Butter (28 page)

Instead, I grabbed my sax and headed down to the playroom to say good-bye to the little people. And that's where Anna found me. The sight of her in the doorway caused me to blow my first sour note. A couple kids stuck their fingers in their ears at the loud squeak. I waded through the sea of shorties to meet Anna at the door. I noticed she had her backpack slung over her shoulder.

“What's in the bag?” I asked.

“Books.”

“For me?”

“No, dummy, for school. We started back today.”

It was Monday. I had no idea. Somehow I had lost all sense of time in the hospital.

Anna and I started down the hallway toward my room. I choked on the first few things I tried to say. If I had a chance
to fix this with Anna, I didn't want to blow it with the wrong words.

“Thought you were done with me,” I finally said as we walked. “That good-bye …”

“I said good-bye to J.P.” Anna cast me a sidelong smile. “That's what I get for meeting a guy on the Internet.”

I smiled back. “They teasing you about that?”

“No,” Anna said. “I'm already old news.”

I slowed my pace. “And me? Am I old news too?”

“Oh no.” Anna laughed. “You're
all
they're talking about.”

“What?” I stopped.

Anna turned to face me but kept moving. “It was the first day back. Of course everyone's talking about it. And you should hear the crazy stuff they're saying.”

I followed her into my room, and we both sat on the bed—Anna cross-legged and me leaning against a pile of pillows.

“What kind of crazy stuff?”

“Oh geez, like some people actually thought you died since you weren't back at school today. This one girl was crying like she knew you or something.” Anna rolled her eyes. “Other kids thought you faked it. Some theater kid with eyeliner called it a—a—” She snapped her fingers, trying to remember. “Oh! Performance art?”

We both laughed. It
was
funny—funny that I had expected more drama, more ridicule. Instead, everyone still wanted a piece of me. The big moment had come and gone, and for everyone else, nothing had changed. I came through the looking glass, but they were all still going mad at the tea party.

“The guys still have your bench at their table,” Anna said.
“They're all strutting around like they're best friends with you, talking about how you're a legend.”

I laughed again, because it felt like I was supposed to, but Anna was quiet—her face more still than I'd ever seen it.

“Best friends who haven't even come to see you in the hospital,” she said.

“They were never really my friends,” I admitted, more to myself than to her.

I expected Anna to stick up for them, as usual, but she surprised me.

“I guess not.” She paused. “I don't want to be like them.”

“Like what?”

“Like only into the online guy and not—y'know—the
actual
guy.”

I knew she didn't mean the website. “It's different for you,” I said. “What I—what we—”

“It's not that different.”

A silence settled between us, and she broke it with a smile. “It doesn't suck to be the big man on campus though.”

“Ha! Big man. I get it.”

Anna turned a violent shade of pink. “That's not what—I didn't mean—”

I waved her off with a laugh. “I know.”

Anna kept assuring me that I was more popular than ever and that I'd see that when I came back to school. I confessed to her I might not be back.

I hadn't decided my next step, but it felt good to know it would be
my
step,
my
choice. I could audition for that professor
and fall on my face; but I could also secure a spot at the most prestigious school of music in the country, and I wouldn't know unless I tried. I could attend the institute and discover I liked it or that I was right, and it was zombieville. Every opportunity posed a risk of disappointment, but as I looked around my room—at the phone number propped on the nightstand, the BI pamphlets littered across the bed, and the cards and flowers from people who would be in my corner no matter what—I felt comforted by the fact that I had options. Risky, frightening, intimidating options—but they were my options, my opportunities, to choose from. I would never back myself into a corner again.

“You really wouldn't come back to school?” Anna frowned.

“Well, why would I want to? I'd rather be somewhere I can make friends without a website. Trent and those guys—I bet they don't even know my real name.” I shook my head, resigned. “Anyway, when the dust settles, people will start seeing the Sasquatch again, the kid with the handicapped parking spot and the extra-large desk. Or I would just go back to being invisible. I'd be the same nameless loser I always was.”

Anna socked me in the arm suddenly, snapping me out of my melancholy moment. “Hey! What did I tell you about talking about my friends like that?”

I looked up and saw she was smiling.

“Friends?” I asked.

“We could be. We just need a—a
reset
button.” She thought a moment and then straightened up and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I'm Anna.”

I laughed and took her hand. “Nice to meet you, Anna. I'm Marshall.”

She cocked her head, her hand still in mine. “Marshall, huh?”

“Yeah. But you can call me Butter.”

This book would not be possible without the hard work and enthusiasm of so many people.

Thanks to my fierce and funny agent, Jennifer Laughran, for always telling it like it is and for giving a girl from the slush pile a second chance, and to my editor, Caroline Abbey, for seeing what was missing. This story is deeper and more layered because of your insight.

Thank you to the team at Bloomsbury and everyone who helped this book along the way, including Melanie Cecka, Jill Amack, Sandy Smith, Alexei Esikoff, Regina Roff, Katy Hershberger, Kate Lied, Rachel Stark, and Melissa Kavonic.

Thank you to Matt Helm, who celebrated every milestone, who patiently listened to every concern, who gave me space to write, and who pushed me when I was slacking. Your support means everything to me.

Thank you to Mom, for always knowing what I want to be when I grow up before I do, and to Dad, for taking me for walks in the woods and telling me stories. It is because you both believe I can do anything that I believe it too.

Thank you to Kelly Thompson, who probably doesn't even know she gave this book the greatest compliment it ever has or ever will receive … to Patti Kirkpatrick, Julie Duck, and everyone else who read this at its earliest, roughest stage … to Kim Kapilovic for reading that book no one else will ever read. Without your encouragement, I wouldn't have been able to write
this
one … to Royal Norman, who made me feel like I had a fan before I even had a book … and to all of my friends and family who have been so supportive throughout this process.

Finally, thank you to Gemma Cooper, for your intelligence, passion, honesty, and so many other things that I couldn't possibly list them all here—but above all, for your friendship. If you had not found me and Butter, we would still be lost, and this book would not exist.

Copyright © 2012 by Erin Jade Lange

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in the United States of America in September 2012 by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
Electronic edition published in September 2012
www.bloomsburyteens.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lange, Erin Jade.

Butter / by Erin Jade Lange.—1st U.S. ed.

p. cm.

Summary: Unable to control his binge eating, a morbidly obese teenager nicknamed Butter decides to make a live webcast of his last meal as he attempts to eat himself to death.

[1. Obesity—Fiction. 2. Eating disorders—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.L26113Bu 2012     [Fic]—dc23     2011045509

Book design by Regina Roff

ISBN 978-1-59990-926-4 (e-book)