Big Fat Manifesto (9 page)
Authors: Susan Vaught
FEATURE SPREAD
for publication Friday, September 21
Fat Boy Chronicles III—Addendum
JAMIE D. CARCATERRA
(Update)
Fat Boy survived surgery number two, to remove the clot lodged in his lungs from surgery number one. To quote his surgeon,
"He's currently requiring mechanically assisted ventilation."
Translation: Fat Boy's breathing because a machine pushes air through a tube crammed down his throat.
He's trapped in a smelly glass room with smelly glass nurses who wear rubber shoes and want everybody to have "patience."
He has needles in both arms. He doesn't turn his head, open his eyes, or notice when somebody kisses him.
If Fat Boy feels anything, it's pain. If he smells anything, it's raunchy. If he sees anything, it's scary. If he hears anything,
it's moaning. He can't taste anything, of course, because he's not eating anything.
He's out. Not awake. If the power went off, his lights would go out, too—literally.
This is what THIN is worth to Fat Boy. More than agony, more than breath, more than love, more than life. This is what THIN
is worth to his doctors, his family, maybe even some of the people who call themselves his friends.
What is THIN worth to you?
And for God's sake,
why?
I can't stop crying. My eyes feel swollen, like I'm seeing through aching slits, but Fat Girl parts the seas of ICU nurses
like Moses having a big, nasty fit. Maybe they're afraid to get too close to a blubbering fat girl.
Obsesophobia,
my stressed brain suggests.
Well, that's fear of getting fat, not the blubbering girl part. What about
ephebiphobia
—fear of teenagers?
Freddie and I have almost reached the automatic ICU door when the bravest of nurses stops us. He looks sad and sympathetic
when he says, "This will take time. You have to be patient, hope for the best."
"The best will happen," Freddie tells him, sounding pissed. "No hoping to it."
The nurse lets us go without saying anything else, which is good, because Freddie's wound up tight. My lame consciousness
comes up with stupid words or just stops talking when I'm flipped out, but Freddie gets capable of premeditated first-degree
verbal assault.
I'm still half-crying and churning out weird phobias and she's still bitching about Nurse Patience-Man when we round the corner
back to the waiting room.
And pull up short a few feet from the door.
Heath's at the hospital again, this time waiting with Burke's parents and sisters, sitting and chatting like he belongs here
now, with our group.
Pieces of my brain crash together, trying to adjust to the sight of Heath and Burke's family hanging out together, and I can't
grasp it.
I want to run back to Burke, where things are weird, but not this weird.
Yet I want to run to Heath, too, and beg him to sit under a drafting table with me and say funny things until my gut unstaples
a few notches.
What is he doing here?
"What is Heath doing here?" Freddie echoes my thoughts out loud. "He should be—I don't know, at the paper or something, right?"
"He probably wants my Fat Girl feature," I mumble a few seconds later, after I find my voice. "I told him I'd have it later."
Heath still doesn't see us. He's lounging, all relaxed and not intimidated, right in front of M
&
M, and his blond hair hides the top of his eyes.
He's not here for the feature. I know that.
He's here because he's worried about me, and I think that's so sweet. So sweet I totally don't know what to do about it.
Freddie studies Heath like a professional reporter, like she's calculating weight and height and all potential juicy quotes.
"You did Fat Girl for this week, didn't you? While Burke was in surgery the second time?"
"Yeah. It's in my bag." I take a step toward the waiting room door.
"Wait." Freddie grabs my arm. When I stop and turn around, her face looks tense and suspicious. "You were pale and shaking,
and now you're all pink and
Heath's here
and
Fat Girl's in my bag."
Her eyes narrow as she glances from Heath to me. "What's going on?"
"That's a dumb-ass question." I pull my arm away from her, breathing fast but as deep as I can, trying to chill, trying to
get a grip. I didn't know I had been shaking, or that seeing Heath made me stop. "It's Burke. The way he looked. The way he
was."
"You should still be upset," Freddie says, getting louder.
"I
am."
I turn my back to the waiting room door and stare her down. Fat Girl, all the way. "I don't know what the hell you're talking
about. Right now I have to write a quick addition and turn in my feature. I don't have time to freak out all over the hospital
hallway."
Freddie's eyes stay narrow, but she nods and gestures toward the waiting room.
When I turn back around, Burke's parents and sisters are staring at us. So is Heath.
He looks glad to see me.
I start shaking again, and this time, I know it.
. . .
"More scholarship assurance right here." About fifteen minutes after I sit down and start writing, Heath takes my Fat Girl
feature and the post-emergency surgery update, tucks it into the folder he brought, then slips the folder under his arm. "After
Channel 3 News called to verify you were writing about a real boy having real bariatric surgery, I didn't want to run this
week's
Wire
without Fat Girl. We might get some major coverage on this."
He smiles at me, and I can't help smiling back. I'm amazed, because Heath and I aren't under a drafting table, but he's still
managed to get me distracted and make me feel a little better. We're sitting in the back of the surgical waiting area, near
three small groups of people I don't know. A different nurse sits at the desk by the phone, writing, writing, writing on a
clipboard. My stomach's hurting and growling, but I'm not really hungry, not with everything that's happened.
"I think I made an enemy out of that one reporter," I say as I lean back in my chair and stretch. "But I guess she's over
it."
Heath gives me an old-guy mature look. "Those reporters probably have lots of enemies. Adult ones, who sue them and stuff.
We're lightweights."
He turns red when he realizes the term he just used, but doesn't say anything to make it worse.
It's cute, how Heath acts when he makes a goofball comment. I wonder if
he
hates being cute, like Burke? Maybe It's an all-guys-feel-that-way thing. One day, I'll ask him. I seem to ask Heath a lot
of things I'd never ask anybody else.
My stomach twists, and I look toward the waiting room door. Burke's parents have gone to see him for the fifteen minutes allowed
this hour, and Freddie's chatting with M
&
M. All three of them give me looks now and then, and I hope they aren't talking about me.
Heath's eyes are so bright and so blue when I look at him again. He seems so alive and full of motion and breath and health,
It's hard to talk to him, but nice, too. I don't have to worry about Heath.
I point to the folder. "Will you bring me a copy of the paper once It's set?"
"Yeah, sure, but..." Heath fidgets in his seat, and his smile slips away. "That'll be Wednesday or Thursday.
You'll be back by then, right?"
I shift in my chair too, numb and tired of being still. "Depends on how Burke's doing. If he doesn't wake up, or things go
wrong, I might still be here."
Heath's eyes get a fraction wider, and his mouth stays open three or four seconds before he says, "You can't just stay out
of school, can you?"
"Yes, I can." I feel a Fat Girl rush of will and determination, and I know my tone sounded Evillene bitchy. All I need is
green glitter eye shadow to complete the effect.
"Okay." Heath raises one hand and makes a peace sign. "It's just with class and the play and senior stuff and ACT studying,
I didn't think—but I'm sure you know what you're doing."
Brain explosion. Brain explosion.
I shove both of my fists against my eyes and shake my head. "Jeez, don't remind me about all that stuff."
"Sorry. Bad idea. Cut the text. Change the font." Heath's embarrassed face swims before my eyes, covered in spots, when I
move my fists. He's got that cute
oops
look again, and it almost makes me want to laugh.
"Well, I've got to go," Heath says. "Will you walk me out?"
The thought of getting out of the waiting room, walking with Heath, maybe getting fresh air and a snack sounds way past excellent,
but I'm afraid Burke's parents will come back and I'll miss the update.
"I can't. Sorry." I gesture to Freddy and M
&
M. "I need to be here in case we get news."
Heath looks unhappy, but he shrugs, and after a few seconds, gives me a too-serious look. "You call if you need me. I'm keeping
my phone next to my bed all night, just in case."
"That's completely beyond sweet. You're the best." I want to lean over and hug him, but that feels a little weird, so I don't.
But I know I'm looking at him hard, maybe funny, maybe desperate. The wrong way. Enough that I notice Freddie and Burke's
sisters staring.
Get a grip, get a grip, keep a grip, look away...
But I can't.
Instead, I stand when Heath does, and walk him to the door of the waiting room.
When I pass Freddie and M
&
M, one of them sniffs. Loud.
What the hell?
I had to get the article written. Deadlines wait for no man . . . or surgery. They're college women. They ought to know that
by now.
At the waiting room door, Heath stands close to me for a count of three, maybe four, looking at me. Before I can ask him to
stop, he says, "I'm sorry about all you're going through—and call if you need to."
Then he makes a quiet exit, folder still tucked beneath his arm.
I watch him go and wish I could be as relaxed and calm as he always looks. Like the world is no big deal, like life is easy
and fun and just one big endless movie.
It must be amazing to be Heath. Or at least he's good at giving that impression.
Somebody grabs my elbow, and It's Freddie. She pushes me forward a step, out of the waiting room, into the hallway. "We need
to talk, Jamie."
"No way." I hold my ground. "Burke's folks will be back any second. Whatever it is can wait that long."
"Now," Freddie says through her teeth.
"No!" I use the elbow she's holding to nudge her backward.
Red streaks form on both of Freddie's olive cheeks. "Fine. We'll stay
here
and you'll tell me what's happening between you and Heath, right here, right now."
"Wha—?" Like a guppy, I work my lips but don't do anything besides blow air bubbles. My face feels so hot it might as well
be on fire.
Freddie's unguppy lips pull tight, and she almost growls out, "You heard me."
Now It's me walking away from the waiting room door, dragging Freddie with me by her elbow. When I finally stop, almost at
the end of the hall back toward the ICU, I wheel on her. "What do you mean, what's happening between me and Heath? I told
you, he wanted the piece, that's all."
Freddie twists out of my grip and rubs her elbow. "Piece of what?"
"For God's sake, Freddie!" Heat blasts across my face. "I've been waiting at this hospital all day for Burke, and he might
be dying, and you're freaked out about
Heath?"
Freddie stares at me, evil-eyes me, and scowls. "Wrong answer."
"What the hell do you want to hear?" I wish I had something to throw, since throwing Freddie's not an option. "What's the
right answer?"
"Don't be stupid, Freddie, of course I'm not hot for Heath."
Freddie props her hands on her hips. "Or how about,
Are you
nuts, Freddie? I'm totally in love with Burke.
You should have seen yourself, Jamie, the way you looked at him—the way he looked at you. Something's up. Admit it."
I'm feeling like I could turn green and spew in a heartbeat. "You know me," I tell her, hearing the death-frost in my own
voice. "You know exactly how I feel. Besides, do you honestly think Heath Montel would be interested in me?"
At this, Freddie gapes for a second, then pops back with, "Not everybody's stuck on the fat thing like you are."
Okay, now throwing Freddie does seem like an option. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." Freddie backs down a little, lets her arms fall, and shakes her head. "Everything, Jamie. And the question isn't
whether or not Heath could be drooling over you, because he is. Are
you
drooling over
him?"
"You
are
nuts," When I glance back toward the ICU, a huge knot ties itself in my belly, just thinking about what's happening to Burke.
"Of course Heath's not drooling over me."
As I turn back, she just stares.
I think seriously about finding out if I can turn her into a fastball.
"You don't even hear yourself, do you?" Freddie keeps staring. "Heath can't be attracted to you. Heath's not drooling over
you. Fine! Who cares what Heath does? What about
you,
damn it?"
"I'm in love with Burke." My glare ratchets up five levels, daring her to say anything back, to doubt me.
All the red drains out of Freddie's cheeks, and suddenly, she looks as tired as I feel, except she's still glowering. We eye
duel for a few seconds, then turn away at the same time and start back toward the waiting room. Stifflike, almost marching
beside each other.
Freddie mutters, "You still didn't say outright that you aren't interested in Heath."
"For Christ's sake, I'm not interested in Heath," I dutifully say to Freddie, but the whole time I'm wondering what I do feel.
And why. And my brain starts spewing idiotic crap again, like
philophobia,
fear of falling in love. Then,
metathesiophobia,
fear of change.
Heath's face dances in my consciousness—his blond hair and blue eyes, and that smile. Checking on me. Leaving his phone beside
his bed all night, in case I need to call.
Oh, why don't we add one morefreak-ass word, while we're at it?
What about
stygiophobia,
the fear of going STRAIGHT TO
HELL?
"I'm absolutely not interested in Heath, Freddie. He's just a friend." I stop her at the waiting room door and whisper, "Good
enough?"
"Yeah, I guess," she says with her words, but her expression says
doubt, doubt, doubt.
When we get into the waiting room, I check with Burke's sisters to make sure Burke's parents didn't slip past us while I was
gone. Then I sit down with Freddie and M
&
M and we talk about little stuff—school, and play practice, and the math and science parts of the ACT giving Freddie and me
fits, and the whole time, I'm thinking about Fat Girl and Heath Montel.
My eyes keep flicking back to the chairs where we sat, where I wrote the update for him.
Thank God, thank God, Heath's gone, and I'm done with that for now. One thing off my plate. I'm relieved. I was relieved when
I watched him wander away down the long hospital corridor.
Right?
Definitely.
I was relieved.
I've got to be more careful about impressions, though. If Freddie wondered about Heath and me, then M
&
M might, too. As much as they hate me dating Burke, if I act like I might ditch him for another guy, M
&
M definitely would grow fangs and suck my blood. I have no doubt.