Butter (13 page)

I'd almost forgotten about Anna too—at least, my
online
Anna. I'd thought of nothing else but bowling-alley Anna all weekend, and somehow it felt like cheating. The guilt deepened when I signed on to the Internet Sunday night and found Anna pouting from her lack of online attention. Instead of a hello or a “hey, hot stuff,” she opened with:

Where were you all weekend?

(
Having a blast. Met a girl. She looks a lot like you, but in 3-D.
)

Just busy with the boys.

I often wrote about “the boys” to Anna, but in the past it had always been a generic lie, referencing a supposed group of friends of the nonexistent J.P. It felt funny now to actually have names and faces to attach to the phrase, and it was nice to be telling Anna one less lie.

What did you do this weekend? I asked.

Bowling, shopping, biking. Boring.

I laughed to myself.

It doesn't sound boring.

Well, the bowling was okay, but the biking was a workout and shopping's just a chore.

I thought all girls liked to shop.

There was a pause so long from Anna's end, I thought maybe her computer had died.

Do you ever do stuff just to fit in? I mean, not bad stuff like drugs, but just stuff you don't really feel like doing?

Stuff like shopping?

Yeah.

Well, posting a suicide note on the World Wide Web and cashing in on the popularity points it earned me was probably a pretty good example. But then again, I didn't do that for friends or fame. Those were just side effects.

Come to think of it, I didn't do a whole hell of a lot to fit in anywhere. I didn't go out for football, because even when I was a slight three-hundred-pound freshman, I knew there was more to it than knocking people down and that I couldn't run the length of the field. I didn't go out for band or clubs or anything
else. Tucker had been right about that. But why would I? Weren't parents always preaching it's wrong to follow the herd, and you should blaze your own trail and all that?

So I guess the downside was not fitting in. I didn't fit in with the band nerds, the athletes, or the academics. I didn't fit into airline seats or Levi's jeans or leather jackets. The only thing that ever really fit was food … inside
me
. And the more food I fit in me, the less I fit anywhere else.

I answered Anna's question with a question of my own.

What would you rather be doing?

Talking to you.

I smiled.

Good answer.

It's just nice to talk to someone about something real sometimes. I get kind of bored talking about clothes and boys and working out. But I think it's better to be bored and out with friends than bored at home alone because you have no friends.

Me too.

We talked for another hour, and for the first time all weekend, life felt normal.

• • •

Another sense of “normal” was waiting for me Monday morning in the school parking lot. Jeremy appeared in front of my car almost the instant I put it in park. He gave the Beemer a critical once-over, then leaned casually against the hood.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself this weekend,” he said as soon as I'd stepped out of the car.

Seriously, does nobody say hello anymore?

“Had a blast. Sorry you missed most of it.” I tried to shoulder past him, but he stepped into my path.

“It's not that I wasn't invited,” he snarled.

“Okay.”

“It's not. I was out of town all weekend. I got back in time for the barbecue, but when I heard you were going to be there, I passed. Unlike everyone else, the thought of watching you binge eat makes me sick.”

“So don't watch.”

I used my bulk to squeeze Jeremy to the side and finally got around him, but this time he used words to stop me.

“You really think they're your friends?”

I turned to face him. I would have liked it to be a dramatic spin in place, but at 423 pounds, making a 180-degree turn requires several foot shuffles and side steps. That move I'd managed at the bowling alley must have been fueled by pure adrenaline. By the time I turned all the way around, Jeremy was talking again.

“Parker is just keeping close to you to improve his odds. He thinks if you guys are friends, you'll clue him in to how your
little show is gonna go down, and he can place bets with inside information.”

“Sounds like Parker needs a bookie.” I tried to keep my voice level, nonchalant. I wanted Jeremy to think I cared as little about my new “friends” as they did about me.

“Everyone else is just following Trent. And Trent—well, let's just say you're not the first freak to sit at our table, because Trent thinks it's fun to shake things up. He treats losers like toys, plays with them until they're tired and worn out. When he's done with you, you'll go back in the box like all the rest.”

Okay, that one shook me a bit. Trent did seem slightly obsessed with spending time with me, given that we'd been friends for less than a week. Jeremy's words felt true, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

“What's your problem, man? What? Are you intimidated by me? Maybe you're just a little worried I'll take your place?”

Jeremy was unfazed. “Well, even if you did, I guess that spot would be open again in January, huh?”

I froze, stung. Jeremy took my silence as a victory and sauntered past me toward school. He paused by my side to say in a low voice, “And even if you
don't
go through with it, they'll be done with you after New Year's.”

• • •

I was still standing paralyzed in the parking lot when I felt someone nudge my arm and heard the Professor's voice.

“That one of your new friends?” he asked, nodding at Jeremy's back.

I swallowed. “I wouldn't call him a friend.”

“Hmm. And what would you call him?”

“Something too ugly for your pretty ears, Prof.”

There. Joking. That felt better.

The Professor and I started walking. “But you do have a lot of friends these days,” he said. “Always surrounded by a crowd when I see you.”

I cast a sideways glance at him. “You going to tell me not to neglect my homework or the saxophone now?”

The Professor laughed. “There's time for a little bit of everything in life, don't you think? It's good to have people.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.
No matter what kind of people they are.

As if the Professor could read my mind, he said, “So long as the friendships are as rewarding as the homework and the music.” He squeezed my shoulder and walked ahead before I could respond.

Jeremy's warning should have reminded me to put on a coat of armor, to protect myself against enemies disguised as friends, but the truth is, I was naked. I was completely vulnerable to the lure of a friendly hello from Anna in comp, of an entertaining hour with Parker doodling hilarious sketches of our algebra teacher, of Trent forcing freshmen aside to make room for my bench at his table.

I couldn't believe this had only been my life for a few days. Popularity was like a drug—one taste and I was hooked. Hell, I even had the Professor's approval.

Trent took up his usual spot on the end of my bench and unloaded his lunch.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he said when I sat down.

“What's that?”

“About your list.” He saw the expression on my face and rushed to explain. “Not
that
list. No talking about the last meal at school, I got it. I think you need … a
bucket
list.”

“A what?”

“Oh yeah!” Parker jumped in from my other side. “A bucket list. Like, stuff you want to do before you, y'know, kick the bucket.”

I looked from Trent to Parker and back again. They were serious. They had been so silent about my threat, I could almost pretend they'd forgotten about it. But now, here they were, reminding me my stay at their table was temporary. Their voices were casual, their eyes alight with a sense of fun and adventure.

My chest went hot. Didn't these guys realize I was going to kill myself? This wasn't a game.

Then it occurred to me; maybe they
did
think it was a game. Maybe they couldn't wrap their brains around the fact that the big kid they'd befriended was actually going to go away. Maybe they thought the whole thing was a joke to begin with, but a crazy enough joke that they admired it and wanted to be friends with the prankster who was pulling it off. Maybe they were just playing along, with menu items and bets and bucket lists, because
ButtersLastMeal.com
was still the hot topic for everyone who mattered at Scottsdale High.

Maybe.

I dropped my backpack on the floor under the table, with my lunch still zipped up inside, and slowly answered. “Well, I
have
been working on a list of things I want to do one last time. And maybe a couple things I want to do at least once before I … before I … y'know.”

“Yes, exactly!” Trent said. “So what's on the list?”

“Not much, really. Although … there is one thing.”

“Yeah?” Parker and Trent said in unison.

“Well.” I leaned back, partly hesitating and partly drawing out the suspense. “I kind of want to get my hands on some boobs.”

“Dude, you've never touched a girl's chest?” Parker's jaw dropped.

“Not so loud, asshole!” Trent laughed.

“
You
are calling
me
loud, King Big Mouth?” Parker chucked a french fry at Trent.

Trent deflected the fry with a deft snap of the wrist and without ever taking his eyes off me.

“Never?” he asked.

“I have, I have,” I lied quickly. “But once more wouldn't hurt.”

“Any particular pair?” Trent prodded.

“Well …”

“Sweet, who is it?” Parker asked.

I didn't answer but looked automatically to the girls' table, where Anna and Jeanie were using napkins to blot the grease off their cafeteria pizza slices.

Trent followed my gaze. “Yeah right! Anna McGinn? Good luck, dude. Nobody can pry open that clam shell. Believe me, we've tried. It's shut tight.”

“The clam may be closed for business,” Parker said. “But I hear the
mouth
is
wide
open.” He made an offensive gesture that got the other guys howling. I tucked my hands between my thick thighs to keep from reaching out and choking him.

Trent let out a long breath and gripped my shoulder with one hand. “Well, it will be a challenge, but if that's what you want, Butter, then we'll help you get it. And Parker.” He leaned across me to put a finger in his friend's face. “No placing bets on this one.”

Every day school got better, home got a little worse. I could just see my life on one of those shiny gold scales that teeter-totter back and forth as you place different objects on each side. On the left: Anna, Trent, Parker, my cafeteria bench. On the right: my silent father, my neglected saxophone, my increasingly untouched plates of food, and my mother—who was doing more humming these days than talking.

She was humming Wednesday morning when I pushed my breakfast away and grabbed my backpack.

“Please at least eat some bacon, baby.”

“I'm gonna be late for school.”

“Take it with you.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Take a piece of toast.”

“Ma, I have to go. I'm late.”

“I can wrap it up for you. You can eat it later.”

“Mom! Stop!”

I knew we were on the verge of a fight; the breakfast battle had become a daily event. But it was one I no longer had time for. Outside of the lunch hour, the top social time at school was in the halls before first period, and now that I had a crowd of admirers to spend that time with, I wasn't about to miss a second of it.

My dad's voice floated up from behind his newspaper. “He's not hungry. Let him go to school.”

Great. Now if I didn't eat breakfast, Mom would feel ganged up on, and as a rule I never sided with Dad against Mom. I could stay five more minutes, swallow a slice of bacon and spare Mom's feelings, or I could spend those five glorious minutes reveling in the attention from my fans at Scottsdale High.

I hoisted my pack onto my shoulder and grabbed my keys.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Then I was out the door and in my car.

My imaginary scales sunk deep to the left. School 1. Home 0.

• • •

Ten minutes before first period, I parked myself next to Trent's locker with about half a dozen other kids, including Parker and Jeanie. One of the best parts of these morning gatherings was the fact that Jeremy had swim team practice before school and was never there. Unfortunately, Anna was never there either. I
made a mental note to ask her why next time I talked to her. Or better yet …

“Jeanie, where's Anna?”

Jeanie waved a hand. “Who knows? She's always late. Probably overslept because she was up all night talking to her stupid Internet boyfriend.”

What? Boyfriend?
My stomach did a flip-flop.

“What?” Parker laughed. “She's dating some dude on the Internet? How lame!”

“Oh, it's
completely
lame,” Jeanie agreed. “And get this. She doesn't even know what he looks like.”

Parker bent over with laughter, and a few other kids joined in. I couldn't tell if I was more upset about them joking at Anna's expense or unknowingly calling me lame to my face. Either way, I must not have been hiding it well, because Jeanie asked, “Butter, what's wrong?”

My brain scrambled for an answer, but Trent beat me to it.

“Oh, Butter's got a little thing for Anna.”