Butter (23 page)

Okay, the swooning may have been for the lead guitarist, but what ever, I was having a moment. It was a rush like I'd never felt … for ten whole minutes.

That's about the time I started scanning the crowd for specific faces. Jeanie's was plastered with a bleary-eyed smile; Jeremy's was etched in a scowl; Trent and Parker's mugs were lit up with drunken grins. But something was off. Now that I was paying attention to the audience, the adrenaline was fading. I didn't feel the way I felt in my fantasies. I couldn't get high off their smiles, couldn't feel that thrill of acceptance, that satisfaction of knowing I'd done the impossible and impressed Scottsdale High's harshest critics.

The blanket of happiness that usually coated my daydreams was unraveling. I tried to hang on to the threads by concentrating on Trent's drunken grin. But the longer I stared at his face, the less he looked like Trent at all. As I searched for approval in that smile, his entire face morphed into someone else—the Professor, staring up at me, thrilled to see me playing in public. The notes came faster and sweeter from my sax, but it still wasn't enough. I kept my eyes on the Prof, standing in Trent's shoes and wearing Trent's clothes, and watched as his face transformed once more.

And then it was Dad. Dad smiling, Dad cheering, Dad wearing pride all over his face. My saxophone exploded with sound.
I had never played faster, and each note was pitch-perfect. I knew Dad's face could slip back into Trent's mug at any moment, so I closed my eyes and held on to that image—that sight I had never seen. I could have kept it there behind my lids all night, but I had to open my eyes one more time, because there was at least one face in that crowd I still wanted to see—the only one that mattered and the only one
not
smiling.

Anna's perfect features were turned down, her head constantly swiveling for the door and checking the time on her cell phone. She was too busy worrying about J.P. to listen to a note I was playing.

So I couldn't help myself. I played the notes I knew would catch her attention.

The first few bars of Anna's song were so distinct the band didn't quite know how to join in, and the next few bars were so forlorn they realized they weren't meant to. This one was a solo. I started the song with my eyes closed, partly because that's how I always played it and partly because I was too much of a coward to look at Anna.

I was all the way to the hook before I opened my eyes and landed my gaze square on Anna's face—on her shocked, horrified face. Her expression terrified me so much, it took a few seconds to register the boos coming from the crowd.

“Play something faster!” someone shouted.

“This sucks!” another voice chimed in.

“Come on, Butter! Rock it out!” Trent's booming voice eclipsed all the others. “This song blows!”

Trent's call startled me away from Anna for a moment, and
by the time I looked again, all I could see was her back, pushing through the crowd, away from the stage. I pulled the sax from my face and moved as fast as my damn fat legs would carry me down the steps. When I reached the ground, she was reaching for the sliding-glass doors. By the time
I
reached those doors, she was racing past the kitchen.

I felt like I was running a marathon—and not just because I was winded, but because I had competition. Someone else was running right past me and was going to reach the finish line first.

“Anna!” Jeanie cried out after her friend.

Oh shit. Oh God.
Of course, Anna would have played her song for Jeanie. What girl would keep such a romantic thing to herself? I bet she made her friends listen to it so often, they probably knew it by heart too.

I silently begged my feet to move faster. Jeanie caught up to Anna in the massive front foyer, and I arrived a few steps behind. Anna's face was buried in Jeanie's shoulder; Jeanie's arms extended around Anna, wrapping her in a protective cocoon. Jeanie held up a warning hand to me.

“Get back!” she ordered. Her voice reverberated around the room's vaulted ceiling.

“Anna, I can explain,” I said.

“Explain what?” Jeanie snapped. “That you're a pervert and a stalker?”

How was she suddenly so sober?

“I'm not talking to you!” I said.

“Well
I'm
talking to
you.
”

“Stop!” Anna pulled her head away from Jeanie's shoulder. I guess I expected to see tears running down her face or something, but she just looked mortified. Apparently she'd been hiding her face in shame. The thought made
me
want to cry.

“Anna, I'm so—”

“Shut up!” she said. “Just shut your mouth!”

“But I can expl—”

“You are a
liar
,” she seethed. “You are a disgusting liar, and I hate you. Do you hear me?”

Yes. Oh God, yes, I hear you.
I had a sick feeling in my throat.

“I hate you!” she repeated.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “Anna, if you'll just give me five min—”

“Listen, you fat fuck,” Jeanie interrupted.

“No
you
listen! This is none of your business, Jeanie!”

Another voice joined us, one large enough to fill the foyer. “Hey, Butter, can you play ‘Shift' by RatsKill?” Trent burst into the room.

Parker skidded in right behind him. “No, play ‘Sunshine Flight.' ”

“There's not even a sax in that song,” Trent argued.

“There could be!”

“Well, I asked first. Butter, what do you …” Trent trailed off as he looked at me and finally caught a whiff of the tension in the room. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” I said.

But Jeanie talked over me. “Butter is Anna's stalker.”

“Her what?” Parker half laughed, not catching on to the serious tone as quickly as Trent had.

“Her Internet boyfriend,” Jeanie said.

“Shut up, Jeanie.” Anna's voice was soaked in humiliation.

Trent and Parker's reactions were instantaneous.

“Damn.” Trent frowned as Parker hissed, “Yesss.”

Then Trent slipped Parker a twenty, and I didn't have to wonder what bet I'd just settled.

“Well, anyway.” Trent shrugged. “The band knows ‘Shift,' and they said they'd wait for you to play it. Then it's cannonballs for you, buddy.”

He turned to leave the foyer, and Parker followed, clapping Trent on the back. “Double or nothing my cannonball makes a bigger splash than Butter's.”

I watched them retreat and then looked back at Anna. “There go the awesome friends you're always defending.”

“At least they're not liars,” she spat back.

Jeanie moaned. “Oh no.”

“What's the matter?” Anna asked.

“I have to pee or puke—or maybe both. Either way, I need a bathroom.” Jeanie let go of Anna and wrapped her arms around her own stomach.

“Go, go.” Anna waved Jeanie up the sweeping staircase that led from the foyer to the upper floors.

Jeanie rushed up the stairs, passing an unwelcome sight on his way down.

Jeremy dropped into the foyer with a drunken sway that he somehow managed to make look more like a swagger.

“What's going on, boys and girls?” His eyes slid back and forth between me and Anna. “Butter and Banana having a moment?”

“Get lost, Jeremy,” I said.

Anna just shook her head and turned to leave the room.

“Anna, wait!” I called.

She stopped, but Jeremy stepped between us. “He bothering you?” he asked Anna.

“No,
you're
bothering us.” I tried to push past him.

He put a hand on my chest to stop me. “Always trying to run away from me.”

“A lot easier to do when you don't have six or seven friends holding me down.” I pushed his hand away.

Jeremy laughed. “Wow. Someone can hold a grudge.”

I peeked over Jeremy's shoulder at Anna. She was watching us, but her face was unreadable.

“Anna, did you know I gave Butter his nickname?” Jeremy said.

“Shut up,” I warned. “And go away.”

Jeremy pushed his face into mine. His breath was rank with alcohol. “Actually, it's time for
you
to go away—for good.” He made a show of checking the time on an expensive gold watch. “Ten thirty. Cutting it a little close,” he said, then locked eyes with me. “Don't you have something to do tonight?”

I swallowed hard. For just a moment, I'd forgotten about the one thing that had consumed all my thoughts for the past month. Now it came back to me like a wrecking ball to the gut. It was getting late, and soon everyone would be asking the same thing as Jeremy: What was I still doing there?

“Fuck you, Jeremy.”

And when I said it, I meant
fuck you all
.

Jeremy was unfazed. He even smiled a little as he leaned in and whispered, “Your fifteen minutes are up. Let's see those Butter balls now.” Then he sauntered out toward the kitchen.

He left behind a silence that grew thicker with each passing nanosecond. I studied Anna's face, trying to see some hint of the emotion she usually wore on every inch of it, but she was a stone sculpture.

There was so much I wanted to say to her, but Jeremy had shifted my focus. I couldn't concentrate on my feelings for Anna, because they were being pushed aside by cold, numbing, overwhelming fear.

“It's time,” I whispered to her, completely vulnerable. I didn't even know if she could hear me over the DJ's beat in the next room. And maybe I didn't really want her to hear me. But I had to say the words, had to tell someone who mattered that I was afraid. “What should I—”

Anna shook her head, cutting me off. “Honestly, Butter, I don't care what you do.”

She turned her back on me—for good this time—and disappeared through a side door that led to Parker's guest wing. She took the silence with her. The party that had somehow stood still began to swirl around me once more. The DJ's music grew louder; kids passed in and out of the foyer; time kept speeding forward like a bullet train. But I stood still in the current, unable to move forward or back.

Behind me: a backyard full of fans would cheer me on as long as I was willing to perform—whether that was onstage or on the Internet.

I cringed inside at the thought of what would happen come midnight, if I was still at the party, playing sax and popping sodas. But seeing the look on Anna's face before she walked away—the look of someone who had actually cared letting go—made me realize none of the others cared to begin with. As hard as it was to swallow after so many weeks wondering how they really felt about me, the simple truth was that most of the people at the party probably didn't give a damn whether I ended the night in a body bag or passed out on Parker's couch.

But either way, the party would be over—the
whole
party. No more bowling or bucket lists, no more cafeteria company, no more fans or friends. At best, I'd be yesterday's gossip; at worst, I'd be the focus of
new
gossip, when Jeanie blabbed to everyone that I was an Internet stalker. And even on the off chance they still wanted me around, I'd constantly have to find new ways to keep them entertained, to earn my place at their table. Yesterday, a viral suicide threat; today, a secret saxophonist; tomorrow—what?

In front of me: the only one of the crowd I ever really cared about had just walked out on me. Following her was the more uncertain path. I get why she turned away from Butter—from the kid she barely knew who tricked her and embarrassed her. But maybe she would listen to J.P. After months of growing close online, she might at least give that guy a chance to explain. I just had to figure out how to show her the real me was somebody in between the suicidal fat freak and the too-good-to-be-true virtual god. And I wasn't at all convinced I could do that.

Tucker popped into my head just then, his voice as clear as
if he were standing right next to me. “You don't make an effort. How do you know if you don't give it a shot? You're just afraid of being let down.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. Tucker would have given the fans behind door number one the finger too, but he wouldn't pass up a chance to chase down the girl behind door number two. He would have told me to apologize, to
try,
to take a risk and not assume the worst. God, I wished I had Tucker's balls right then.

But he wasn't there; he hadn't seen. I'd already taken a leap of faith tonight—faith in that very girl—and look where it had landed me. Maybe he and the FitFab counselors were right after all. Maybe it
was
my own damn fault for viewing the world through mud-covered glasses, but the fact was I didn't see any hope behind doors one
or
two, and I just couldn't stomach one more disappointment.

As if on cue, my own stomach rumbled right then. The familiar feeling of hunger was like an alarm sounding—a reminder that there was still another option—one that I couldn't imagine having a disappointing conclusion, because I couldn't fathom what was at the end of that path at all.

I wanted to have faith in people like Anna, to be brave like Tucker, but I guess in the end, I was just what the FitFabbers had always accused me of being—a cynic and a coward—because I chose door number three … the
front
door.

And then I was gone.

There was no hope of getting the BMW out of Parker's drive without asking someone to move their car, so I walked right by it, down the cobblestone drive and into the street. Then I just kept walking. I hoofed it a full mile out of the gated community and down a dark desert road until I reached a busier street. I should have called a cab right then; my chest was heaving, my knees buckling, but I just kept walking because it felt so good. The pain and exhaustion racking my body made me feel alive.