed her a piece of paper: it was his calculus test. He had scored a ninety-six, and he wanted to show Sara. He’d been doing that well on all his tests, but he’d hidden them from Sara under the pretense of being too embarrassed.

  “Wow, that’s great!” she exclaimed. (She wasn’t looking at him; her forehead glistened with sweat.) “I guess you don’t need me anymore, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’d like to think we’ve become friends.” He bent down to her eye level and smiled at her. “I hope.”

  She chortled. “Yeah, you can say that . . . friend.”

  “So, friend, another friend of mine is throwing a Halloween party on Saturday, and I thought I’d invite you, as a thank you, you know, for helping me with calculus. It’s gonna be awesome.” He looked at her, awaiting a yes.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Oh, come on!” he said, jumping up and down like an eager puppy. “Did I mention how awesome it’s gonna be?”

  They laughed.

  “Isn’t there some girl who you’d rather take, like—”

  “No, there’s just you.” He smiled at her and used his puppy-dog eyes, which made her smile and blush.

  “Okay,” she said, caving in. “I kinda always wanted to go to a party, anyway, just to see what all the fuss was about.”

  “You’ve never been to a party before?” he asked incredulously.

  “No. I mean, well, not since my mom passed . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she looked at the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He tried to hold her hand, but she pulled away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up . . . something . . . you know, that, uh, that, you know—”

  “Yeah, I get it. Thanks.” A thin smile formed on her lips. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be there on Saturday,” she said, clearly trying to change the subject. “Is it okay if we wear costumes?”

  “Yeah, totally. Last year I went as Batman. Did the Christian Bale voice and everything.”

  “Cool.”

  “Do you need a ride there?” He hoped she said yes. That way he would have more time to spend with her and would be able to take the edge off before they got to the party.

  “No, I can take myself. I’ll see you there.” She smiled, nodded, and then walked away.

  “It starts at nine! I’ll text you the address!” he called after her. She nodded, her back to him, and kept walking.

  Jason watched her as she left and then smacked himself on the forehead. That had been such a lame way to hit on a girl. God, it had been so fucking lame. At least she was coming; that was the important thing.

  “Who pissed in your Wheaties?” Eric had strolled up next to Jason. “Or should I be asking, who ate your Wheaties?” He chuckled at his own joke. Jason would’ve been laughing with him had this happened before he had gotten to know Sara; now, he just felt disgusted.

  “Don’t talk about her like that, man.”

  Eric looked at him, appalled. “Are you . . . are you two, like, together now or something?” he asked, another are you gay, man? interrogation. “Holy fuckingmole!”

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Andy asked.

  “J’s in love with a fat chick!”

  “I am not!”

  “Yes, he is. He even defended the bitch to me.”

  “Whoa, what fat chick are we talking about here, Sara?”

  “Yep,” Eric said.

  “You sealed the deal? Where’s the proof? Let us see! Was it weird, being with a big girl? How did she feel compared to a skinny girl?”

  “There is no proof. You think he’d show us anything of Rebel Wilson when he’s in love with her?”

  “Okay, shut up,” Jason said. “Sara’s not my girl, nor will she ever be. I haven’t hit it yet, but I plan on doing it on Saturday.”

  “But Saturday’s my party.”

  “Exactly.” Jason put on his best player smile for his friends. They laughed and gave him props, which surprisingly did nothing for him. It usually gave him an ego boost when people gave him kudos and rested laurels on his head, but now he felt conflicted: on one hand, he was ready to admit his feelings for Sara and be with her; on the other, he still didn’t have the strength to admit it to his friends, thereby risk alienating himself from them and losing his status. He’d always gotten whatever and whomever he’d wanted, whenever he’d wanted, however he’d wanted, but now it looked as though whichever decision he made, he was going to end up losing something, and losing was not something he was familiar with. Losing was, well, for losers, and if Jason Pruitt was anything, it was a winner.

  He wished he had someone he could talk to about the conundrum he was in, but the only person he could be candid with was Sara, and he obviously couldn’t tell her about the bet, nor could he tell her he was scared and ashamed to tell his friends he liked her. He had never felt more alone.

  “Well, I better buy more food,” Eric said.

  Fucking douchebag.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jason spent Saturday evening getting ready for the Halloween party. He was going as Ghostface from Scream to impress Sara, but he still wanted to wear something nice underneath his costume. This was going to be a big night for him and Sara, and he wanted everything to be perfect.

  He stood in front of his mirror, wearing red boxers and modeling different looks: initially, he decided to go with his black sweater and brown cargo pants, but the sweater made his skin itch, and that might turn Sara off; he then decided to go with his blue plaid shirt and a pair of jeans, but that look seemed too basic, and he wanted to look nice for Sara; and after that, he decided to go with his white dress shirt and tan slacks, but they were too formal.

  He checked the time: it was a quarter past eight. He still had plenty of time before the party started. Normally, he preferred to show up late to a party, but he didn’t know what time Sara was going to arrive, and he didn’t want to call her and ask. He had already called her earlier that day to make sure she had received the text containing Eric’s address, and he didn’t want to come off as clingy.

  After twenty more minutes of fussing and changing, he decided to go with his red button-up shirt, blue
motorcycle jacket, and these really expensive pair of jeans he had bought from Express. He checked himself out in the mirror, and he thought he looked hot. He sprayed himself with Tom Ford cologne to complete his look and headed out the door.

  Jason made it to the party a little after nine. Eric and Andy gravitated toward him. Eric was dressed as Wolverine, and Andy came as Kick-Ass.

  “So who are you supposed to be, J, yourself?” Eric asked.

  Jason looked down. He had forgotten his costume. Fuck! He wanted tonight to be perfect, but it had already started on a bad note. He looked around but didn’t see Sara. “Is Sara here yet?”

  “Haven’t seen her. And she would be pretty hard to miss,” Eric japed.

  She hadn’t made it yet. That could give him time to rush home and pick up his costume before she arrived. But it could also lead to him missing her. Sara probably wouldn’t stay if he weren’t there. He decided to stay put. He did look good, and perhaps that he had intended to dress up as Ghostface would be enough to impress her. It’s the thought that counts. That was how the saying went, although people usually said that after you complained about them giving you a crappy present.

  By ten o’clock, Sara was still nowhere in sight. Every time the doorbell had rung, Jason had raced to the front door, hoping it would be her, only to be disappointed when it hadn’t been. Every time someone had said the name Sara, Jason had turned toward the direction he had heard it, only to end up crestfallen, because of the name belonging to three other girls at the party. Making matters worse, Andy and Eric made fun of him by Andy calling out Sara’s name and Eric jumping and turning in every direction, his face painted with keenness.

  “You guys are fucking douchebags,” Jason said.

  Emily slunk over to him, wearing a homemade Wonder Woman costume: she had on a yellow headband as a rudimentary gold tiara; she had on a pink bustier instead of a red corset; she had on a pair of blue- and white-striped boy-short panties in lieu of blue panties with white stars; and she had on a pair of black leather knee-high stiletto boots in place of red-and-white ones.