Butter (16 page)

Nate tried to focus on my face, but he looked as blurry-eyed as Mikey. “Well, I don't.”

“I do,” another kid jumped in. “It's just fucked up enough to be true. I mean, I think you're totally crazy, but that's why I like you, man.”

I know. That's why you
all
like me.

The girl who had nudged Mikey stood up from the table. “You guys are sick. I'm not listening to this.” She swayed on her feet, the orange cocktail in her hand slopping out of its glass. She looked directly at me. “And you're not going to do anything, because somebody's going to stop you. Somebody's going to tell.”

“Oh yeah, Morgan?” Mikey said. “Are
you
going to tell?”

She frowned down at him, disliking the challenge. She looked like she had a comeback, but when she opened her mouth to speak, all she said was, “I think I'm gonna throw up.” Then she spun on her heel and bolted toward the bathroom.

“She won't tell,” Nate said. “No one will, because everyone wants to see if you'll actually do it … which you won't.”

“You can't die from eating anyway,” Mikey said. “So nothing's going to happen. But I just want to see how much of that food you actually eat. You keep putting more stuff on the menu, and it's more than my entire family ate at Thanksgiving!”

“I don't know,” Nate said. “I've been reading your lists, and all that sugar just might be enough to kill a person.”

I froze. Nate didn't know it, but he'd just given me deadly idea number four.

Sugar really can't kill you, not in one sitting. But a
lack
of sugar can kill a diabetic, especially if he'd had too much insulin.

I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before.

My nightly shot would take too long to work, but a double dose of the fast-acting insulin would probably be enough to knock me out if I didn't get enough sugar and carbohydrates.
I made a mental note to take all sugars and starches off the menu and to cut back on them for a few days leading up to my last meal—except the strawberries; those I needed. There was a risk the insulin shock would put me in a coma before actually finishing the job, but between that and the berries, I was feeling more and more confident I could really do what I said. I could truly eat myself to death. And for the first time since I'd started this whole mess, I was scared shitless.

Whatever spell Trent had cast to keep everyone silent about my suicide plot was apparently undone by alcohol. I managed to escape the curious card players only to walk into another conversation all about me.

“This is him!” Parker gripped my shoulder and steered me into a crowd gathered next to the Ping-Pong table. I swallowed my newfound fear and forced a smile for the group.

“Parker, duh! We know who he is!” A girl giggled.

“And did you know he's going to make Scottsdale High history?” Parker cracked his knuckles. “One crazy night. A lifetime of nobody-can-top-that.”

“Nobody would try,” a boy slurred. He looked up at me, his eyes earnest. “No disrespect. I just mean nobody would have the balls.”

“Yeah!” Parker said. “You need
Butter balls
to pull off something like that!”

Here we go again
, I thought. But at least this time there was no chanting, only Parker droning on, “Forever after, if anyone does anything that takes real cojones, we'll say they had Butter balls.”

A serious little nod of agreement went around the inebriated group, as if they were discussing something of great importance and Parker had just contributed a poignant thought.

Maybe I was a little drunk myself, because I'm sure I should have been horrified, but I felt …
flattered
.

I winked at the group. “And Parker will go down in history as the man who made millions betting on my last meal.”

“I would if you'd tell me what was on the final menu,” he grumbled.

Everyone laughed, including myself. I think I was starting to feel what they all must have already felt about my last meal—that it was a story playing out on a movie screen and not in real life. All their laughter and curiosity and encouragement wasn't completely evil. It was just the result of some teenage sense of immortality mixed with that thing that makes you slow down and watch a car wreck, even when you don't really want to look.

I soaked up the attention for a few more minutes, and when I tired of hearing about my impressive Butter balls, I wandered off to find a bathroom. I'd had four drinks and not one piss.

The hallway leading to the bathroom was narrow, and I had to keep squishing to one side to let people pass. This was especially tricky when the person trying to get around me was
drunk and uncoordinated, but it was impossible when I came to a girl who had stretched her body across the hall, her back on one wall and her feet braced against the other for support. I recognized her red hair and orange drink.

Another girl was pulling on her arm, trying to force her to stand up straight. “Morgan, I swear, if you puke in my car …”

Morgan allowed herself to be yanked upright, but she tripped sideways and spilled some of her drink on her friend. The orange soaked into the girl's white tank top. “Shit. What is your problem?”

Morgan stumbled back into the wall. “Sorry,” she slurred. But her friend was already walking away to deal with the apparently more important matter of her stained shirt.

As I squeezed past Morgan, she closed her eyes, and I heard her whisper to herself, “What am I doing here?”

I knew the feeling.

A pleasant surprise was waiting for me outside the bathroom in the form of long blond hair and bright blue eyes.

Anna smiled when she saw me walk up. “Don't try to cut in line. Whoever's in there is taking forever.”

“I can hold it.” I smiled back. Though I wasn't really sure I could.

“Got big plans for Christmas break?” she asked.

Hmm. Small talk. Well, that's okay
, I reasoned. As far as Anna knew, we were just acquaintances.

“Not really. My aunt and uncle will come over for dinner. Family's kind of small.”

“That's nice. Mine is huge. It takes forever to open presents,
and my cousins are all big eaters, so you have to fight just to get one slice of pie.” She stopped and looked down at her feet like she'd said something wrong.

I rushed to keep the conversation moving. “What about the scrimmage tomorrow?”

The annual holiday football scrimmage between Scottsdale and Chaparral high schools was a thing of legend. Every year, star players from both schools' teams met on neutral territory, at a park halfway between our campus and theirs. Trent hadn't shut up about it since I'd met him, and Parker was running the pool. He put the odds on the opposing team.

Anna smacked her forehead. “Oh no, the scrimmage! I forgot! My mom will never let me go with so much homework to do.”

I crossed my legs. What was taking this asshole so long in the bathroom?

“Homework? Semester's over.”

“Not for me,” she pouted. “I blew it on that final paper for comp. And I missed a biology lab that I have to make up. I convinced my teachers to let me work on both and turn them in next semester, so they're holding my grades until we go back.”

I leaned against the wall, trying to concentrate on Anna instead of my full bladder.

“Well, can't help you much with bio, but if you need a hand with that comp paper, I might be able to work with you. I aced mine.”

Anna lit up. “Really? Oh wow, Butter. That would be awesome.”

I smiled. Or maybe I grimaced; I really had to pee. “Why don't you tell your mom you got a tutor, but I'm not available until after the scrimmage. Then maybe she'll let you go.”

“That's brilliant! You seriously don't mind?”

“Seriously don't. Let me just get your number.” I tried to keep my hand from shaking as I pulled out my cell phone. Anna McGinn's digits were about to enter that phone; it was suddenly the most valuable thing I owned.

Anna dictated her number, and I gave her mine.

The bathroom door finally opened, and Anna disappeared inside. I grabbed the arm of the boy who had stumbled out. “Dude, is there another bathroom here? I really gotta go.”

“
Touchdown!
” Parker hollered. He threw his arms up in celebration without capping his water bottle, and a big splash sloshed out the side. It landed smack on Jeanie's chest, soaking her thin white top.

“Parker, watch it!” she shrieked.

He looked down at the mess he'd made and grinned. “Sweet! Wet T-shirt contest!”

A couple of boys hooted and craned their necks to get a peek at the pale blue bra now clearly visible through Jeanie's tee.

“Shut up. That's cold.” She crossed her arms and cupped her hands around her chest.

“Want me to warm them up for you?” a boy sneered. It was that Nate from the card game.

“Screw you,” Jeanie snapped back.

“Well, you should be wearing a jacket anyway,” Anna piped up from Jeanie's other side.

I smiled at her sensibility. It
was
chilly for Arizona, and Anna looked cute wrapped up in a tight zip-up jacket and scarf.

The cold was just one element that had me bouncing from foot to foot on the sidelines of the scrimmage Saturday morning. Having never been to the game before, I hadn't realized there wouldn't be anywhere to sit, so I hadn't brought a lawn chair. Now, after an hour and a half of standing, my back was burning and my knees buckling. I just wanted the match to be over so I could hang out with Anna alone.

Anna was gesturing at me now, trying to catch my attention behind Jeanie's back. I raised one eyebrow in response. She pantomimed taking off a jacket and putting it over Jeanie's shoulders. I nodded that I understood.

“You want my jacket?” I asked Jeanie.

I unzipped my coat and wrapped it around her without waiting for an answer. She disappeared underneath it.

“Thanks,” she said quietly from somewhere inside the size 5XL.

“No problem.”

“That was nice,” someone said in a soft voice to my left.

I turned and saw a flash of red hair as a girl pushed back the hood of her sweatshirt. She was clutching a bottle of water instead of an orange mystery drink, and her speech was no longer slurred, but it was unmistakably Morgan, the drunk girl from Jeremy's house.

I gave her a knowing smile. “How you feeling today?”

She groaned. “Worst. Hangover. Ever.”

“Yeah, I've heard that one before.” I laughed, but she didn't even crack a smile. In fact, she looked kind of teary-eyed all of a sudden. I wondered if she was going to puke.

I took a slight step away, hoping to keep my shoes dry if she did hurl, but she gripped my arm and pulled me back in. She kept pulling until we were a good distance from the crowd, then she started whispering so fast, I could barely understand her.

“Look, I'm really sorry for what ever I said last night. I was drunk. I mean, I can't even remember it all, but I know Mikey and Nate think I'm going to tell on you or something, but I'm totally not going to tell, so please don't tell Trent we were even talking about—”

“Whoa, whoa.” I held up a hand to stop her, then I used the same hand to gently release her death grip on my arm. “You didn't say anything—not really.”

“I didn't?” She took a big chug of her water as the crowd burst into a cheer—a field goal for our side. “Okay. That's good then.”

“That's it?” I asked.

She shrugged and dropped her eyes to the ground. “I just wanted you to know I'm not going to tell. Unless …”

“Unless what?” I bristled. My heart started to beat a little faster.

“Unless you want someone to tell.” She looked up. “Do you—”

“No!”

“Oh, right. I'm—Sorry, I'm—” she stammered. “I just thought
maybe—I mean the website seemed like, I don't know, like you needed someone to talk to or …”

I imagined myself in a school counselor's office,
talking
out my problems as Mom sat blubbering in a chair next to me. I knew Morgan was offering some sort of help, but at the moment, that offer felt like a threat.

I took a deep breath. “What I mean is, you shouldn't tell because there's nothing
to
tell.”

She bit her lip.

“You know where I'll be on New Year's Eve?” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “I'll be at Parker's, just like everybody else.”

“Because it's not real, right?” she pressed. “The website—it's not—” She fumbled and looked down at her feet.

“Hey, we're not even supposed to be talking about this,” I said, my voice sharper now. “Isn't that why you dragged me over here? So I wouldn't tell Trent you were talking?”

Her face snapped up in fear. “I didn't—I wouldn't—I was just trying to help.”

“I don't need any help,” I said. “And anyway, it seems like that kind of help could get you in trouble.” I was hedging my bets. I had no idea how secure her place was in the crowd. But the way her mouth dropped open and her eyes bulged told me I'd hit a nerve.

“I won't tell,” she whispered.

“Look, you'll see me at the party,” I promised. “We'll have a drink and laugh about all this.” I leaned in conspiratorially and added, “At midnight.” I jerked my head back toward the crowd. “Joke's on them.”

Her eyes lit up a bit, and she finally gave me a half smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And don't worry about Mikey and Nate,” I said as I led her back to the group. “They know you're not a tattletale.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking another slug of water.

“Parker,” I called. “Make sure you mix up some virgin drinks for this one at your party. She can't hold her liquor.”