Big Fat Disaster (33 page)

Michael paces behind my empty spot at Kayley and Kara’s table. He’s got my backpack over his shoulder.
Abercrombie and Bitch
are nowhere to be seen. He sees me approaching, and his eyes flash. “I
demand
a copy of your schedule. I have no idea where to dump your stuff, and I can’t be waiting around all the time just because you’ve got some kind of bullshit girl drama going on.”

I say nothing; just turn on my heel and head for Mr. Van Horn’s room.

Michael easily catches up. “So? You’re going to give me your schedule, right? If I have to do this, it shouldn’t be an inconvenience. There’s probably some kind of rule against—”

I root my feet to the floor, but Michael keeps moving. It takes him a second to notice that I’m not beside him. He stomps back to me. “Seriously? What is this, some kind of conspiracy to make me late to every class?”

“Why’d you beat the snot out of Ryan on the last day of school?” It’s like somebody else is saying it, even though I know it’s me.

His jaw drops, but he quickly recovers. “Wh-who told you I did that? Did Ryan tell you that? Because if he did—”

“If—what? What can you do to him now?”

Michael’s mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out.

I feel my bravery waning, and I stare at the logo on his shirt. “Why’d you do it? And, besides that, why did you have to post the video of the whole thing on YouTube? I mean, wasn’t it enough to just beat him up? Why’d you have to try to let everybody else in the world watch, too?”

Michael allows my backpack to slide down his arm to the floor. “Know what?” He bends down to me, and all I can see is his finger in my face. “
Get fucked, Colby
. I don’t have to put up with this shit.” He whirls on his heel and walks away, still babbling. “I don’t have to put up with this. There are
rules
against this shit. There are
laws
against making me be a slave for a fat ass bitch. I’m
sure
there are…”

The second I walk through the door, Mr. Van Horn hands me a copy of
The Scarlet Letter
with a list of make-up assignments tucked inside it. “The class is through
Chapter 6
,” he says. “You’ll need to read and catch up. You should be able to complete today’s assignment even without reading, though. If you need it, take a week to get your make-up assignments to me.” He turns away and starts writing notes on the board, abruptly stops, and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Ryan. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

I nod and move to my desk. Fredrick calls from his seat a few rows over, “
Where’s
your helper?
Why
isn’t he carrying your stuff?”

“He quit.” I unzip my backpack and pull out my binder. I’m reading over the list of assignments when I look up to find Fredrick standing next to me.

He places his palms flat on my desk and leans into me. “What you mean, ‘he quit’? He can’t quit!”

I frown and whisper, “You need to take that up with him, because he told me to get fucked and walked away.”

Fredrick’s eyes are huge. He straightens, takes a step back, and swipes the air at some imaginary target. “He don’t get to quit! Ma-a-a-a-a-n, he
don’t
get to quit. My granny finds out ’bout that stuff and,
m-a-a-a-a-a-a-n
!”

“Take your seat, Fredrick,” Mr. Van Horn calls. “We’re getting started.”

Fredrick saunters back to his seat. He swipes the air again and shakes his head. “I’ll—I’ll talk to him.” He nods, reassuring himself. “I’ll talk to him about this. He don’t get to quit. He don’t. It ain’t all about him. Nope.”

Mr. Van Horn observes dryly, “Good to know you’re a problem-solver, Fredrick.”

He circles to the front of his desk, leans against it, and crosses his arms. “We know that at this point in
The Scarlet Letter
, Hester Prynne is an outcast. She lives among others in her community, but they have little to do with her other than to treat her like a social pariah. She is struggling to raise her daughter, Pearl, who refuses to conform to the expectations of her mother
and
what the society of that era defines as normal behavior. Meanwhile, Hester has decided that she will stay in the village where her sin took place, and try to purge her soul.

“Jonathan Edwards was a famous Puritan minister in the 1700s. When he was nineteen, he created a list of
Resolutions
to live by. Not the same type of New Year’s resolutions that we tend to make today, like paying off bills or working out more. His
Resolutions
were about living a life to please God with regard to relationships, how people treated their bodies, their attitude toward life, and so on.” He pulls the projector screen down, moves behind his desk, and taps a few keys on his computer. Within seconds, a list appears.

Mr. Van Horn moves to stand beside the projector screen and points to the list. “These are some of Jonathan Edwards’s
Resolutions for Young People
. He considered the list a ‘life code,’ and it’s something that a person in Hester Prynne’s situation—or any young Puritan of the time—might very well have tried to live by. This is only a partial list; there are seventy
Resolutions
in total. Once a week, Jonathan reviewed all seventy to see how he was doing.

“Your mission is to study this partial list, choose one of the
Resolutions
, and pay special attention to keeping it over the next week. One week from today, you will report on your progress in keeping the
Resolution
you chose. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to free-write in your journals about why you think your
Resolution
will help your life. Be ready to share which you chose and why. Ready?…Go.”

I begin reading:

Bingo! I don’t need to read any further.

Mr. Van Horn calls time and starts asking people to share their
Resolutions
, whether they raise their hands or not. I’m relieved when I’m not asked to share my choice:
To think much on all occasions of my own dying.
Stepping in front of a speeding truck didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, so I need to figure out a for-sure way to off myself.

Then again, maybe I don’t
have
to do it. I mean, I’m making it through this first day back, and my teachers are being pretty nice. Maybe I can make up with Anna and have a spot at the
Nobodies
table again. Maybe all this Ryan stuff will fade away, and it won’t matter so much that he was trying to save me, not the other way around.

“Colby?”

I snap back into awareness.

Mr. Van Horn taps my desk. He’s standing right next to me, and I just noticed something: He smells really good. “What do you think of Becca’s
Resolution
?”

“Um…”

“You weren’t listening, were you?” He flips through a couple of blank pages in my journal. “And, you didn’t write anything during free-write time, did you?”

I shake my head and feel my face burning.

“I know it’s difficult, but try to pay attention and participate, okay? You missed out on a week of study, and we’re not just talking about the
Resolutions
right now; I’m also connecting them to the novel.” He taps on my desk again. “Can you try to tune in for me?” He gives my shoulder a little squeeze and moves on.

From behind me, I hear whispers, and someone giggles. It may not have anything to do with me, but suddenly I’m uber-aware of my size, and my double chin is sticky against my neck. In my mind, I see Mom’s disappointed look. I try to replace it with the way she was this morning when she kissed me and said that she sees me differently now.
As long as she doesn’t find out the truth, I can do this. I can keep this secret for as long as I need to.

I feel a little hopeful then, and I tune back in to the discussion. Maybe I’ll change my
Resolution
to the one about eating right. Wonder how much weight I could lose in a week? I could eat barely anything. Then Mom will be really proud.

It could happen.

I’m heading to P.E. class, and I hear clop-clopping footsteps approaching quickly from behind me. Boots.

Becca appears at my side. Doesn’t say anything; just clop-clops next to me. I give her a sideways glance. She’s got her chin tucked into the top of her notebook, staring straight ahead.

I walk a little faster, and she does the same. We’re rounding the corner to go out the double doors to the gym when she reaches out and grabs my right arm. “Colby—stop. I need to talk to you about what happened the other day.”

I shake her off. “We’re going to be late, and even though I can’t dress out, I don’t want to be—”

She moves to block the doors and rapidly shakes her head. “No. This is important. I’ve got to tell you something about my best friend.”

I snap, “Look, I’m really happy for you that you have a best friend.
How nice
for you to feel so safe and have someone to trust. Now move out of the way, or I’m moving you.”

Becca says loudly, “It’s not about life skills class, Colby. It’s about when you tried to kill yourself.”

“What?” I look around to see if anyone else heard. I lean in close and whisper, “What are you talking about? I didn’t try to kill myself. Ryan was…Look, I saved
him
. I mean, I
tried
to save him. Didn’t you hear the story?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head slowly. “Stop lying, Colby. You and I both know that you tried to kill yourself. Now, about my best friend—”

The tardy bell rings and I sigh heavily.
FML.
“Seriously, Becca? You think I give a shit about your best friend? What does she have to do with me trying to kill myself? I mean,
that
didn’t even happen, so…”

Her mouth falls open. “How can you
say
that? How can you lie about Ryan? If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t still
have
a—”

“Stop it!” The urge to spit on her is almost more than I can stand. I take a deep breath in, blow it out, and hold up a hand in surrender. “I’m going to go park my fat ass on the bleachers and watch the rest of you run around and sweat. Nice talking to you.”

She doesn’t move. Instead, she locks her eyes on mine. “I saw you in the street.”

My heart drops through the soles of my feet; I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. I try to speak, but no sound comes out.

Becca clutches her notebook so tightly that her knuckles are nearly white. “My grandpa owns the white house on the hill. We were cleaning it that day, getting it ready for new tenants. I
saw
you through the window. You were sitting on the front steps. You ran out in front of a car, but it didn’t hit you. The driver turned around and yelled at you.”

My throat is tightening, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. Becca moves away from the doors to a bench on the opposite wall. “Do you want to sit?” she asks. “You’re really white.”

I shake my head. My feet are cemented to that place in the hallway. I try to swallow, but I can’t.

Becca continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “You disappeared for a while…maybe thirty minutes; maybe longer. My mother and I were about to leave. She picked up her purse and stopped to rub a smudge off the window, when she saw you in the street. You were like this.” She places her notebook on her lap and spreads her arms like Jesus on the cross.

I hear a noise—like a puppy whining—then I realize it’s coming from me. I stumble backward but am stopped by the gym doors.

“I threw open the front door to yell at you just as Ryan came running around the corner for all he’s worth.” Becca’s eyes fill with tears. “I’ve never seen anyone run that fast. That truck was bearing down on you, and he didn’t even
hesitate
. He slammed into you, and then the truck…” She closes her eyes, and her mouth is a straight line. Her face crumples, and she bends at the waist until her upper body is resting on her notebook. Her shoulders shake like she’s sobbing, but there is no sound.

I’m standing in the hallway watching Becca cry over my cousin, but a video zooms through my head: Ryan’s bloodied blue eyes are staring at me. His head is stuck at a right angle to his neck.

Becca’s voice draws me back. “I—I couldn’t move. I’ve never
seen
anyone get killed. My mama ran outside. Suddenly, there were people everywhere. Your little sister was wandering around looking for you. Mama took her by the hand, and they found you knocked clear of the road, just off the top of the hill. Mama put her purse under your head.”