The Fat Boy Chronicles (2 page)

It's creepy to think that a murderer dumped his victim a few hundred yards away from Paul's bedroom. I mean, the killer could've walked right by his window. Paul said his dad's been in a worse mood than usual because of it, and his mom's been screaming constantly. His parents aren't exactly what you'd call good examples, but Paul's real cool. He thinks the dead person is from Michigan or something, and the killer drove for hours until he found a safe neighborhood to hide the body. There aren't many murders in Hanover. In fact, until today, there weren't any. Man, I can't stop thinking about it. I hope I can fall asleep.

Monday, 8–28

I woke up this morning thinking about the dead body. Like, it's not even a person yet. Just an “it.” The whole thing really freaks me out. It could be a kid or a grandpa—Paul thinks it's probably some girl, since most bodies found in the woods are female. It finally made the news; I watched it this morning while I was eating Pop–Tarts.

Man, the weekend went by way too fast. Last week was the longest and shortest week of my life. I felt like I was trapped going to school all week, but now it's over. This schedule is too fast–paced for me. There are so many things to keep up with—go to my locker, get my books, hurry to class, take notes, and repeat the whole thing like seven times a day.

Today was really hot, and it was even more disgusting than usual in the cafeteria. I don't think the air conditioning is working in there. Allen eats lunch when I do, so I finally have someone to sit with. Not that sitting with Allen is the greatest. He stuffs food in his mouth as fast as he can, like he's starving, and the other kids watch. Everything he brings for lunch really smells. I mean, why can't he pack something normal like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? No, he has to bring tuna fish, salami, sausage, and rotten cheese. One day he even brought sardine sandwiches. That's so not cool. I half expect him to bring pig's feet or sheep brains. It wouldn't surprise me one bit. Then he talks with his mouth open and it's pretty disgusting. I try not to watch him, but he sits right in front of me.

When he's not stuffing his face, he's okay and is into some really cool hobbies, like chess, Warcraft, and he has some serious Yu–gi–oh
cards with heavy hit point potential. (Not that he's trading.) He's an online warrior like me. He's actually kind of a legend in the gaming world. His online handle is KillingMachine and the dude earned it. I've seen him play and he is absolutely ruthless. I always imagined him to be some pumped–up Arnold the Terminator kind of guy. It just goes to show how much you can hide on the Internet. I wonder if any of the other kids at school know exactly who's kicking their butts.

Thursday, 8–31

Mom's making my lunch every day now, since I told her about not having much time to eat. She fixed two PBJ's this morning, and I stuck them in my backpack. I forgot they were there and put books on top of them. (I usually carry my lunch separately, but lately some kids on the bus have threatened to take it.) The sandwiches were squished as thin as a CD and the sticky grape jelly leaked through the paper sack and got all over my math book. At lunch, when I remembered I had sandwiches, I pulled them out and had to peel them off the bag. At least I provided entertainment for Allen.

Allen and I talked some about the murder. He thought it was awesome that it happened practically in Paul's backyard. Guess that makes Paul almost a celebrity. Paul says the police are all over the crime scene still, like 24/7. And, he said there's been lots of news trucks in his neighborhood, some parked in front of his house.

I hate having math second period; it's all I can do to stay awake in there. Then today, in the middle of a really boring class, Mr. L
gave us a riddle about sheep. He asked, “If a farmer had 26 sheep and one died, how many would he have left?” Almost all the class said 25, except for Scott, trying to be funny, replied “420.” Mr. L claimed that we were all wrong. I guess old men get pleasure from riddles that make about as much sense as a Popsicle stick joke. It drives me nuts.

We also got our gym outfits in PE today. That means we'll have to start dressing out soon. I wish I didn't have to take PE.

Saturday, 9–2

It's been all over the news—the dead body found behind Paul's house. Just in time for Labor Day weekend. Kind of takes away from the whole family picnic scene. No one around here feels like celebrating much.

In case you missed it, the victim was a seventeen–year–old girl from Wilmington High named Kimberly Taylor. We play them in football and they usually beat us. Wilmington is a nice, safe place like Hanover. Well, it used to be.

My mom read about the murder in the
Cincinnati Enquirer
today. Under the cause of death it said, “Homicidal violence, type undetermined.” The police said Kimberly was wearing a Danskin hooded sweatshirt over a medium–top with sequins. She had a nose stud with a clear stone and a silver ring on her finger. Her boyfriend is the prime suspect. Paul thinks we should hide in the woods to see if anyone shows up. He read somewhere that the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.

Monday, 9–4

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Yesterday was the first day of dressing out in PE. I hoped it would be different here but I guess I was wrong. We wear a red shirt with Patriot PE on the front and shorts to match. I tried to find a locker over in the corner so I could change shirts without anybody noticing me. I didn't realize that the football players use the corner I picked. I was already there when several came in, talking and cutting up. By the time I got my shirt and t–shirt off, I could tell they were looking at me. My neck turned hot with embarrassment and I faced away from them so they couldn't see my chest. One of the guys said, “Hey, aren't you in the wrong locker room? People with tits like that should be on the other side.” I didn't turn around or answer him. I pulled my PE shirt down and crammed my things in my locker. I half ran through the benches, trying to get out of there as fast as I could. Just as I was pushing open the door to the gym, I heard Robb Thuman, the star quarterback, say, “Maybe our mascot should be the Tomatoes instead of the Patriots. We've got one right here.” Everyone was laughing. When I went in the gym, I sat on the bottom row so I wouldn't have to climb the steps. Coach Bronner called roll. I raised my hand when he called my name and he looked at me over his glasses. “You don't have to raise your hand, son. Just say ‘here.'” I said, “Yes, sir,” but he kept looking at me. In the stands behind me, Robb said, “Just say, ‘Tomato, present and accounted for.'” Coach cut his eyes up there but said nothing to him.

When we got dressed after class, I waited till everyone was gone before I changed. They were all out in the hall ready to leave while I sat in the locker room. It really hurts to have someone say those things. Don't they know that I try to be a good person, and that I would cheer for them at the football games? Like I wouldn't want to be on the team, running all over and not sweating like crazy? They have it so easy and they pick on me. I mean, why are these guys in a class with a bunch of freshmen, anyway? So they can pick on us? Allen said some of them don't need any more credits, so they take PE classes all day. What's the point in that? So they can make kids like me miserable?

I can hear Robb's voice in my head. I'll probably hear it in my sleep. When Mom came into my room last night, I had to pretend I was asleep so she wouldn't know I had been crying.

Tuesday, 9–5

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Today's my birthday—I just turned fifteen. One more year till I can get my driver's license! Every birthday since I can remember, Mom measures my height. It's a ritual for my sister and me. I measured 5'5”—two inches taller than last year. I'm glad Mom didn't make me stand on the scale. I haven't weighed myself since summer camp. Back then, I weighed close to two hundred; luckily, my counselor was the only one who saw the scale. He tried not to make a big deal out of it, but I could tell he felt bad for me. He gave me an extra dessert at dinner, which didn't help my weight, but did make me feel special at the time.

I'm in math class right now. It's sooooo boring. I had all this stuff last year. Some of the kids don't get it, so we have to go over everything again and again. They don't understand simple things like variables and properties. When Mr. L asked what twice a number transfers into, hardly anybody answered. Then he put a bunch of examples on the board and we had to write them all down. It's so easy—twice means times two, things like that.

I know all this stuff from last year because I had a really good teacher. Some of the kids act like they've never heard of algebra, but I know they have. They just want the teacher to go slow so they don't have to work as hard.

The class is so rude to Mr. L I feel sorry for him, even though he is the most boring teacher I've ever had. At least he has an interesting classroom, with cool posters and real fossils lying around. He has an aquarium with goldfish and he lets us feed them since it's early in the morning. Why does he continue to answer all their stupid questions? Can't he see they're laughing behind his back? Nate Hammer does it just to show off. I know him because he went to the same middle school as me in the seventh grade. He hasn't changed at all. He still loves to make fun of people, especially me. His eyes sure did light up when he saw me walk into class. Probably like when a hawk sees a squirrel. A big squirrel.

He has a huge crush on Whitney Elliot. She's pretty and seems nice, too. I don't know what she sees in Nate, but she always smiles at him. Her face gets all red. He's what you'd call a jock—I call him a
jerk, but he's the most popular guy in our class. I swear he tries to make my life miserable. “It's Slim Jim!” he said the first time he saw me in class. Everyone laughed.

“It's Not–So–Slimmy–Jimmy,” another kid joked. The class laughed again. Mr. L. quieted everyone down and I just wanted to disappear.

This year I'm even bigger than last year. My parents don't say much about my weight, but I know they're worried. I don't understand why I'm so fat. My friends at youth group eat more than I do, but they never gain weight.

Mr. L. keeps yelling for everybody to shut up, but they keep talking anyway. He just shakes his head and closes his book. There's only a few minutes left, so I guess he thinks it's not worth it to keep yelling at everybody. Nate is smiling at me, but I pretend I don't notice. But it doesn't matter. Nate still won't leave me alone.

“What'd you have for breakfast, Fat Boy? All of McDonald's? What're you writing? Listing all the food you're going to have for lunch?” Now the rest of the class is laughing. “You cause an earthquake every time you walk.”

Ha, ha, Nate, you're so funny.

One minute till the bell rings…hurry and ring…please ring… Mr. L. acts like he doesn't hear what Nate's saying. I wonder if Whitney is laughing too.

Glad I didn't tell anybody it's my birthday.

Wednesday, 9–6

I'm so excited! I got a Wii for my birthday and it's awesome!

I got Super Smash Brothers Brawl and it is so sweet. You fight other players with tons of characters. Depending on whether or not you use the best finishing moves, you can open up better characters as you move through the game. My favorite is Captain Falco because he does this move where he teleports onto the opposite side of the screen. But Roy is pretty good too! He has this attack where you can throw one of his flaming swords at the other dude. You can cause major damage with that move, and it's almost impossible to defend against.

I can't wait to go home and see who else I can get. Maybe the teachers will give us a break and not give us so much homework, because my parents said I have to get done with that before I can play. Maybe my English teacher won't give us a lot to read tonight. Hint, hint.

Mom made fried chicken and dumplings last night, and then my favorite cake—German chocolate—topped with Moose Tracks ice cream from the United Dairy Farmers. I ate so much I could hardly move. On Saturday, my Nana is taking me to the all–you–can–eat steakhouse, like she does every year for my birthday. My sister gave me a really cool Bengal's sweatshirt, but it's too small so I have to take it back. I hope it comes in an XXL, because I really like it.

Thursday, 9–7

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Paul doesn't think the boyfriend did it. He thinks it's some guy from another state, like Kentucky.

“Why Kentucky?” I asked.

“Because the body was dumped in the woods, and everyone knows Kentucky is full of woods.” Paul's been on the Internet hunting for murderers in Kentucky. I don't know why he's so set on Kentucky when it could be somebody around here. We've decided to set up a fake MySpace account and pretend we're this really cute cheerleader. Paul suggested we put my sister's picture on it, and call her Starr. I don't think my sister's cute enough, but Paul thinks she's hot. We're hoping the killer will send us a “friend request,” then we can start talking to him and eventually Starr will ask him if he wants to get together. We'll leave a note for him at the meeting place and ask him to write back, so we get a copy of his fingerprints. Then we'll turn him in. The only problem is, my sister's not the nose ring type, like Kimberly. So, maybe the guy isn't into preppy girls like my sister. Paul said it wouldn't be that hard to Photoshop a nose ring in.

I wonder if Kimberly had a hard time fitting in and that's why she pierced her nose. From the pictures on the news, she looks kinda big, almost as big as me. The police thought maybe she was pregnant, and that's why her boyfriend murdered her. But the autopsy showed she wasn't. Some of the kids at school are making jokes, saying her boyfriend killed her because she was fat or that she ate herself to death. Seems like fat jokes never stop, even after you're dead.