Fat Boy vs. the Cheerleaders (13 page)

What did we do when we left the school? We ran! Gore hit that gas pedal and we flew out of the MLAHS parking lot. I turned on my phone. All these Geekers' texts poured in.
Wilson Beach!
they proclaimed.
You coming, Gabe?

Hell yes,
I texted back.

I don't know if there were messages from Dad. I turned the phone back off right away.

We got to the beach and it was awesome. People were flying high. I was actually psyched that Austin had brought those balloons. We high-fived. (Me and Austin? Crazy.) He said, “You and me make a good team, yo! Brains and the brawn!” I assume he was calling me the brains because he posed like my bodybuilder grandpa after he said it.

More Geekers gathered around me, everybody cheering and whooping, and I pretty much just told everybody, “We won it! We won that big and bad!” Then everybody went crazy and did all kinds of flips off the dock and people were swimming and dunking each other and making out. Band geeks and cross-country runners, burners and gamers. Theater dorks. Chess club freaks. Everybody started hooking up and it was just like the best ever!

Of course, this trip to the beach coincided with the end of the football dudes running wind sprints in the sand and also the beginning of the Spunk River Days festival. The music at the band shell doesn't start until 6 p.m. on Fridays. The carnival rides don't get going until about that time. But there are a lot of staff around and guess who's on the Minnekota City Parks staff?

Right.

Seth Sellers. Jason Wexler was there too. They were sweaty and gross—I assume from running the football sprints. They must've just finished running, but they had their Minnekota Parks shirts on. I'm sure all parks workers go on overtime during Spunk River Days.

I've thought a lot about this, sir. Seth did this to himself really. I wouldn't hurt a fly. I wouldn't hurt anyone.

I've always liked Jason Wexler too. Until the last couple days anyway.

While we were out there on the beach having a good time, Seth and Jason came roaring up in a little city golf cart. Seth let it roll to a stop and then jumped off the thing and ran up to me. Jason walked slowly behind. Seth was on fire, Mr. Rodriguez. “What did I tell you this morning, fat ass? What did I say?” he shouted, pointing in my face.

I was a little stunned by his sudden presence, okay? I wasn't exactly verbose. “What?” I said.

“Just got a message about your water balloons. I told you to stay the hell away from Emily. Stay away. And what do you do?” Then he shoved me hard, knocked me backward, and I fell on my ass.

“Don't, you jerk,” Gore spat. She pushed him.

“Better back off, Chandra,” Jason said.

“Screw off,” Gore said.

“Just get away from me, freak,” Seth said. “This isn't about you.”

“Yes, it is,” Gore said.

Then Seth shoved her and she almost fell down.

A gaggle of Geekers circled round.

“Jesus, Seth,” Jason said. “She's a girl.”

“She's a mutant,” Seth spat.

“She is not,” Schae shouted. She stepped toward Seth. “You're the mut—” Sir, Schae is small. He reared back and smacked Schae in the shoulders super hard, knocked her down, and that was it.

Yeah. It.

Austin Bates, Mike Timlin, Raj Weigel, Gore, Schae, they went nuts on him. Mike jumped him from behind. Austin and Raj punched him. Seth fell to the ground. Schae and Gore kicked him. Jason tried to stop it, but he seemed more scared than anything. He just kept saying, “Stop, guys. Stop!” I watched for a few seconds and then joined Jason, trying to stop it. Jason pulled Austin off. I pulled Mike and Raj off because they were hell-bent on killing Seth, it seemed like. I shouted, “Stop! Stop! He's a waste of space! Stop!” Crap like that. Jason and I managed to move everyone away from Seth.

Seth rolled over on the ground. His face was bloody. He pushed himself up fast.

“Don't you mess with the Geekers, yo. We'll hand you your damn ass every time,” Austin said.

Seth spit a big wad of blood. He nodded. “It's on,” he said.

“We'll see,” Mike said.

Then Seth turned and walked slowly back to his golf cart. Jason followed like five steps behind him.

“We'd all better flee before the po-po arrives,” Austin said.

Yeah, Mr. Rodriguez. That was definitely the Spunk River War going on right there.

Gore and I took off for her house, which isn't far from Wilson. She parked in the garage and put down the door. We sat in the dark in her car, just staring straight forward.

“Did that really happen?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said.

“I'm shaking,” Gore said.

“Uh-huh.”

We didn't say a word for a while longer, just breathed in the dark. Then Gore said, “I need something to drink.”

A few minutes later, we sat in big wood Adirondack chairs by the lake, drinking lemonade. Again, sir, I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what Gore was thinking. She stared into the water. You know, I don't like Seth Sellers, but seeing him get the shit kicked out of him scared me. I didn't like that at all.

Twin Cities people on their wave runners buzzed by. Big, puffy clouds turned orange. Time must've passed, I guess, because soon we could hear some classic rock cover band blaring from the band shell at Spunk River Days.

I tried to make a joke. “I think that must be Camille and the nonprotesting faction of the MLAHS pep band. I didn't know she could play Steve Miller.”

Gore's lower lip quivered. She teared up. “I still want to kill Seth Sellers,” she said quietly. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I really am a murderer,” Gore said. “I want to kill Seth Sellers.”

“No, you don't,” I said.

“I do. I hate him.”

“It's okay—He—It's—”

“No, I've spent the last two years learning how to stay away from you people.”

“You people?”

“People who call people bitches and sluts and jocks and…and psychos.”

“I'm not one of—I'm not that person.”

Gore shook her head. “I shouldn't let you call me Gore. I shouldn't let you be here. I should be alone.”

“You want me to go?”

“Yes. No,” Gore said. “Yes.”

“I'll go. Okay. I'm sorry.”

I sat there for a second longer, but Gore didn't say anything more. She stared at the water. I stood up. “Can I do anything?” I asked. “Can I call you Chandra?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Okay,” I said.

So I left. I lumbered around the side of the house and out to the street and started the walk home. I was so heavy, sir. I like Gore.

You know, I called cheerleaders “bitches” and jocks “jocks”. And I'd called Gore a psycho in the past and I called her Gore, which wasn't meant to be nice. I'm a name-caller. I'm not sure what to make of it all yet.

No, I didn't go home. I only got a couple blocks away. I could hear the music echoing through the neighborhood.

The classic rock cover band over at Spunk River Days started playing this song that went something like
You're my angel! Never want to be alone! You're my angel and my home!
Or something like that. It's a really sad song. It's about love and being at home and not lonely, except the dude singing is definitely without the girl he loves. I stopped out there on the street and listened and the sky got that evening purple like Gore's eyes. And I was like,
No. Don't want to be alone. Screw it. No. I'm not going. You're my angel!
I turned around and ran back to Gore's house, ran through the side yard, back out onto their giant patio. Gore saw me. She stood up. I ran to her. It got all TV movie, like the kinds I watched with Mom when I was a kid. “I'm not leaving you,” I said.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

I put my hands around her waist, leaned up to her.

We kissed. The seagulls flew and the sky got darker purple. The Spunk River noise faded out and it was just me and Gore kissing.

“Really. Thank you for not leaving me,” she whispered.

“I won't leave you,” I said.

Then the back door popped open. Then her dad came out to the deck! So did a bunch of other dudes!

Seriously. Out of nowhere, out walked five middle-aged men in Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops.

“Uh…hi?” I said.

“Dad!” Gore called.

“Chandra? Do you have a friend over? A boy? What's going on?” Mr. Wettlinger smiled big.

“This is Gabe.”

“Yes, yes. Gabriel Johnson. I know you,” he smiled.

“Hi. Hello, Mr. Wettlinger,” I said. I thought I might have a heart attack. I was about to kiss this man's zombie daughter.

Mr. Wettlinger carried two bottles of wine. The other guys were carrying food.

“Would you two like to join us for some barbecue?” Mr. Wettlinger asked.

Gore looked at me. Shrugged. She said, “We could use a little fun.”

“Are you two okay?” asked Mr. Wettlinger.

Gore shrugged again.

“I think so,” I said.

“I think we'd like to eat,” Gore said.

“Burgers will be grilled!” he said.

An hour later all the dudes were barbecuing and swimming and me and Gore were having a great time, forgetting everything bad. We ate a bunch of chicken and cheeseburgers. (I had one cheeseburger and a piece of chicken.) The dudes said really funny things, which I can't repeat because they had potty mouths and I don't want any of that to be recorded, sir.

Then the dudes had that dance party I was telling you about during lunch. Man, did we dance. And Gore's such a good dancer! She has the best high-speed stripper moves ever! When Kailey's mom kicked Gore out of the dance school back in middle school, she made a huge mistake!

Yeah, that had a lot to do with Gore's death threats back in the day. What a loss to the stripper team at school! Gore would've been a superstar if she'd been allowed to participate in that!

I don't think I've ever danced disco, sir. But I'm a natural.

I did a lot of hip-bumping and finger-pointing. Gore kept spinning over and dipping me and then spinning away to do her stripper moves. I acted all unimpressed by her moves so I'd look cool dancing, but I was very, very impressed!

Oh. man, it was such a good time.

Until—Cue the buzzkill music please.

Your phone is buzzing again, Mr. Rodriguez.

That was your wife? How is she? Do you like being married, Mr. Rodriguez?

I do want to get married. Definitely. I want to have kids too so I can be really nice to them and raise them right. I'd like to have a family band or orchestra or something. Gore could be a dancer because she doesn't play an instrument. Maybe I could teach her to play though.

Oh, yeah. Sorry. We were disco dancing with Mr. Wettlinger's pals.

Dad showed up.

I'd totally, 100 percent forgotten that he'd been in the shop that morning, that I'd stayed overnight at Gore's the night before, that he'd told me to come straight home after work, and that I'd totally stuck that crap right in his big, sad nose. I was wearing Gore's T-shirt still. I'd led a huge protest, been involved in a brawl, lost and found the woman I love, gotten involved in a dance-off on the lakeshore. I had forgotten Dad. Seemed like everything was going on at once.

He just appeared. He didn't ring the doorbell as far as I know. I looked over to my right at one point and there he was standing in Gore's backyard, watching me like a screwed-up, giant ghost that had arrived out of thin air. His shirt was untucked and his hair was all messy. Gore's dad saw him, and they shook hands and talked for a minute. Then Dad motioned for me to follow him. Gore stared at me, her mouth hanging open. I shrugged. Whispered “Bye.” I think I also whispered “I love you,” which is a little over the top, I guess. Then I followed Dad away.

No, it wasn't late. It was like 8:30, sir. Not even totally dark out.

In the car, he wouldn't look at me. I told him all about the protest and how I'd led it (in a lot of words, sir! I went on and on) and how Deevers had responded. I told him about how I might have a girlfriend and how things were getting better for me so fast.

Dad breathed deep and said, “Shaver was fired this afternoon.”

I stared out the window into the growing dark. “Oh, no,” I said. “I forgot that was even happening. So much—”

“You're forgetting a lot.”

“Well, there's a lot going on,” I said, raising my voice.

Then Dad whispered, “Dancing with those men?”

“What?”

“You defy me and go dancing.”

“Please, Dad. Please understand. This has been a crazy week, okay? Please?”

“Dancing,” he said, shaking his head.

At our house, he pulled into the driveway, into the garage, then got out of the car. I got out too. Then he turned to me and said, “Give me your phone.”

I stood staring at him, hating him.

“Give it to me now, Gabe. You've lost your privileges.”

“Did you hear me? I have a lot going on right now.”

“Now,” Dad hissed.

“Fine,” I said. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and put it on the floor next to me.

Dad glared hard. “Go in the house. New rules.”

I walked into the dining room. Grandpa leaned over the stove, stirring a pot. He nodded at me. Real nervous. Not like Grandpa at all.

Dad followed me in a second later (I guess after he picked up my phone). “Sit down in the living room, Gabe,” Dad said.

I took a breath and did what he told me to do. In the living room, I said, “Dad, please. I appreciate that you're upset and I get it. But you're not hearing me. This week has been—”

“Shut up,” Dad said. “Shut your mouth. I've heard enough.”

“I…just wait. Dad—”

“I said enough!” he screamed. He breathed hard. His eyes watered. “Here's how it's going to be. You're not to leave this house. You're not to talk to anyone. No computer. No phone. No landline. No job. No girlfriend. No nothing! Do you understand?”

“No job?”

“I've already talked to Dante. You're not to go in.”

“Dad!”

“You will obey me. You will pay attention to what I say. You will not live under my roof and eat my food but treat me like I'm some minor annoyance you can swat away without thinking twice.”

“Dad, I never—”

“You will do nothing!” Dad screamed. His chin began quivering. He let out a little cry, sir. I'm serious. Like the beginning of a sob. Then he turned and stomped away back to his room, where he slammed the door shut.

I looked over at Grandpa. “He took your computer,” he said.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I shouted. “Dad!”

No answer.

Grandpa shook his head. “Boy,” he whispered. “Tough times. Come here, Gabe. You want some spinach soup?”

“Shit,” I whispered. “No,” I said and I headed for my terrible doghouse.

Hey. “Did you know somebody egged our windows?” Grandpa called after me as I climbed down the stairs. “Ten minutes ago. Three boys. Let launch about a dozen before I chased them away. You know what that's about?”

I didn't answer.

What about Shaver, sir?

Yeah, school board. Met at Kaus's house, for God's sake. With Mr. Deevers's consent, they dismissed Mr. Shaver not only for his drunk-driving ticket but because he had gotten on Facebook and incited a riot at the school. That “riot” had nothing to do with Shaver. He held no sway over us. The school board is just wrong. They know they're wrong. They don't care. They just like slapping us around.

Jesus. It's still all new, sir. This whole thing. Shaver's such a good guy. Why did he get drunk like that?

Yeah, we're not a band at all anymore.

Okay. I went a little crazy.

When you're used to being connected all the time and suddenly you can't get any word about anything that's going on and someone has egged your house and your band teacher has been fired and you've just gotten what seems to be your first legitimate girlfriend but you can't talk to her, you start to go crazy. At least, I did.

I lay down in my bed, tossed and turned, then showered because I smelled like a sweaty donut. Then I lay down in my bed again and started to sweat again, getting all twisted up in my sheets, and I cursed Dad's name because I felt a great hatred for him deep in my guts.

I started thinking about what he'd said. It wasn't “No work for a week.” He'd said, “No work.” For how long? Forever? Was crazy, terrible Dad cooping me up in the house forever? I'd be like some pale freak trembling in the corner of the basement when the police finally came for me?

Then I thought,
Oh, my God!
We're being egged.
Shit!
I knew exactly what that was about. Seth Sellers was coming after us! Shouldn't I call Gore to let her know? I needed to call her! Shouldn't I Facebook Austin Bates because Seth would be coming after him? And Mike Timlin and Raj? The jocks would beat those guys hard, right? Not just throw some eggs! I needed to do something. I couldn't do anything.

Just me and my thoughts, sir. Not a good combination.

The
school
board
fired
Mr. Shaver! They took our money, drove Shaver crazy, and then fired the guy!

Look
who
loses. Look at the loser. I'm the biggest loser in the world.

I'd only been down there for like forty-five minutes at that point, I swear. But I lost all hope, plowed into the swamp of despair, and the hole opened up.

Okay. For more than a week, I hadn't gone into the refrigerator, you know? In that week, I'd become the leader of a movement (a small and dumb-ass movement that was losing bad—but hey). In that week I'd gone from having friends who call me Chunk to hanging out with a great quarterback and a hot goth chick who respect me. I can't tell you how hard I'd worked, Mr. Rodriguez. I tried so hard and Dad was taking it all away. No Dante's meant no RC III, no Gore. Trapped again.

Yeah, trapped, sir. After Mom left, I went to Justin's for a week. When I came back home, I pretty much stayed with Dad all day long, all night long, all weekend long. It wasn't because Dad stopped me from going then. He never said that I couldn't leave and see friends, but he was so ripped up, okay? He just kept crying and I was scared. Mom told me to take care of him, so I didn't want to leave him alone. I'd pay the pizza guy at the door or walk over to the IGA to buy chips and cookies and crap. I called into the college a bunch of times to tell his secretary he was sick and I stayed home from school a bunch of times to keep an eye on him. On Saturdays, when I would normally be over at Justin's playing video games or whatever, I sat in front of the TV and I ate with him because I didn't know what to do, because I wanted him to be okay. And look what happened to me. Look what became of me.

Dad didn't want me to escape Chunk.

I did the wrong thing, Mr. R. I reacted badly.

I felt empty. I felt alone again. I thought,
Screw
it.
I'm going to fill this. I'm going to eat myself to death if I have to. You like that, Dad? You want me to be Chunk?

Because I'd been so under control, I was weirdly excited to go after it. I got a burst of adrenaline.

I leapt back up the stairs from my sweaty bed and went into the cupboard, where there are usually chips. There weren't potato chips, just a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips, which didn't sound like it would hit the spot. If I was going Mexican, I wanted real tortillas. Grandpa stared at me from the table, a bowl of soup in front of him.

“Spinach soup?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “We have tortillas?”

“Fridge,” he said.

I went into the fridge and grabbed tortillas and shredded cheddar and sour cream and salsa and I assembled a bunch of cheese burritos on a platter.

“Gabe?” Grandpa asked.

“Mexican,” I said.

I stuck them in the microwave for like thirty seconds. The cheese didn't even melt completely, but I was hungry. I whipped a bunch of sour cream on top and then headed to the table to eat. Grandpa took a deep, sad breath, got up, and went into the living room.

Oh, balls, Mr. R. I sucked those suckers down. Didn't even taste them. Inhaled the crap out of them. Then I was still hungry, but we were out of tortillas. I went back into the cupboard for the old tortilla chips, dumped them on a plate, dumped cheese on top, microwaved the pile, and ate the stack with salsa and the rest of the sour cream. Didn't taste a thing. Sucked the suckers down.

I needed more. So I opened the fridge again. Bread, ham, butter. I pulled them out of the middle shelf. I couldn't find Swiss cheese, which is what I like on my ham sandwiches. I bent down to look in the back of the fridge and saw it. Not Code Red but straight-up old-school Mountain Dew. Two 20-ounce bottles. “Holy shit,” I whispered. “Shit.”

Grandpa wouldn't buy that crap. Dad bought it. Dad doesn't drink Dew. He's a Coke guy. He bought it for me, Mr. R. He had to have bought it for me.

My dad doesn't know how to care for me. He was trying to be nice in the crappiest kid of way. I know it. That asshole! Fine, I thought. You got it.

I reached for a Dew. I pulled it out. I opened it. Took a swig. The liquid fizzed in the back of my throat. The sugar stung in my mouth. I took another swig and choked a little. Then I felt the real weight inside me. I'd eaten dinner at Gore's. I'd eaten six burritos. I'd eaten a giant plate of nachos. I'd kissed the enemy, the lip of the Dew. My stomach turned hard. I coughed, choked. “Oh, shit. Oh, no,” I said. “Oh, shit!”

“You good, Gabe?” Grandpa called from the living room. “You okay?”

I coughed more, put the Dew on the counter, and stumbled downstairs.

In bed, my whole body ached and I could barely breathe. After an hour, I tried to throw up, but I couldn't. I sweated so much and my head pounded. I lay back down and tried to sleep.

Then around eleven, something weird happened. I was buried in pillows, suffering huge nausea when the landline rang. Our landline almost never rings. Nobody knows the number. It's unlisted. It's only for emergency. In fact, because me, Dad, and Grandpa all have cell phones, I don't even know why we have it. Of my friends, only two knew the number.

Justin and Camille.

Grandpa answered and I pushed myself up in bed, strained my ears.

“No…no…he can't come to the phone. Grounded. No. No. I told you, no!” He hung up.

“Jesus Christ!” I shouted. There was silence, but I could tell Grandpa was at the top of the stairs, looking down. Then my guts totally turned on me. I went to the bathroom and threw up bad. While I did, a door slammed above. I stopped barfing and heard Grandpa yelling at Dad. Then the door slammed again.

They were fighting about me.